A/N: Random thought: I feel kinda bad for Jared Padalecki (Dean). It was kind of obvious that once Jess came around (I read somewhere that the producers LOVED him), they started writing Dean into the awful, angry fool he became by the end of his character in order to make Jess seem more likeable (not that Jess could have NOT been likeable, but you know what I mean). I'm sure no actor appreciates having the writers make their character go from loveable to basically booed off the show in favour of making another actor shine. All that being said, I'm not really complaining, because, well...we got Jess.

Also, I started a new Literati fic called Angelheaded Hipsters, but I have no idea if it's something that will survive in this storyverse. It's a gender-bender. So...Rory is a dude, and Jess is a girl. Check it out, let me know what you think...then if you want me to continue it I will somehow juggle it with this one!

Eight and a Half

By Imagine Backstory

Chapter Seventeen - Strange Moods & Middlesex

Rory

It took me forever to get ready, mostly because I kept zoning out or debating whether or not this was a good idea at all. Not to mention the playlist I had loaded on Spotify kept bringing me back to a time over a decade ago; the sound of The Clash playing out of my tiny portable speaker might as well have been blasting from Luke's crappy boombox in the apartment above the diner while teenaged Jess and I made out on the couch. I didn't know why I had sought out this particular band as my pump-up music while I got ready for the play reading tonight, but I had seemingly done it on autopilot.

I had showered and shaved my legs, and blow-dried and curled my long hair. I was just putting the finishing touches on my make-up before it would be time for the hard part: deciding what to wear. What does one wear when one is engaged and attending play reading at an indie bookstore slash bar owned by one's sexier-with-age ex-boyfriend with whom one hasn't spoken for nearly two months, save for a brief conversation on the phone which revealed the ex-boyfriend in question may be in kind of a bad place?

Deciding to lean more on the business casual side, I pulled on a pair of dark-washed straight-leg jeans, a light white sweater, and my black suit-jacket style blazer. I pulled on my classic red Docs and put a long, thin gold chain around my neck to complete the look, and after surveying my appearance in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my bathroom door, decided it was going to have to do.

Calling the apartment which would soon be mine and James' a shoebox would be an overstatement. Finding an affordable one-bedroom flat in Manhattan was damn near impossible. We had settled on a studio instead; I was still getting used to the open concept. The only "room" was the bathroom, which was really just a separate space hidden by a sliding panneled door. The bed also served as a couch to watch TV from, and the galley kitchen was barely big enough for two people to stand in shoulder-to-shoulder. But it was in New York. And it was ours.

(I need to know / Should I stay or should I go?)

Go. Time to go.

I bent to turn off the lamp on my nightstand and reached for my keys, but as I turned towards the front door I heard a key struggling in the lock, the knob turning frantically. I let out a short shriek and looked around wildly for something to ward off the impending intruder, but my panic was deemed unnecessary when the door finally swung open. There stood James, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, looking out of breath and a little exasperated. But his face lit up when he saw me standing there, slackjawed.

"Hey, lamb," he said, stepping inside and dropping his bag. He held his arms out and looked at me pointedly. "Well, don't I get a hug?"

(ROCK the Casbah, ROCK the Casbah)

I slowly stepped forward into his arms, hooking my arms around his and squeezing him tightly. My brain was rushing to process the fact that he was here. He was here, and I was on my way out to see Jess. Well, not to see Jess, but I was going to see him. "What are you doing here?" I asked, pulling away and furrowing my brow at him.

His smile faded. "Jeez, Ror, if I didn't know any better I'd say you weren't happy to see me."

"Sorry," I said quickly, shaking my head and smiling at him. "It's just that I was just about to head out the door. Actually, I'm late," I added, checking my watch.

"Late for what?" he asked, linking his fingers with mine.

"Oh, just a thing for work."

He grimaced. "That's what I get for surprising you. I should have known you'd be busy."

I rubbed his upper arm. "Hey, for what it's worth, I really appreciate the surprise," I said, leaning in to kiss him gently. He responded immediately, pulling me into him ino order to deepen the kiss.

When he pulled away, we were both breathless. "Do you have to go?" he asked, his voice husky.

I smiled sadly, not even thinking about it even though Jess' words were echoing in my head. Forget about the review, okay? "Yeah. I have to go." I kissed his nose and stepped away, grabbing my messenger bag from its spot by the door. "I won't be too long. Wait for me?"

"I'm only here for tonight," James said, shrugging out of his coat. "I have to go back to work in the morning. I was hoping we could go out for some food, spend the night together..."

I paused, biting my lip. James had come all the way to New York just to spend a night with me. I hadn't seen him in weeks. And I was halfway out the door to attend a play reading that Jess had straight-up told me not to attend. But I couldn't get his voice out of my head, how sad it sounded. Something had happened, I was sure of it. And right now, my need to make sure Jess was okay was winning over my want to spend the night with James. "I'm sorry," I said, holding my hands out helplessly.

"Well if it won't take long, I could come with you?" he asked pleadingly. "It's been weeks, Rory. I just want to spend time with you."

"You'll be bored out of your mind," I deadpanned, inching out of the door. "I'll be back soon. Three hours, tops. Order Chinese!" I called before shutting the door behind me just as I heard him call out that he loved me.

As I got into a cab, I mostly felt bad about the fact that I didn't really feel bad about leaving James there. After all, he had just showed up out of the blue expecting I would be available and bored. I had a life, I had things to do. It dawned on me then that maybe I was enjoying my time alone in New York a little too much...

(I fought the law and the—law won)

My stomach quickly became a pile of knots as the cab pulled up in front of Café Livre. I paid the driver and got out, straightening myself out before striding to the door and pulling it open, taking one last deep breath before I went past the point of no return.

The place looked the same as I remembered it. It was already pretty crowded—I'd arrived a bit later than I'd wanted to. I quickly scanned the room for Jess or Nora, but couldn't see them amongst all the people. An extravagantly dressed girl probably in her mid-twenties came rushing up to me. Her platinum blond hair was swept back in a perfect, sleek ponytail. "Hi there!" she said with a dazzling smile. "Can I see your ticket?"

"Oh," I stammered, thinking fast. "I'm the reporter from the New York Times. I didn't know I needed a ticket."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Well, I didn't know a reporter from the Times was coming tonight!" she exclaimed with enthusiasm. She offered me her hand to shake. "I'm Isabel. I'm the manager."

I shook her hand, but I was frowning, confused. "Oh...I thought Nora was the manager?"

Isabel's smile remained intact, but the light went out in her eyes. "You know Nora?"

"She's a friend of a friend," I said vaguely.

"Oh. Well, she doesn't work here anymore," Isabel required, just as ambiguously. She glanced over her shoulder. "I'll see if I can get you a seat closer to the stage, uh...sorry, I didn't get your name?"

I bit my lip, knowing there was a chance she would recognize me by name. I had no idea how much of Jess' history she might know. Now that she had asked, though, there was really no choice. "Oh, uh, I'm Rory Gilmore." If she recognized the name, she didn't show it. I pressed on quickly. "And I don't need a closer seat. I can just sit...wherever."

"She only seats we have left are behind the bar with me and the owner," she explained, waving her manicured hand in that direction.

I swallowed. "That's fine."

"Great." She turned on her platform heel and lead me to the bar, where a bearded bartender was just finishing serving a rather exquisite looking martini. As I got closer, the guy looked more and more familiar, but it wasn't until Isabel and I were back there with him and he turned to look at us that I finally recognized who it was.

His eyes closed briefly after seeing me. When they opened, they were hard as stone. "I told you not to bother coming," he said, his voice gruff as if he hadn't spoken in a long while. Isabel drew a sharp intake of breath and promptly excused herself. I guess she had recognized me, after all.

I couldn't believe how different he looked. His dark hair was so long he had it pulled back into a bun at the back of his head. A thick beard coated his jaw and upper lip, and there were bruise-like shadows under his eyes, which were more dull than I had ever seen them, not to mention bloodshot. He looked like he had lost weight, too—his black dress shirt hung off of him in a way which was not flattering, which was surprising because he usually looked striking in black.

"Jess," I breathed, taking this all in with wide eyes, "what happened?" I remembered Isabel telling me that Nora no longer worked here, and suddenly it all fell into place with a click in my brain. I sighed. "Did something happen with you and Nora?"

His eyes darted around the room and he was absently scrubbing his hand with a bar towel. "Yeah. We're not...that's over."

"I'm sorry," I said, and I was surprised at how much I meant it. I hated seeing Jess hurt, and it had been awhile since I'd seen this look on his face. It was the same one he had worn at the Truncheon in Philly eight and a half years ago, the same one I had put on his face at Yale when I'd screamed "No!" in his face after he'd asked me to run away with him.

He half shrugged, still not meeting my gaze. "It is what it is."

"I can leave," I offered, though I really didn't want to. I just wanted to get that look off his face. It hurt me to see him like this.

He contemplated it for a moment, then finally he looked me in the eye. "No. Stay."

Isabel came back with three stools for us to sit on as a handful of actors got up on the stage to start the reading. There was a smattering of applause. I was sat a bit in front of Jess, and I felt him lean forward to whisper in my ear. "Want a drink?"

"Anything but mojitos," I said, smiling at him over my shoulder. He attempted a smile and went to get me a drink. He handed me a mason jar full of a perfectly poured beer. I quietly thanked him as the reading began.

It was quickly made clear that this play wasn't as good as the playwright's previous one. I wasn't fully paying attention, though—Jess' presence behind me and the bold fact that he was single and miserable was all too distracting. I kept turning to look at him, but he would keep his eyes glued on the stage. He kept refilling his own drink, and would offer me a new one every time I finished my own. By the time act one ended, I had a nice little buzz going on. I knew I was in a dangerous situation—I was in a strange mood, tipsy, and near Jess. But I also knew I was in control and I wasn't an emotional wreck like I had been the last time I'd been alone with Jess.

At intermission I swiveled on my stool to face Jess. "Want some help on the bar?" I asked as he stood to start prepping for the onslaught of orders.

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Do you even know how to make any drinks?"

I rolled my eyes. "I spent every Friday night with Richard and Emily Gilmore for years. I can make a mean martini by now."

He smirked and tossed an apron at me. "Well, then. Get to work, Gilmore."

Even between Jess, Isabel and me, we were completely swamped for the entirety of the twenty minute intermission. We built up a flow, though, and handled it with ease. I'd take orders, Isabel would pour beer, and Jess made all the fancy drinks. By the time the second act started, we were all out of breath, and we took a shot of tequila together to celebrate.

As the play went on, Jess put his hand on my shoulder. I reached up to lock my fingers with his as he leaned forward. "I'm glad you're here," he whispered, his breath hot on my ear. I shivered, instantly reminded of that night eight and a half years ago...

When the play ended, I realized I hadn't written a single note for my article. But I didn't care. I was still holding Jess' hand. Dangerous. Very dangerous.

Eventually, he let go of my hand and stood to help Isabel clear out the rest of the bar. Some people lingered around for last call, including me. I went to sit on the other side of the bar, though, leaning on the counter towards Jess, who looked a little more lively than he had been when the night started. To anyone who didn't know him he might have just looked a bit tired. To someone like me, though, who knew him more intimately, I could tell he was still in his own private hell; he was just doing a better job of hiding it now.

I was staring at the hair that had escaped the bun and was now curling behind his ears, and the way his veins strained under the skin of his forearms, which were lighter than I had ever seen him. Usually his olive skin had a dark tinge to it, but he was now quite pale. I supposed when we had lived in Stars Hollow he had spent every moment he could outside in the sun, and he was the type to tan easily. Realizing my thoughts were going way off on a totally innappropriate tangent, I shook my head, blinking out of my daydreams.

One look at Jess' face told me I'd been caught. "My arm that interesting to you?" he asked, eyebrow cocked.

I felt warmth spread under my collar and laughed nervously. "Sorry. Zoned out for a bit."

"I'll say."

"I was just noticing how much you've changed. I'm sure this is the last thing you want to hear, but you really look terrible."

He grimaced. "Thanks."

I rushed to explain myself. "I mean, not terrible terrible, but, like, you look sad, you look like you've not been taking care of yourself."

He turned to start putting away the dishes from a clean rack. "I know, Ror," he said, his face pinched with pain. It was strange to see him with his guard down. "It's just been hard."

"I can imagine," I replied softly, savouring his honesty while it lasted. "What...happened? If you don't mind me asking?"

He wiped down a pint glass thoughtfully, turning back towards me. He avoided my gaze. "I asked her to marry me, and she said no," he told me. Then shrugged. "That was that."

I nearly choked on my beer, pressing a napkin to my mouth before speaking. "You proposed?"

Again with the eyebrow. "Surprised?"

"Yeah, a little," I admitted, taking a proper sip of my drink. "Honestly, I never thought you'd be the type to go about things...traditionally."

He nodded in time with the Shins song that was playing (I feel like I could just fly / But nothing happens every time that I try). He was still wiping the same glass, but I don't think he noticed. "Well. I've changed," he stated with finality.

I grinned at him with admiration. "Yeah. I know you have." I inhaled, exhaled. "Well, I'm really sorry you have to go through this. She's crazy."

"Who?" he asked, resting his elbows on the bar and leaning towards me. "Nora?"

"Yeah." God, I was blushing again. I looked down at my beer sheepishly. "For saying no. She's crazy."

Just like that, the twinkle is back in his eye. "I seem to recall a certain beautiful blue-eyed someone telling me no about ten years ago," he whispered, looking me dead in the eye. Seeing my reaction, he laughed. "And you gave me exactly the same look you're giving me right now."

I bit my lip, suddenly wishing we were not here, in this bar, with people everywhere. "Jess..."

He barely moved. "Still with James?"

"Yes."

"Still getting married?"

"...Yes."

"You hesitated."

I felt my lip begin to quiver. "Jess," I said again, because I didn't know what else to say. My voice broke, too. God damn it.

He reached out to brush a piece of stray hair from my face, his fingers lingering on my neck a touch too long to be casual. "We have the shittiest timing, don't we?" he asked, his voice like honey. I found myself involuntarily leaning into his touch. "Wanna see the upstairs?"

"What?" I asked, taken aback by the change in subject.

He nodded his heads skywards. "You wanna see the real Truncheon?"

"Uh..." This was such a bad idea. But of course I was going to do it anyway. "Sure."

Telling Isabel he was taking five, he lead me to the back of the bar and unlocked a door which led to a narrow staircase. Gesturing for me to go first, I began to climb, suddenly all too aware that I'd worn these jeans because they made my butt look amazing, a fact which he was most likely noticing now as he climbed the stairs behind me.

The Manhattan Truncheon consisted of three desks, one of which seemed to be in the process of being cleared out—probably Nora's. Another one was probably Isabel's; it was organized with brightly coloured boxes and gel pens. The third was undoubtedly Jess'. Covered in stacks of books and classic number two pencils, with an old typewriter sitting in the corner. I wondered if it was decoration or if he really used it. I could see Jess using a typewriter. There was also some sort of machine which could only be their own printing press. The rest of the room was just boxes upon boxes. There was a mailbox on one end stuffed to the brim with papers and letters, and on the other end was an enormous whiteboard covered in all sort of notes and reminders in three kinds of handwriting. I recognized Jess' elegant scrawl in exclusively black dry erase marker. And underneath the whiteboard—a huge dark leather couch.

"It's not much," Jess said as I took it all in, wandering around to check out finer details.

I gravitated towards his desk and picked up the first book I saw. "Middlesex," I said, reading the cover. "Any good?"

He nodded, coming to stand next to me. He leaned in to look at the cover and I could smell him. Cigarettes and leather, just like I remembered. "'S alright," he replied quietly. "Interesting."

"Huh." I turned to look at him. He was so close. "I'm sorry I didn't call," I found myself saying, looking away before I got too tempted to get closer.

He took a step back, confusion briefly marring his face. "What do you mean?"

I took a deep breath. "I just mean generally. We haven't spoken in a few months."

He shrugged. "Did you see me picking up the phone?"

"You were mad."

"Doesn't mean I had a right to be." He shrugged again. "I was a dick at Thanksgiving. I'm sorry, by the way."

I nodded once. "Thanks." Then, "You really didn't have a right, did you?"

He grinned, glad to settle back into our casual banter. "Don't get used to being right."

"I dunno," I replied easily, smiling, "I could get used to you calling yourself a dick."

He looked at me for a long moment before turning away, lacing his hands behind his head. When he turned back, he looked lost, helpless. "We can't keep doing this, Rory."

"Doing what?" I asked, pulling myself up to sit on his desk. I swung my legs out of habit, noticing his gaze lower to watch the movement before they returned to me.

"Fighting and then flirting and then fighting again, and then flirting..." He shook his head. "It's not fair."

"Just dancing around each-other always," I finished for him, nodding. "I know. To be honest, I don't know why I came here tonight. I should have done like you asked, but you sounded so...on the phone, like you needed...I just felt I had to."

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I get it. I'm glad you did." Hands came out of pockets to scrub across his face. "I'm just kind of all over the place and some of things I'm thinking right now I know I'm only thinking because of Nora. And that's not fair to you, or me."

I licked my bottom lip. "I shouldn't be up here." Not a question.

"No." He looked right in my eyes, his piercing gaze making me squirm. He took a step towards me. "But you are."

"But I am." Another step. "Jess."

Another step. "Tell me to stop."

"Jess..."

And another. He was almost touching my knees now. "Tell me to stop, Rory."

"I..." His fingers brushed my knees, slowly coming up to rest on the ends of my thighs. "Jess..."

"Hmm?" He stepped forward, nudging my knees open with his hips so as to stand between my parted thighs. He dipped his head towards me and pressed his forehead against mine, our breathing rapidly increasing and mingling between us. "Just say the word, Rory."

My hands came up to grip his shirt, clutching it like my life depended on it. I could practically taste his lips already, and the feeling was intoxicating. I squirmed, caught between the warning bells going off in my head and the irresistible urge to pull him closer and climb into him.

Luckily, I didn't have to make a decision. At that moment the door to the office burst open and there was Isabel, looking frazzled. "Jess, I need help down here," she called, rolling her eyes at the scene before her before heading back downstairs, leaving the door wide open.

Jess sighed, letting his weight drop forward so his head was leaning against my shoulder. "Timing," he grunted.

I giggled, reaching up to remove the hair tie from his hair and combing my fingers through it. It fell in soft waves to just past his shoulders. "Your hair is so long."

He smirked, nuzzling my neck. "You like?"

"I don't know," I admitted, but I was still playing with it. "It makes you look really different."

"Different good?"

"Just...different."

He sighed again, pulling himself away from my shoulder but still standing between my legs. "Haven't bothered to get it cut." He took the elastic back from me so as to tie it back up. "Haven't bothered with anything recently, really."

"I can cut it for you," I offered.

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You cut hair?"

"I used to cut Logan's all the time," I said with a wave of my hand.

"And?"

"And?"

"Does he still have both ears?" I swatted at him with his own copy of Middlesex. He laughed and seized my wrist, gaze locked on mine again. "We should go back."

I breathed out. "Yeah."

"Don't get married."

That surprised me. "What?"

"Don't get married, Rory. You don't want to, I know you don't. You're having second thoughts."

I pulled my wrist from his grip and folded my arms over my chest. "You don't know what I want."

"Yes. I do." And he grabbed me by the back of my neck and pulled me to him, slanting his mouth over mine for a deep kiss that took my breath away. When we finally parted, we were both panting and clutching each-other. He was back between my legs, were a distinct warmth was already spreading. "I know because it's the same thing I want," he whispered huskily.

"Jess, I can't." But I was weak. And he knew it.

He kissed me again. And I let him.

"I need some time," I said when we separated. "We both do. I'm not saying no. I just...it's a lot. Especially for where we both are."

He nodded, finally understanding. "Okay." Taking my hand, he led me to the door. "Ready?"

I leaned in to press a light kiss on his bearded cheek. "Yeah."

We went down together.

A/N: Woo, first all Rory chapter! This took me forever. My next fic will be all Jess' POV I think. This Rory business is just getting too hard for me. I just relate to Jess way more.

Anyway, please review! Y'all are seriously the best reviewers I've ever had and you give me so many ideas. Sorry to those who wanted to know more about James. It is coming soon, just not yet!

Also please check out my gender-bender story...it's really intriguing to me but I can't afford to spend time writing something nobody is going to read!