A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews, peops. I'm trying to balance the POVs, so you get to see what Rory is thinking and what Jess is thinking - good to know that's working so far :) Now, maybe a little progress in the Literati relationship?

(For disclaimer, etc. - see chapter 1)

Chapter 6

Jess was officially exhausted. When CoffeeGirl84 had advised him to fight for what he had and what he loved, he realised she was right and started a plan of action. With Matthew and Chris fully onboard, they really had pulled out all of the stops to save Truncheon Books. God only knew if it would work or not, but as his online confidante had told him on their first and only live chat, even if it all failed, at least he would know they gave it their best shot.

Naturally, he knew that garnering support for their place would be important. That meant advertising, getting the local press involved, the whole nine yards. Still, Jess hadn't quite been ready for protestors with signs marching up and down the pavement yelling 'Save Our Store', and he really hadn't been prepared for a TV appearance!

"C'mon, man, look at you!" Matthew insisted, his hand at Jess' chin, tilting his face this way and that. "You're a freakin' Botticelli compared to us."

Jess pulled out of his friend's grasp and looked as pleadingly as he could at Chris. It didn't work.

"I probably wouldn't have phrased it that way, but dude has a point, Jess. We have got to put every weapon we have to good use. You gotta admit, you have the looks that make the ladies pay attention."

It wasn't as if he hated being told he looked good. Who the hell would object to something like that? It was just that, even though he came off cool and calm in the face of adversity of all kinds, Jess really, really did not like public speaking. Sure, he made a speech or two when he had to, introducing some author or other to a small gathering of interested types at a book launch, but this was so different. This was potentially making a fool of myself on live TV for the whole of New York and possibly beyond to stare at.

Of course, he still had to go ahead and do it. For Truncheon. For the guys. For his own self-worth. For a woman who he had never really met, but might still be disappointed in him if she found out he fell (or worse, just gave up and retreated) at the first hurdle.

"Fine, I'll do the interview," he agreed with a huff, like it was the biggest inconvenience in the whole world.

It was a good cover for his abject fear, which seemed to work okay, since nobody called him on the way his heart was hammering in his chest when the time came to talk live on air. Jess was sure they should have been able to see it, like something out of a cartoon, but apparently not. Thank God for small mercies.

When it was over, Jess wasn't even sure what he said, but the guys assured him he was great. He didn't feel great, until a little while later, when his pulse stopped racing and the shock wore off. Then as he stood there by the window of Truncheon, watching the TV crew pack up and leave, listening to the supporters' chant about saving the store, he did start to feel better. He was doing something. He was standing up for himself against the corporations. He was taking that advice CoffeeGirl84 had given him and he was really doing something. That wasn't a bad feeling at all.

Going over to the counter, he grabbed his laptop from underneath and fired it up. He wanted to talk to her. Though he figured it was unlikely during the day, if she was around, he could go for instant messaging. If not, there was email, just like always. Sure, he couldn't give her details, they didn't do that kind of thing, but he could tell her he had taken her advice in a big way, that he was fighting, that there was a slim chance they might even win.

A sigh escaped his lips on realising she wasn't online in that moment, even though it was what he expected, but there was an email from her. That was enough to raise a brand-new smile.

A couple of nights ago, I realised it was the anniversary of City Lights publishing Allen Ginsberg's Howl. Fifty-seven years to the day since that amazing work first hit the shelves! By some crazy coincidence, it was also a full moon, which seemed so fitting somehow. I sat in my window and re-read Howl for what had to be the fortieth time at least, cover to cover, out loud to myself. It was strangely cathartic.

Want to know the craziest part? I kind of hoped you were doing the same thing at the same time. I almost thought I could picture you doing it, which is so weird, because I don't even know what you look like, but that's just how I felt. Like something was connecting everything, connecting us.

And now, you probably think I'm a certifiable crazy person, but hopefully not. I'd like to think you know me well enough by now to understand my weird ideas and rambling theories and all without being afraid that you're talking to a loon. I just like knowing you're there, I guess, and that you understand. It's not as if there's nobody else in my life that listens to me or supports me, because there totally is, but you're different. This thing we have, it's unique and all mine, or all ours at least.

See, now I know I'm not making sense, which proves that I really do need to stop with the coffee so late in the evening and try to finish my emails to you long before midnight. There's a chance I'm going to delete all this and never even send it, but if I get really stupid and go for it, please promise me you'll take everything I'm saying in the best way. That's the only way I would ever mean anything that I share with you.

Jess must have read the whole thing at least three times before he knew where to start in replying, perhaps before he had even fully processed all that she was telling him. They always promised not to get personal - no names or addresses or anything that made them identifiable to each other - but personal could mean more than that. At this point, they may be no further forward in knowing concrete facts that would help a person fill out a form or anything, but they had gotten personal. What they seemed to share in these emails were pieces of their minds and hearts, even little bits of their souls. That could be dangerous, Jess knew, and yet he didn't hesitate in hitting reply, just like always.

First off, I don't think you're crazy. If anything, I think you're amazing. Second, had I realised about the anniversary of Howl, I would have been right there with you. You know I love that book...

"You can stop yelling any time you want, Logan, because it's not helping anybody!"

Rory was quick to note the irony in what she was saying, since it was coming out even louder than his angry speech had been, but she was just that upset. It was one thing for her boss to be mad at her, another for her boyfriend to be much the same, but when they were both him and he was talking to her as if she were a backward three-year-old, Rory just couldn't take it.

"I just can't believe it!" he said, for what had to be the hundredth time, as they exited the thankfully empty elevator and crashed into their apartment, one behind the other. "You're not inarticulate, Rory. In fact, you're one of the smartest people I know. I would never have put you in this position if you weren't. I had hoped you could handle a simple TV interview!"

"Oh my God! For the forty-seventh time, Logan, they edited what I said!" she reminded him, throwing her purse full-force into the couch as she rounded on him. "Ask anybody who was there. I said all the right things, everything that we talked about. I said we had respect for the smaller bookstores and speciality places, that there was room for everybody in a city like New York. I told them every positive about the Huntzberger store too. How we serve coffee and have comfortable seating areas where you can read for hours in peace. I gave them the complete personal guided tour with a smile on my face the entire time, even though I was so nervous I could've happily thrown up all over the place. I did everything I could and the fact that they edited all of that down to two sentences is not my fault!"

With all of that said (again!) she collapsed down into the armchair with her face in her hands, thoroughly spent, completely out of energy and words both. It really was the most frustrating situation, and sometimes, Logan really was the most frustrating man too.

She did care about him. She did love him, in a way, some of the time. Rory tried not to think about that too much, because it seemed easier not to, but the truth was, there were more days when she could easily forget she even had a boyfriend than those like today where she felt she could happily strangle him. Work certainly made it all that much more complicated. Mixing business with pleasure, she really should've known better from the start...

"I'm sorry, Ace."

She winced at the apology and at the nickname, knowing as she did that she would forgive him long before she should because of the two things combined. She shouldn't. She should stay mad. She should pack up her things and leave. She should tell Logan where to shove his job and his apartment and just give it all up. It would be for the best, but fear and no small amount of stubbornness kept Rory in her seat, in her relationship, in her job. It made her smile and tell Logan it was fine, that she could see why he was as frustrated as he was, that it would all be okay in the end.

When he tried to kiss her, she let him, but when he seemed to want to make up a little more seriously than that, she just had to shy away. Making excuses to go to the bathroom, she was actually relieved to hear him call to her, not five minutes later, that he had just received a call and was going to have to go 'placate the old man' for a while. With a sigh, Rory splashed some more cold water on her face than stared into the mirror above the sink. She really didn't look so good.

"It's fine. I'll see you... later," she called to Logan, the last word pointless, since the door had already slammed shut in his wake.

Dragging herself back out to the couch, Rory kicked off her shoes and laid down there, her face buried in the pillows, so she could scream out her frustrations without disturbing the neighbours. When that was over, she sat up, contemplated the TV, the bookshelf, and the kitchen, before reaching for her laptop and firing that up instead.

She needed comfort. She needed support. She needed escape. She needed her friend. A smile curved her lips, in spite of everything, when she saw the email from NY360 and began to read, that smile becoming a full-on grin as she moved further down the page.

By the way, thanks for the advice last week. It really made a difference. Me and the guys, we're going all out on this fight to save our business. Who knows? It might even work, but if it doesn't, at least I won't have any regrets. At least I'll know I gave it my best shot. That might not be true if not for you, so seriously, thank you.

Though her heart seemed to grow three sizes in the reading of his message, it also ached for something Rory couldn't or wouldn't try to identify. Clicking to the instant messenger, she saw she was in luck and wasted no time in opening up a new window to start a conversation.

'In answer to your email - you're welcome, but I really didn't do all that much,' she typed, biting her lip right after as she waited on his reply.

NYC360: You did more than you know.

CoffeeGirl84: Then I repeat, you're welcome. I'm glad to know I did something useful lately. It seems like it might be the only good thing for a while.

NYC360: I highly doubt that's true.

He had such faith in her. Rory knew it was wrong to compare, but she couldn't help but wish Logan was as supportive and understanding. Of course, her online friend had no idea of the details like her boyfriend/boss did. She didn't plan on sharing them either. The very last person she would want to be disappointed in her was him.

CoffeeGirl84: For what it's worth, I'm happy that you're happy. I just wish things were a little more rosy on my end, that's all.

NYC360: If I knew where you were, I'd come over to your place and cheer you up.

NYC360: I swear I meant that in a non-creepy way.

She actually laughed out loud at his double message, even as tears built behind her eyes. She believed him. Rory really did believe that he was the kind of guy who would run right on over to make her feel better, just like that, without even knowing what was wrong or who was to blame or anything. He cared. He really did care so much about her and she knew she cared just as much about him. It was so crazy, how close they had become over the past few months, and all without knowing each other's real names or anything concrete at all.

It just didn't seem to matter. He was so much more than a screen-name to her. She didn't have to know where he lived or what his name was or where he worked, nothing like that. She knew what he liked and what he didn't, what he read, what he thought. Rory was sure she knew all the important things, so why not just take it all one step further.

Giving due consideration to her wording, she began to type; 'Well, I'm not going to go so far as to give you the address of my apartment, but maybe it is time we actually met in person.'

Her hand shifted, finger hovering over the back-space, intending to delete the whole message. She didn't really want to suggest that, did she? It was a sentence that had huge consequences, very large implications. Once she said it, well, technically, she could take it back, but Rory wasn't sure that she would. Before she could second-guess herself anymore, she hit send.

Holding her breath, Rory waited. It was probably just a few seconds, but it felt like an hour, and no reply came. He was still there, he hadn't gone offline, but he also hadn't given her an answer. After a while, she took pity on him, giving him an easy out.

CoffeeGirl84: You think it's a bad idea? It's okay if you do, I won't be offended.

His reply came so fast, it actually startled her, yet Rory couldn't say she was sorry to see it there.

NYC360: Actually, I think it's a great idea.

To Be Continued...