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As it turned out, the next morning was fairly normal. Jess, accustomed to Luke's routine, woke up at an hour that both Gilmores would have declared obscene, were they awake to see it, which they weren't, because he knew they would rather chew shoe leather than get up before the birds. Well, he was pretty sure. It would have to be clean shoe leather and taste like doughnuts, but still, as he stared up at the ceiling in the dark, he knew he was the only conscious person in the Gilmore house. He sighed and lay still for a minute, weighing how comfortable he was against enduring Lorelai's hostility first thing in the morning, and then got up and left quietly. After the front door clicked shut behind him, the only sign that anyone other than Lorelai or Rory had even been in the house at all was the blanket that Lorelai had used to cover him up the night before. She and her daughter normally threw it carelessly over the back, more or less in the middle. When Lorelai came downstairs later, however, she noticed that the couch was empty and the blanket was folded neatly, in a smaller rectangle than usual, and it lay off to one side. She let out a little breath of relief at the same time that a pang of regret shot through her. She tried to push it aside, along with any other thoughts of Jess, and went to the kitchen to start her morning.

She grabbed a coffee filter and a bag of coffee. It was almost empty, so she'd have to go to Doose's later. Doose's was across the way from Luke's, and she'd told Luke that the diner would be taken care of, which meant that she would have to step behind the counter again at some point. The counter, the diner…without Luke as a buffer, she would be in uncomfortable proximity to his combative, half-orphaned nephew. Not just Luke's nephew now, but also Rory's boyfriend. Rory's boyfriend. Rory's boyfriend. She had to repeat it a few more times in her head, trying and failing, again, to associate those two words with a new face. She'd have to keep trying, because Rory liked Jess. Rory liked Jess, who openly disliked Lorelai, and, despite recent revelations about his previous life, she couldn't totally shake her dislike and mistrust of him, either. She wasn't sure she even wanted to, because if she didn't have that…well, she wasn't going to go down that road yet. However, thoughts of Jess led to thoughts of that dingy apartment in New York where she'd seen Luke almost lose control of that stony façade he kept up. She'd turned to ask him a question but swallowed it when she'd seen him, head bowed, eyes closed. When she noticed his chin starting to tremble, she had almost gone to him. But Luke—gruff, grumpy Luke—wouldn't want her to catch him like that. Right? Right. She ignored the squirming unease in her gut, but, as usual, she couldn't turn off her brain.

The whole 'my parents don't get me thing', I've been there.

Her own words echoed in her head, and regret creeped up heavy between her shoulders, making them sag. She hadn't, in fact, been anywhere near where Jess had been, not ever, but how could she have known how bad it was? Even that thought felt hollow, though. She had noticed the anger tight in his jaw when he'd walked into her house that night. Hell, from day one, everything about his body language screamed 'Leave me alone.' She'd recognized it, having walked around that way when she was younger, too, and since she recognized it, she assumed that she could relate and that he would therefore relate to her, so she'd wholly ignored the tension that rolled off of him in waves, secure in her own charm. If smiles and quick quips and verbosity worked on Luke, it would surely work on anyone. So when he had reacted with blunt hostility, she'd soured immediately. But really, a bad attitude? A stolen beer? She'd insulted too many people in her lifetime to be so hypocritical about it. She'd also gotten into her parents' liquor more than once when she was a teenager, angry and recalcitrant, testing, tasting the rough, outer edges of her proper upbringing. And yeah, then there was the stolen gnome, but that was silly and harmless, and the stolen bridge money, but all of it had been returned, and having seen where he'd come from, she understood the impulse. The spoiled, trust fund assholes that she'd come up with at school had done leagues worse without any better reason than boredom. She herself had been involved in a car accident with Christopher, and, if she were honest with herself, it was that. That little moment of parallelism between her life and that of her daughter—two dark haired girls, smarter than the situation they'd put themselves in, sitting in the passenger seat while a cute boy crashed the car they sat in—which sent waves of cold dread coursing through her bloodstream. Because what came not long after that was…well, Rory. But Rory knew. Didn't she? She did. She knew. To be careful. She knew what was at stake if she weren't, and she'd shown good judgement up to now. Lorelai just needed to—

"Mom?"

Lorelai's head snapped up. She was still standing in front of the coffee maker with the bag of coffee grounds in her hand.

"Is everything okay?" Rory asked from the doorway of her room.

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine. I'm starting the coffee. You almost ready?"

"Yeah…" The way Rory's voice trailed off was clearly still a question, which Lorelai roundly ignored. How long had she been standing here with the coffee in her hand?

"When did Jess leave?" Lorelai asked, trying and succeeding to redirect her daughter's attention.

"He left?" asked Rory, looking towards the living room.

The tightness in Lorelai's chest relaxed slightly. She had stayed up late, listening for a shuffle of feet on the hardwood, an errant creak of her daughter's bedroom door, but at some point, she'd fallen asleep. Now, though, she was sure that he hadn't snuck into Rory's room, and there had been no secret morning goodbyes either. Had she really been so worried about that? Yes, she had. He was angry, and sad, and lost, and as much as she hated to admit it, he was also funny, quick on his feet and smart to boot, and he liked Rory. Worst of all, he had never been intimidated by Lorelai, not as a person, not as Rory's mom, and he had never let himself be cowed by her open dislike. He could give as good as he got, and Rory liked him, so he was dangerous.

"Yeah, he was gone when I came downstairs."

Rory nodded but didn't say anything.

"So. Coffee and Pop-Tarts for breakfast?"

"Yeah, okay."

Lorelai finally got the coffee started, and they left a few minutes later with a thermos and a Pop-Tart each. A new tension floated out the door, too, and hung in the air between them, though they pretended not to notice it.

Jess shuffled to Luke's in the dark, half-asleep still and not fighting it, because he, like the Gilmores, hated getting up in the dark. His brain, in its fuzzy, almost-consciousness, played images and sounds on a loop, like a viewfinder toy: Rory, gold skin and brown hair in the light, a sunflower. The top of her head as she read his favorite book out loud, quiet and calm. Her body pressed beside him. The way she twitched a little as she fell asleep. The tiny sound of her breathing as it slowed, and the feel of his own slow smile as she snored a little against his chest. He hadn't really slept, wanting to soak it all in and commit it to memory, but he'd pretended to when he heard Lorelai arrive and stand over them, and he'd kept pretending even when Rory got up and the chilly air rushed in to replace the heat of her body. He'd tried not to flinch when Lorelai approached him a few minutes later but had almost given himself away when he'd felt the blanket being pulled over him. He'd lain awake for a moment after she went upstairs, struck by the impatient huff she'd let out before she covered him up. She felt sorry for him, and he'd let himself slip into sleep as anger and frustration crowded into his head.

He shook his head as he approached the diner. Exhausted and wrung out, he thought longingly of his bed upstairs, but when he opened the door, Ceasar was already prepping to open. Jess had been shuffling through the last three days, barely conscious of anyone around him except Rory, yet somehow the diner had remained open without him or Luke there, and he knew Ceasar had a lot to do with that. Jess sighed, wishing he were as much of an asshole as the town made him out to be, and stepped in to help. Ceasar looked up at him as he walked back to the kitchen. A flash of surprise crossed his face and disappeared just as quickly. He gave Jess a short nod without saying anything, much to Jess's relief. At ease in the quiet, they moved around each other, restocking to-go containers, starting the coffee and tea, slicing tomatoes and onions, and portioning out hamburger and cheese. When Ceasar eventually broke the silence, it was only to tell Jess that it was almost six. Jess nodded and headed upstairs to get ready for school. He didn't question going. He couldn't stay in the apartment all day; he'd go insane. He also couldn't leave town. He was saving up for leaving, his Big Move™, and even though it was still a blurry watercolor of an idea, he wasn't going to spend what he'd saved so far on ways to get out of town just to be out of town. And anyway, he wanted to see Rory later.

Suddenly, her face popped into his head, clear and sharp, and a thought that he hadn't realized had been gnawing at him for the last few days surged forward, fully formed.

Dates. Dates with Rory.

Three days ago, before…well, before everything, he'd been mulling over ideas. Looking up concerts. Planning what to do and where to go. Thinking of things that she'd probably never done that she'd like to do. Every idea he'd come up with had meant dipping farther and farther into the cash he'd squirreled away working at Luke's. He'd realized quickly that he wouldn't be able to afford both dating Rory and funding his escape with one part-time job. Something ugly coiled in his gut at this last thought, but he wasn't ready to look at it directly.

He peeled off his dirty, slept-in clothes, showered and dressed quickly, mentally flipping through where he could apply and be easily hired. Every business in Stars Hollow was a non-starter. Not far outside of Stars Hollow, though, his face wouldn't attract any attention because no one knew who he was. Woodbridge had a Wal-Mart, a Target, a Home Depot, those kinds of everywhere places, each one much like the others, where he wouldn't have to be him, just whatever color vest he had to wear; hardly even a person. He nodded along to his thoughts and decided to apply to all the big box stores after school. Then he stopped as another thought struck him. Transportation was going to be an issue, as much for the dates he wanted to plan with Rory as for getting to and from a new job. A familiar tension settled between his shoulders as he headed out of the apartment, and it was compounded by the way people's eyes pressed in on him as he walked to school. By the time he made it inside, he was on edge and restless and deeply regretting his decision not to stay at the apartment. He was going to go crazy in here, too. He arranged his features into what he hoped was a foreboding scowl, wanting to ward off any potential displays of pity, commiseration, or naked curiosity. For the first time in a long time, it didn't work. Something about death and loss made people tactless and forgetful, attributing his facial expression to what had happened and not to themselves. By nine o'clock he was making his way to the downstairs exit doors.

"Jess?"

Shit.

He turned slowly and saw Ms. Estrada walking toward him from the hallway to his right. Her classroom was down there, and her creative writing class was his second-to-last class of the day, which meant he'd be ditching it if he left now. Which he was. She arched an eyebrow at him, and he knew she knew what he was doing. When he didn't say anything, she smiled.

"Did you read the stories I sent home with everyone?"

After a beat, he nodded. He was surprised and relieved that she didn't mention his mom or how sorry she was about what had happened.

"What did you think?"

He shrugged. They weren't supposed to have read them until next week, and he didn't want to get drawn into a conversation. She would try to convince him to stay. But her eyes glittered with knowing, and she looked a little smug, which was unnerving. And annoying.

"So you liked them, huh? I thought you would. Had you read them all before?"

He hesitated. "Not all of them."

She nodded. "I thought not. From what you bring to school with you, you're very well-read, but only in the English canon. I wanted to challenge you with something unfamiliar, and what do you know? I was right."

He must have made a face because she smiled again, looking satisfied about something.

"And have you started writing your story?"

He thought about what he'd scribbled down over the weekend, feeling pathetic, and felt heat rising in his face. He clenched his teeth and looked at the floor. She must have sensed that he was about to turn on his heel because she spoke up quickly.

"Listen, I gave you different stories than everyone else, and different prompts. I can't stop you from walking out, but at least let me give you the real list. I already know you've read them all, but you should know what everyone else is reading. Prepare yourself for the, uh, discussion."

He wasn't sure what to think about having been given a different assignment than everyone else, but the way she hesitated over the word 'discussion' told him that she wasn't expecting much either. The corners of his mouth threatened to twitch into a begrudging smile, so he focused on forcing them back down before shrugging and following her back to her classroom. He glanced at the real list, unsurprised by the titles. High school students across the country would be reading a similar list, and he nodded at it, trying not to roll his eyes. He figured that the teachers didn't have much control over what was in the curriculum and wondered suddenly if his teacher had risked anything in giving him unapproved material to read. None of the stories had been inappropriate in any way he could tell, but he also knew that the typical reaction to something unknown and unfamiliar was usually not a happy one.

"So you're telling me I have double homework. I have to write another story based on one of these."

"Ah, so you did start on the other one. Well, since this is the actual assignment, yes, I expect you to do it. I doubt it will take you long. The first one is just for you, though. If you want me to look it over, I'd be happy to, but I mostly wanted to pop you out of that arrogant little bubble you walk around in."

He felt his hackles rise. "Excuse me?"

She continued as though he hadn't spoken, completely unperturbed. "You may read a lot, but everything you've read or even want to read isn't all that's out there. It's not even close. You don't know as much as you think you do. Just like I don't know much about you or your mom. I do know that you're angrier now than you were before, and more tired than upset, and considering everything, I'm not going to intervene today. No one really expected you to show up this week, anyway. But I do expect you to shelf the whole Rebel Without a Cause thing long enough to get through these assignments for me. Got it? Great. Now, you're interrupting my lunch, so if you don't mind..."

Before Jess had time to react, he was herded back out to the hallway. Her door snapped shut behind him, and he stood still for a couple of seconds before marching back towards the exit.