Chapter XV

Standing behind the counter, Luke grips the envelope Taylor gave him this morning, a letter-size pocket swiftly delivered before the elder man retreated. That weasel knew a 10 meter radius around Luke was a danger zone, so he fled like a coward before the envelope was even opened. Luke had been in a decent mood since he received $100 just that morning for Jess's treatment. Then, obviously, Taylor had to crush that fleeting moment, eviscerate it with his obnoxious ignorance. He read the paper once then crumpled it into a ball, wanting to throw it at Taylor's balding head, but the shiny orb was nowhere in sight. So he flattened it out, inserted it back into its casing, and kept it.

Luke throws the envelope under the counter, and restarts his calculation of the afternoon's totals. However, hiding it from sight does not calm him, and he pounds the calculator's buttons with excessive force.

His meeting with the principal that morning, immediately following Taylor's unwelcome drop-and-go was… uneventful. He set up the appointment with the intention of getting Jess's file and withdrawing him from school, but the twelve hours before his return to Stars Hollow High changed things, at least from his perspective. What if, despite Luke's lack of parental qualifications, his pure irritation with having a teenager around, the town's complaints, and the havoc his nephew has wreaked, what if… he didn't have to go?

Sure, Luke was going to send Jess back to New York on his own. But that was last night, before Rory rallied at the town meeting. He wondered if the town was willing to help, they'd be willing to overlook what Jess has done and the accident. Now a piece of paper that was essentially vomited up by Taylor is ordering him to do what he was already going to do, and his pride is protesting. He isn't going to tell Jess to stay when everyone wants him to go, including his nephew himself, but he'll be damned if he lets Taylor win. Though the complaints were anonymous, Luke could match almost all of them to their owners. The audacity of these people. They'd donate money to help him pay the hospital bills for his nephew, then demand that this same nephew is shipped off like an unwanted catalog order. Demand that he toss him onto a bus to New York City with 'Return to Sender' plastered on his forehead in bright red ink.

They aren't bad people, he reminds he tries to soften his blows to the counting machine. Except Taylor. They are angry. That's all. They aren't bad people.

He looks up in time to see Lorelai striding toward the diner. As she moves closer, there is a white rectangle on the door blocking part of his view of her.

In one smooth motion, Lorelai pulls off the blank envelope snagged to the diner's door with scotch tape and grabs the handle. When she gets to the counter, she exchanges it for a cup of coffee. Luke pushes the caffeinated beverage toward her then opens the envelope.

"Well?" she asks.

He pulls out some bills. "$50. Anonymous, of course. I'm trying to figure out if they're scared of other people knowing they're helping my nephew, or of me knowing that's how badly they want him gone."

"Does it matter?" Lorelai takes a gulp. "They're helping either way."

Luke twists the Jess Jar to see into it past the stickers and puff paint, a healthy pile of money inside. "It just feels wrong to take money from people giving it for the wrong reasons."

"They are giving money so Jess can recover. In the comfort of his own room. Which is why you can't be mad when you see it. It may be a little… bigger than you first thought. But at no cost to you, I promise!"

"What did you do," he asks through clenched teeth.

"Nothing! I just made a call. That is it, and you cannot be mad at me for it. It cost me nothing. It cost you nothing. Happily ever after. The end. More coffee, please."

Luke sighs and lets go of the argument. Lorelai will probably think he surrendered too easily, but he's not going to fight it. He's a charity case already. "Your need for caffeine is insatiable. It's unhealthy."

She shrugs. "So is frowning that much. Doesn't stop you… So did you hear?" That morning, Lorelai went to give Babette a package that had been accidentally delivered to her porch, and she stood in front of her neighbor's for five minutes before Babette caught on. She was recounting the entire affair to someone on the phone, lounged in a chair on her porch, and all Lorelai had to do was stand and listen.

"About?"

"That dumb post-meeting Taylor had?"

Lorelai's words appear to flip a switch in Luke's demeanor. His face tenses, eyes go cold, fists clench on top of the linoleum countertop. In response, he ducks underneath.

Luke retrieves the envelope, removes its contents, and slams the paper onto the counter in front of Lorelai. He shouts, "Do you see this? I've never seen something so childish, so disrespectful, so-"

"I knew it!" Lorelai exclaims, pointing at one of the bullets. "I knew he took out that ice sculpture! I mean, I guess I should be thanking -"

Luke cuts her off in turn by snatching the paper away. "Not the point! At all."

"Look, that list doesn't mean anything. You knew most of that stuff, anyways."

Luke slides it into the pocket of his flannel. "But never all in one place. They want him out."

"It doesn't matter what they want," Lorelai says. "What do you want? And Jess? At the end of the day, this is about you and your family. You know what's best."

Those are the words Lorelai needed to hear fifteen years ago, when she was a single teenage mother working as a maid. When she needed someone to tell her that she did the right thing, in keeping the baby, in refusing to marry Christopher, in leaving her old life. Rory became her family, Stars Hollow became her home, and the people in Hartford thought she was crazy. That she didn't know what was good for her, or her child. But truly, she would have cried in joy and relief if someone told her that she knew what she was doing, and that what she was doing was best. She wishes she'd known Luke then. Not for coffee or guidance on being an adult, but just to tell her she could.

"Maybe I'll talk to him about it again…" is what comes out, drenched in uncertainty. "It's a little ironic, you being the one to -"

"I didn't say I want him here. I said it's not my place to have a say. And I think he's going to have to do a lot more than hit a bench for Taylor to have one either. Talk to Jess. I'd also like a danish to go. Actually, make it two." She fishes out some money for the coffee and pastries, then a couple extra bills for the Jar.

Jess and Rory sit side by side, Jess in his wheelchair, Rory on the cushioned bench next to it. They stare at the garden outside the solarium, as the sun's rays become the dimmer glows of early evening, from the bright beams of late afternoon. Soon, the sun will set. Twelve hours earlier, Jess had sat in here watching the sun rise. At that point, it didn't feel like a hello. The wind prompted the trees to begrudgingly wave their branches in farewell. The tulips and daffodils had their petals closed against him in the chill morning, unwilling to face him. Only one bird was awake, calling out its song in long, ear-trembling screeches. Everything was a goodbye.

But then he came with Rory. And everything was different. Alive. So he felt like an imposter with his damaged body under a worn blanket in his pitiful wheelchair. The birds wouldn't sing for him. The flowers wouldn't dance for him then. That's how his life has always been. Never on time. Always out of place. Being too early or too late. Jess isn't stupid. He knows that he is broken. He knows that he belongs in New York, working a couple city jobs and picking up change from the slushy sidewalks. Yet a part of him wonders what could have been if he had ever been on time. If Luke hadn't become a part of his life so late. If his father hadn't left so soon. If his mother wasn't too late in realizing how screwed up he is. If he hadn't grown up that early. And if he hadn't arrived in Stars Hollow too late to be the guy for Rory. Jess isn't stupid. The nutty townspeople will be ecstatically waving him goodbye as soon as he can get himself onto the bus. So will Lorelai. And Luke, who won't have to house someone like him. But Rory? Jess isn't sure. He's forced her to doubt her relationship with bagboy, and she'll be relieved when that threat is gone. But Rory cares about him, and maybe she'll come to miss him. Jess can allow himself to be confident of that.

"Thank you, by the way," Jess murmurs, and neither of them avert their gaze from the glass.

"For?"

The smooth touch of the skin on her collarbone reminisces on his forehead. The branching of her fingers in his hair plays at his scalp. He'd imagined how that would feel before, but not in quite the same situation. He is unsure how to say it, so he goes simple. "For being there yesterday."

"Anytime."

His mouth turns up on one side. "You played it cool. Good job."

Rory replies, "I wouldn't call that playing it cool, but I'll take my trophy now. … You really scared me there."

"I know," he said, then after a pause. "My bad."

She shakes her head, looking at him while he observes the outside world, where he isn't sure he's ready to return. "Don't apologize. I just worry about you."

"Don't," he orders, discomfort crawling up his spine, stretching through his temples. He hasn't taken painkillers since noon. Or he can't accustom himself to someone being concerned for him. Or both.

She whispers, "I don't know how."

Jess looks at her now, crystalline spheres gazing into him, not through him. He detects fear in those eyes. Of what, he isn't sure, and he won't ask. Maybe she would. Maybe she would miss him. Yet Jess doesn't want her to suffer. That's why he made sure she wouldn't be alone. That's why he tried to help fix what he'd spent months trying to break. He turns away first, changing the topic to: "So how did it go with Dean?"

"I don't have to tell you that."

Jess raises an eyebrow and nudges her. "I think you do. As co-author, I have entitlements."

Rory sighs and mutters, "It was okay."

"Right."

"Fine, he hates your guts. He's really upset, and he said we'd talk about it later, but we haven't. Honestly, I thought it was going to be way worse."

Jess smirks. Of course. "So he was a saint about it."

"To me, yes," Rory murmurs, leaving the second half of that sentence unsaid.

He repeats, "So he was a saint about it."

"I don't want him to come after you," she all but whispers, looking down to her intertwined fingers, resting atop her plaid skirt. A cliched school uniform worn by a girl who is anything but.

"Lighten up, Teach," he says, watching her flinch at the nickname, the one he bestowed upon her the night of the accident. He gestures to his flawed body, to his bruised head, bandaged ankle, damaged chest. "Bagboy can't do worse than this."

"That's not what I meant."

Jess just sighs and looks back out into the garden, his head throbbing more strongly now as he considers. He isn't sure if he wants to tell Rory he is leaving. He isn't sure how much she'll care. All he knows is that everything will be easier this way, especially for Rory and Luke. Sometimes when a scene is in chaos, the best thing to do is remove oneself from it. He has wanted to leave this town when he got here, so why should he care about saying goodbye?

"Does your head hurt?" Rory asks, and Jess realizes that he's pressing his fingers to his forehead, just to the side of the bruise on his temple.

"A bit," he mutters, and Rory stands immediately and suggests they return before he gets in trouble. Jess moves the chair before she can get behind it, and she settles for opening the door for him. She gazes at him intently as she holds the door open for him.

Glancing up at her and pausing within the frame, he asks, "What are you staring at?"

"Nothing… You're just too proud, that's all."

Jess scoffs and holds the stare. "I mean, I'm no Oedipus."

Rory takes the opportunity to jump behind his chair, grabbing one handle and resting her weak hand on the other. Jess rolls his eyes and leans back in his seat, shrugging off the shawl. There is a heat building in his torso now, stretching up into his shoulders and neck while branching through his legs, making the bandages around his ankle feel hot and uncomfortable. He knows Rory will now be able to see the tube still injected into his chest, its base container stuck in the arm of the chair, but he doesn't care. It's too hot, even though his fingers were icicles when they were headed through the hall in the opposite direction. Instead of cold water dripping off the icicle tips, sweat beads are forming.

Building off the reference with ease, Rory replies, "Well, I'd hope not. You and Liz would have a really interesting relationship then."

"Aw, jeez!"

She laughs and pauses to give him his water bottle from the sack on his chair. He wants to swat her hand away for that sick joke but takes the hydrator. He needs it. Rory doesn't keep moving, and she instead shifts to stand beside him. He is about to roll the chair himself when she realizes aloud, "This is unbreached territory."

He waits for her explanation, just raises his eyebrow, and she says, "Ancient Greek and Roman literature. We have never talked about this before!"

"We haven't talked about a lot of books before," he says. "And we have many discontinued arguments."

Rory puts up three fingers, dropping them with each point. "One, The Fountainhead is kind of genius. Two, Ernest Hemingway is dull. Three, Pride and Prejudice is a classic and Mansfield Park tries to usurp it but to no avail."

He shakes his head. "Jane Austen has you girls fooled."

"We are discussing this later," she says as she rolls him forward as a slow pace, just as deliberate as when she was walking alongside him. Jess suspects she is trying to elongate their time together, and already the throbbing in his head becomes a background sensation. She continues, "For now, you have to tell me what you think about this. Can Homer and Sophocles be compared?"

"Sure, they're two old guys in Ancient Greece," he replies with a nonchalant shrug. She jerks him around a corner and he sighs. "Fine, I wouldn't think so. Epic poetry and drama is different, and it wouldn't do either justice."

"Exactly! That's what I said! Some girl in my English class tried to…"

Jess listens as Rory launches into the story of an idiot in her class who tried to compare Sophocles to Homer in the backdrop of Ancient Greek heroism. Her use of themes like pride and guilt did not justify her argument, and the comparison of epic heroism and tragic heroism was not as black-and-white as she thought. Jess contributes on the differences between theatrical performance and oral storytelling, and Rory stops to give him a high-five, a bright smile stretched over her face. She exclaims that he should've been there to really show her how it's done. He raises his eyebrows at that, and she comments that it's not far out since he is definitely smart enough to be a student at Chilton. He rolls his eyes at her, then turns around again.

Jess smirks while she isn't looking, is sharing her favorite parts in Antigone, and considers it all. Pride, guilt, the tragic hero. He looks down at himself again, and his body aches in response to his gaze. He's no hero, not even a tragic one. At least a tragic hero gets the sympathy of the audience in his or her own way; he can't even manage that, and he knows he shouldn't want it. Not from the crowd by which he is forcibly surrounded. Jess hears Rory's voice from the other day when he said 'better me than you'. Her response, sad and dejected, was: Why does everyone keep saying that?

"Jess?"

He starts, realizing he didn't hear what she had said last about the play. She stops moving once again to place her good hand on his shoulder. The pressure from her palm is just the right amount, and her touch is soothing through his hospital clothing. She says in the same soft, almost begrudging way he had earlier, "Thank you, by the way. For helping me write that letter to Dean. You didn't have to."

Jess resists a shudder thinking of them together, forcing himself to remember why he did it. It makes as much sense now as it did then.

"I know."