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Chapter Text

“The taste for books was an early one. As a child he was sometimes found at midnight by a page still reading. They took his taper away, and he bred glow-worms to serve his purpose. They took the glow-worms away and he almost burnt the house down with a tinder.” 

— Virginia Woolf

It was a small book, the smallest on the shelf, really. About the size of her hand, lengthwise, with a discreet, creamy white spine, and simple black lettering. It looked to her to be the original dust jacket of Orlando , just from the spine, but she couldn’t be entirely certain until she saw the front cover. Rory leaned forward, feeling the sudden urge to pull the book out, and her hand raised, as if it was not entirely her own. She came to her senses, almost immediately, but the prospect of wrapping her fingers around that familiar spine and pulling it out to examine the novel still remained tantalisingly close. 

She had to stand, a little awkwardly, in a corner where the ceiling sloped down to look at it properly. It had been placed at the extreme right of the shelf, and if she hadn’t been familiar with the look of the spine after coming across another first edition in a rare and special edition bookshop, after ogling it for a few months before that in the first editions book catalogue she had purchased, it would have never stuck out to her. She cast her gaze around, making sure there was no one else in the room, and took her blazer off. She created a sort of makeshift protection, taking the book out with the blazer covering her hands, and turned the cover to face her. Rory couldn’t help a little smile; fondness, satisfaction, a little bit of awe, or perhaps all three. There was the black and white art on the cover that she had known, instinctively, would be there, waiting to be revealed. The bearded man, wielding a sword, clutching an elaborate, painted shield, looking coldly at the reader. She looked up, excitement seizing her, wishing she had someone to tell, when she saw a small movement by the heavy, velvet drapes. 

“Who’s there?” She asked, trying to peer behind the curtains. “Are you hiding?” No one replied, and she felt a little silly. “Hello?” She said, taking a step forward. “If you’re going to jump me, you should have done it by now.” 

A boy in a Chilton uniform stepped out from behind the curtains. He looked vaguely familiar, and she wondered when she had seen him. Sitting alone in the back of a class, she thought, or reading a battered paperback during lunch. It had been a few weeks since she had joined Chilton, and she was still growing accustomed to the sea of faces. 

“Were you hiding?” She asked, again. 

“Why would I hide from you?” He asked, his voice a little rough. Just then, she noticed the cigarette in his hand. He snuffed it out with one smooth motion in the ashtray on the peg table. Rory watched him, quietly, and he looked back at her. “What, do you want one?” 

“No, I don’t smoke.” 

“You don’t smoke Marlboros?” 

“What? No, I-” 

“Because I can get you some Camels if you prefer.”

“No, I mean I don’t smoke.”

“Or, I suppose we have some Newports as well,” She opened her mouth again, and he continued. “There’s this brand of Japanese cigarettes that the old man always smoked, I could find a pack for you. Unless you’d prefer a cigar?” 

“You’re making fun of me,” She said, frowning. 

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“Ms Martin said that we’re not meant to be wandering around. And she’ll kill you if she sees your cigarette and your tie messed up like that.” 

“She’d kill you if she saw you holding that book,” Rory blushed, looking down at the book that was still in her blazer wrapped hands. She set it down on the large, wooden desk that stood beside her, and looked back up at him.

“I was just looking.” He walked towards her and looked at the cover. “Have you read it?” She asked. He didn’t answer, and reached out, almost unthinkingly, it seemed to her. She overcame that jolt of familiarity that she felt in seeing him make a move nearly identical to the one she had made, and tried to stop him. 

“Wait, it’s a first edition. You can’t touch it like that, bare handed,” She handed him her blazer, seriously. “You can use this. It should be alright.” 

“Hands are better,” He said, looking back at her. 

“What?” She asked, and he picked it up, gently. 

“If you can feel the book, you’re less likely to rip it by mistake,” She considered this for a minute, and with a firm nod seemed to accept it. 

“I’m Rory, Rory Gilmore.” 

“I know, the new girl,” He said. “Jess.” The boy now in possession of a name slowly opened the book, glancing at Rory to see if she was watching. “You can hold it,” She took it from him, delicately, unsure about how to hold it. 

“Do you read?” She asked. 

“Not much,” He answered.

“You’re the grandson, aren’t you? Of- of the man whose house this is.” 

“Yes.” 

“Your name, that’s how I knew.”

“I figured.”

“But you also do bear a striking resemblance,” She said, pointing to a portrait in oils of an old, greying man in a well cut suit, lounging in the library’s reading chair. 

“It’s the hair.” 

“I’m not sure which of you uses more products, though.” 

“Him. Those locks aren’t all natural, trust me. Just look at that coif.” 

“Beautiful,” She said, handing the book back to him. “I just wanted to look. At the books, I mean. She said that this was a historic house, and I thought-”

“Any historic house worth its salt has a good library,” He cocked his head. “How do we fare?”  

“I couldn’t give a library with a first edition Woolf anything less than an A.” 

“Wait till you see the Fitzgerald - it's a family heirloom,” Jess said, anticipating her bright smile. Still, she looked a little disbelieving. “You don’t believe me.” 

“Guilty. A Fitzgerald , really? It’s a little hard to believe. If you’re trying to get my hopes up, there’s enough low hanging fruit,” She watched him as he made to put the book back, paying close attention as he slid it in, not answering until it was back in its place. 

“Low hanging fruit, huh? What makes the cut?” 

“A signed Salinger. Difficult to believe, but you could persuade me.” 

“We have one.”

“Well, I’m not going to believe it now ,” She said. He looked at her intently, the corner of his lip quirking. 

“I’ll admit, it looks a little underwhelming, but I urge you to accept this pretty skimpy looking book.” 

“ Franny and Zooey , one of my favourite dedications. I love that book. There’s no way you have a signed edition.” 

“Pops loves Salinger, Franny and Zooey especially. He met old Jerome back in the day, or so he says. Before he became a hermit, of course,” He said. “I know it’s not The Catcher in the Rye, but take what you can get, Gilmore.” 

“If what I can get is Franny and Zooey I’d do a little jig,” Rory said, grinning. “But I don't think I can get it.” 

“Have a little faith,” He said, and took a step forward, opening his mouth again, when he was interrupted.

“Mr Mariano, your tie seems to be trying to escape your neck. I’d recommend that you fix the situation. Also, I understand that this is your home, but we are here in an academic framework which means you do not wander off to chat ,” She said, imbuing the syllable with what Rory thought was a rather impressive amount of disgust. “And Ms Gilmore. I know you are still new, but you are expected to stay with the group. You missed the portrait gallery.”

“I’m sorry, I just-” 

“I was showing her where the bathroom was,” Jess interjected, and Rory looked at him, trying to mask her surprise for her history teacher’s benefit. 

“For the last fifteen minutes?” 

“We got lost. We were just on our way back.”

“In your own home?” 

“It’s a big house, Ms Martin. And I’ve got a terrible sense of direction.”

“So you decided to take a detour through the library?” 

“I thought I remembered a shortcut back to the portrait gallery. I was wrong. Terrible memory, too. Vivid imagination, people always tell me that. Teachers, especially. At my old school, my principal was always saying I had a vivid imagination.” 

“And after you escorted Ms Gilmore to the washroom, Mr Mariano, you decided to wait outside?” 

“As I said, it's a big house. I didn’t want her to get lost.” 

“I don’t suppose you followed Ms Gilmore into the washroom, did you, Mr Mariano?” 

“What?” Rory asked, sharply, who had, uptil that point, been feeling a mix of anxiety, amusement, and quiet amazement at how flippantly Jess was addressing their teacher. “I- Ms Martin, I have a boyfriend,” She burst out, and then fell quiet, quickly, feeling embarrassment. He gave her a sideways glance, raising his eyebrows. “I mean, Jess was just showing me the washroom. And we thought that, you know, together, we could overcome, and all that. United we stand, divided we fall… to big, confusing houses. I have a terrible sense of direction too. We share that.” 

“As long as the two of you aren’t sharing saliva, I would like this conversation to end. Mr Mariano, remember, you’re treading a fine line. We’re leaving,” She turned, briskly, with this, and they followed, Rory mortified, but feeling a mild sense of elation after the conversation, and Jess, behind her, watching her as she raised a hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. She turned back, for a moment, and looked at him. 

__________________________________

Rory had spent half the morning trying to get off the phone with Dean. She wanted to ask Lorelai how many calls a day from a new boyfriend was, strictly speaking, normal, but considered the likelihood of being told that a great, if somewhat overeager, guy. And she liked him, she did, but she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of irritation as she had to explain to him for the third time that she had to get to the bus. Her mother tapped her on the shoulder, with a teasing smile. 

“Rory, hun, do you want to tell your paramour that we gotta go?” 

“Sorry, Dean. I really have to leave now. Bye,” She said, feeling grateful for the push, and put the phone down. “I’m ready.” 

“A little brusque,” Lorelai said, handing her her bag, and Rory frowned. 

“ You told me to hang up. Anyway, look at the time. We would have gotten late.” 

“Your boyfriend has a lot to say. Maybe you need the strong, silent type.” 

“Maybe,” Rory said, absentmindedly, making sure that she had everything, and draining her first cup of coffee of the day. “Getting to Luke’s on time would probably be easier.” 

“What’s a guy for if not throwing a wrench in your finely tuned machine?” Lorelai said, and Rory grimaced at the implications of the joke as her mother laughed, pulling the door open. 

When they reached Luke’s they walked in to hear him arguing on the phone. 

“I don’t care, Liz, if he wants to know me or not. At least tell me where he’s staying. Who he’s staying with. Something. He’s my nephew. If he’s staying around here then I gotta know where. You cannot put me down as an emergency contact for the school if I haven’t spoken to him in the last ten years!” He stopped, looking flustered, while he listened to whoever it was on the other side of the phone speak. “You don’t give a damn what he wants! You sent him here, you said he didn’t want that. Why do you care about this? If I know where he lives? Who’s he staying with? Who do you know here, Liz? Come on, at least I can go see the kid once so he doesn’t think I’ve abandoned him or something.” He listened some more, and finally cut her off. “Alright, fine, put me in as an emergency contact. But we’re not done with this.” He slammed the phone and turned to them. “What?” 

“Who was that?” Lorelai asked, interested. “Ex girlfriend?” 

“Dissatisfied customer?” Rory guessed.

“Bank?” 

“Coffee manufacturer?” 

“Okay, okay. Stop. My sister. That was my sister. My nephews come to live around here and, well, it's a long story. I don’t want to get into it. Liz is Liz.”

“You have a sister ?” Lorelai asked. “Who knew you when you were a boy? Before the baseball cap?” 

“Before the flannel?” Rory chimed in.

“Before the grumpiness?” 

“Before the health food?” 

“Is this double act going to be a permanent thing? Because if you’re one act you get one coffee to split.” 

“Dibs!” Lorelai said, quickly. “I get two thirds.” 

“What, why do I only get a third?”

“I’m bigger.”

“I’m growing.”

“I’m the earner.” 

“We should stop.” 

“Yes, please stop. Is everyone trying to give me a headache?” Luke said, irritably, glaring at Lorelai who smiled back. 

“You know what fixes headaches?” Rory asked, grinning. “Coffee. Lots of it. Speaking of-”

“Two cups of coffee, coming up.” 

Chapter Text

“We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down.” 

— Kurt Vonnegut

Rory Gilmore was bound for a B in math. She didn’t know what it was about Chilton. Everytime she thought she was settling down, figuring things out, she was thrown a new curveball. Paris, Tristan and his stupid ‘Mary’, the deer, the test. Right as she had thought things were falling into place, math. It was far from her favourite subject, that was true, but she had never imagined that it would pose an actual difficulty. A road bump in her line of straight A’s. Well, at the moment it was a hypothetical road bump. She still had time to get her grades up, as she kept reminding herself. But it had shaken her enough that she had swallowed her pride and approached her teacher to ask if she could get one of those student tutors. Rory had been selected for the program in History, despite the unfortunate incident with Ms Martin, and English, as a tutor. She hated that she would soon be finding herself on the other side of the desk. 

“Mr Werner?” She said, knocking on the door to his classroom. He waved her in without looking up. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.” 

“Of course, Rory. Chilton is a difficult school. Everyone struggles somewhere. I was speaking to the rest of your teachers, just to get an idea of how you’re doing in the rest of your classes. You are, as I expected, largely getting A’s. Mr Medina, in particular, speaks highly of you. Ms Martin told me you’re a tutor for history.” 

“I am, but I haven’t gotten a student yet.” 

“Ms Gilmore, when a student who is getting B’s and A’s comes to me, asking for a tutor, I assume she’s doing quite well in the rest of her classes to be worried about this. Math scares a lot of people. I think, from looking at your tests, that it is not your work ethic that is the problem. Rather, the concepts seem unfamiliar to you. I believe you are lacking the basis for the mathematics that you are currently learning. Is this true, Ms Gilmore?” 

“Yes,” She said, blushing, slightly. 

“It is nothing to be ashamed of. I am asking you this to decide if the tutor that I have chosen for you is the right choice. Unsurprisingly, he is late, but for once I don’t mind. It's given us a few minutes to talk. Ms Gilmore, I would like to suggest a somewhat unconventional tutoring arrangement.” He paused to look at the door. “Ah, Mr Mariano, thank you for joining us.” Jess nodded at him and looked at Rory, curiously. 

“Is this about the homework assignment? Because we got this new dog, and he’s a real menace. Gets through paper like you wouldn’t believe.” 

“No, Mr Mariano, this is not about your ability to, or, I suppose, disdain for submitting your homework assignments on time. Or at least, not only about that,” He gestured for Jess to come towards them. “Are the two of you introduced?” 

“Yes,” Rory said. 

“Good. Now, Mr Mariano, Rory needs a mathematics tutor. You will be that mathematics tutor,” He opened his mouth to continue, but Jess cut him off. 

“What? I didn’t sign up for that tutoring program. I-”

“Your grandfather called headmaster Charleston up, Mr Mariano, and asked him about extracurricular opportunities for you. The tutoring program was suggested. If you have a problem with this arrangement, I suggest you take it up with your grandfather or the headmaster,” He said. Jess fell silent. “As I thought. “Ms Gilmore, you will help ensure that Mr Mariano turns his assignments in on time. Do not interrupt, Mr Mariano. Rather like a babysitter. This was suggested by Mr Medina and I wholeheartedly agree. Decide on a day and time that works for you both. If you do not start turning your assignments in on time, Mr Mariano, I will call up your grandfather.” 

“This is an intervention,” Jess mumbled, frowning. 

“Is this alright with you, Ms Gilmore?” He asked, turning to look at her. She nodded, hesitantly. 

“Thank you, Mr Werner.” 

“Of course. Decide when you want to start meeting now. Once a week, at least. Preferably twice. You can meet during lunch or after school or if you have the same study block, then. Let me know what you decide. Ms Gilmore, I would like you to keep a log of your meetings,” He paused, and thought for a moment. “I’d advise that the two of you start with Trigonometry.” Rory winced, and nodded. “You may leave.” 

They got up at the same time and filed out, one after the other. 

“If you don’t want to-” 

“It’s fine.” 

“Jess-” 

“Don’t worry, Gilmore. But I am wondering how you’re going to keep track of my assignments if you can’t keep track of your possessions,” He said, his lips twitching. 

“What?” She asked, and he slipped a copy of Howl out of his pocket and handed it to her. “That’s my book.” She took it and looked back at him. “You took my book,” She said, her voice awash in disbelief. 

“I just wanted to put some notes in the margins for you.” She flipped through it, reading the scrawled notes, barely contained in the wide margins. 

“You’ve read this before.” 

“About fifty times.” 

“I thought you said you didn’t read much.” 

“Well, what is much?” He said, and she felt a smile spring to her lips without her volition. There was a peculiar, not entirely unpleasant feeling in her stomach, rising to her chest, as they looked at each other. He was still holding the book. It was small, and their fingers nearly brushed as they both held it from opposite sides. She imagined him moving his hand, just a little, his hand encircling her wrist, feeling her racing pulse. 

Jess let go of the book. She looked down, and slipped it into her pocket. 

“So,” Rory said, closing her eyes, trying to clear her mind. “When do you want to meet? For the tutoring sessions, I mean.” He took his time responding, keeping his eyes on her. 

“Whenever you want. I’m free as a bird, Gilmore.” 

“After school?” She asked. “I can take the later bus back.” He nodded. “Wednesdays?” 

“Yes,” He said. Rory didn’t want to leave quite yet. 

“He said twice, didn’t he? Mr Werner.”

“Right."

"So once more during lunch?” 

“That’s fine, Gilmore,” He said. She turned to leave. 

“See you later,” Rory said. “Dodger.” 

“Dodger,” He said, still rooted to the spot. 

“Figure it out.” 

“Oliver Twist.” She flashed him one last smile before walking away, and he clung on to it, pressing his eyes closed, trying to preserve it. He felt it escape him, the exact image. He had to see it again, he thought. He would get her to smile like that again. 

Rory didn’t stop until she walked into class, joining the last stranglers before the bell because of her conversation with Jess. Only then did she open the book to the front cover and see, written there in black ink, ‘For Rory - With Love and Squalor’. She smiled at the Salinger reference. 

“You owe me a look at a signed Salinger, Jess Mariano,” She murmured under her breath, shutting the book with a smile and that feeling that she would have to grow accustomed to. That feeling in her stomach, rising to her chest. That peculiar but not entirely unwelcome feeling. 

__________________________________

Jess was having dinner with his grandfather and he couldn’t stop thinking about Rory Gilmore. The elder Mariano was a skilled conversationalist, a demanding one. Dinner, he liked to say, was as much a social activity as one centred around food. And yet, he felt himself drifting, thinking about her. It was her eyes that kept coming back to him, first. That clear, cornflower blue. The occasional red tint of her cheeks. Her finely shaped hands. If it had stopped there, it would have been easier to put her out of his mind. But then he would think of the wrinkle in her brow, the wry tilt of her lips - he had seen it only twice, her rarest smile - and the rapid, even cadence of her voice. He imagined showing her the rest of the books in their library and drawing out some new smile. One that he had only glimpsed when he had first spoken to her. Been to struck to pin down. 

“Jess,” His grandfather said. “May I ask what it is that has captured your attention? Or why haven't you objected to me calling your headmaster yet? I’ve been awaiting a good verbal spar all day.” 

“I was thinking.” 

“There is nothing worse than a distracted dinner partner, young man. It ruins the taste of one’s wine.” He plunged his fork into a bite of the steak. Jess watched as he dabbed his lips with the napkin, wiping off the traces of blood. Johnathan Mariano was a vicious old man. Bitter, jaded, superior, a bit of an elitist, and a chronic chainsmoker who listened to nothing but classical records and loved bemoaning the state of modern literature and red wine. He got his suits from Savile Row, as he had since he was a young man, his coffee from Colombia, and his cigarettes from some obscure Japanese brand that he swore by. He was unabashedly pretentious, pessimistic about human nature, highly intelligent, and staring at Jess keenly. 

“Sorry,” Jess said, a little ironically, but without malice. 

“I thought we had finally passed the monosyllable. Or are you upset with me?” 

“No, I was just distracted,” He admitted. He did know how to tell his grandfather that he liked him. That he was glad, despite his initial opposition to the idea, that he had taken him in. There had been traces of bitterness that it had taken him seventeen years to do it, but he believed him when he said that he hadn’t known for those seventeen years that his good for nothing son had given him a grandson while off on his bohemian trip around the world, in his own words.

Jess remembered him showing up in their apartment. He still didn’t know how his grandfather had obtained the address. It had been a low, even for them, but Liz’ most recent boyfriend had been an addict, and had stolen some of her savings before skipping town, or so Jess assumed. His grandfather had walked into that shithole, looking around the room imperiously, but clearly a little shaken, although he had tried to hide it. He had told Jess that he looked nothing like his father, but he bore a striking resemblance to his grandmother. There were several pictures of her around the house, and a few paintings. She was a tall, elegant woman with a mane of dark hair and the profile of a greyhound. And yet, there were clear hints of Jess in her face. They had the same dark eyebrows, and there was a picture of her smiling, mischievously, and he could see his own, rare smile facing him in it. He had her nose, but his eyes were a little lighter. 

“Did they find you an extracurricular?” Johnathan Mariano asked, interrupting Jess’ train of thoughts. 

“I’m going to be a tutor,” He said, looking up at him, trying on a self mocking smile. He half expected his grandfather to laugh, make fun of the proposition of Jess - his layabout grandson who read Bukowski, for Christ’s sake - act as a tutor to another Chilton student. 

“That sounds like a fine idea. A tutor. Yes, I like the idea very much. That headmaster Charleston is a brilliant chap. If a little stuffy.” 

“It was Mr Medina’s idea. My English teacher,” He wondered why he was offering the information. He felt a little overeager. 

“And who is it that you’re tutoring?” His grandfather asked, and Jess paused, battling with himself. He felt an odd reluctance to reveal Rory to anyone. He wanted to keep her to himself. And yet, he wanted to tell someone - anyone, everyone - about her. 

“Rory Gilmore.” 

“Gilmore? I do believe I recognise the name. Her grandfather wouldn’t be Richard Gilmore, would he?” He asked, looking interested. 

“I don’t know.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would have had the chance to talk to her very much yet. Gilmore… I suppose she must be Richard’s granddaughter. Why, I know Richard and Emily’s daughter - I forget her name - had a child when she was quite young with that good for nothing son of Straub’s. Well, she would be Richard’s granddaughter. I’ll ask him about her next time I see him down at the club.” 

Jess listened attentively to his grandfather, trying to look only half interested. The old man noticed that the boy had set down his cutlery and his glass and, despite the fact that he was staring down at the tablecloth, seemed to be giving him his undivided attention. 

__________________________________

It was their first study session, and Rory was late. He tried not to let it bother him, but she was - especially after Medina’s test, he had noticed - chronically on time. Jess’ grandfather had started dropping him off personally after he had accumulated enough tardies for the headmaster to reach out to him himself. It had been an embarrassing yet highly effective tactic. Jess had been able to stand about two days of rolling up to school in that gleaming Rolls Royce. They had made a deal. Jess would start making it to school on time, and he could get there whatever way he wanted. He took the bus, feeling like a prick in his blazer, tie, and Chilton issued socks. He reached on time, but Rory was always there before him, one of the first in class. 

“I thought you were too cool for school, Mariano. And here you are, staying late.” 

“Fuck off, Paris,” Jess said, not looking up from his tattered copy of Slaughterhouse V. He pulled off the cap of his pen with his teeth and underlined a sentence before turning the page, pointedly ignoring her. 

“I should be saying that to you. I booked this classroom.” 

“You booked a classroom? What, does this school have a sign up sheet or something?” 

“We have debate in here,” Paris said, glaring at him. “Leave.” 

“Well, I have a very important meeting here, so I’ll stick around for a bit. Let the sounds of your soothing voice put me to sleep. Like a lullaby,” He said, and she rolled her eyes, setting her bag down. 

“You’re reading Vonnegut, again?” She mocked.

“I have a Marquez in my bag, leave me alone. At least I don’t go home and cry myself to sleep, drawing in my own tears trying to remember all of Shakespeare’s sonnets for Harvard. Or have you moved on to Dickens' major works?” 

“No, you just drown in your wasted potential, engaging in general delinquency. You’re a hooligan, Mariano.” 

“I’m trying to be good, life’s just not letting me,” He protested, sarcastically. She was about to respond when Rory burst in in a flurry of hair and books. 

“Jess, I’m so sorry I’m late. I had a test last period in French and it ran over time and- Paris? What are you doing here?” She asked. 

“This is your very important meeting? Gilmore?” 

“Tutoring session,” Jess said, and saw Rory wince. He wondered why until he saw Paris smirk at her. “I’m glad you’re here, teach,” He said, quickly. “You’re cutting into my precious learning time.”

“You’re tutoring him? In what?” Paris had, with a single minded fervour that was characteristic of her, sussed out Jess’ true potential, and liked to hound him with it. It seemed to be from some misguided place of self loathing that she was trying to drum up competition for herself. He couldn’t tell who was more passionate about the cause that was Jess Mariano. Paris or Mr Medina, although he suspected Medina liked him more. 

“Work ethic, study habits, a pleasant demeanour. I have an ‘attitude problem.’ Mr Werner’s a pain in the ass,” Jess said, quickly improvising. Noting the grateful if somewhat embarrassed look Rory gave him, he suspected Paris was a pain in her ass. Likewise, he thought. Likewise. 

“Well,” She said. “You can’t work here.”

“Great, let's hit the town, Gilmore. We’ll key some cars, hold up some stores at gun points, do a little graffitti. The world is at our fingertips,” He said, waving goodbye at Paris as he led Rory out the door. “See you, Paris.” 

“When you go to prison, think of what you could have been doing instead, you hoodlum,” She yelled after him, and slammed the door in their faces. 

“You know Paris,” Rory said, laughing, as they walked down the corridor. 

“Everyone knows Paris. Paris is the spectre that haunts our school. No, Paris is the fly that has bitten everyone at least once. Paris is the plague that never quite dies down. Paris-”

“Hates us both, I think.” 

“I didn’t think you could get anyone to hate you.”  

“You’d be surprised,” He studied her for a moment. “And thank you.” 

“Don’t worry about it. So, grudges against any teachers in particular? We can key their cars, graffiti their classrooms, and sabotage their perfectly ordered desks.”

“No one I can think of,” Rory said. He opened his mouth, but she continued. “Come on, I know where we can go.” She led him, wordlessly, out the main door and around the building. There was a stone bench, shaded by a tree, nestled in the corner, and half hidden. Rory sat down, gesturing for him to do the same. There was something cautious in her expression, and he felt that she was showing him something sacred. People like them gravitated towards hidden nooks and crannies, bestowed them with importance and burrowed away there, and she was showing him hers. He knew it meant something. 

Jess took a seat beside her, and dropped his bag on the floor. He took off his blazer and loosened his tie. She took out a notebook from her bag and opened to a page that she had marked with a list, neatly penned. Despite its clear organisation, he laughed. 

“You have worse handwriting than me, Gilmore.” 

“You have good handwriting,” She said, defensively. 

“Yours is chicken scratch,” He was grinning, and she relented, smiling a little. 

“This is a list of your homework assignments and deadlines in all the classes we have together. So,” Rory checked them off on her fingers. “English lit, Math, and World History. Fill in whatever’s missing.” She handed the notebook to him and pulled out her math textbook. “What should we start with?” 

“What are you reading?” 

“Jess,” She said. 

“Come on.” 

“The Master and the Margarita, but as far as I know Russian lit is not one of our classes.” 

“You’ve read The Nose, right?” 

“Of course.” 

“Well, Gogol really inspired Bulgakov, right? So, Bulgakov’s wife found out they were discarding Gogol’s headstone and replacing it with a bust. She obtained it and placed it on old Mikhail's grave.”

“You’re joking. Seriously?” 

“Seriously,” He said, suppressing a smile when she leaned forward. He had her. “Fitting, don’t you think? And Gogol and Bulgakov, they were both Ukrainian, right? Both felt somewhat alienated from their national heritage and all that. And Mikhail’s famous words - manuscripts don’t burn - sure, it was about his book, but I like to think he was also thinking of-”

“Dead Souls, Volume Two,” Rory finished. 

“A plus, Ms Gilmore,” Jess complimented. “Very well done.” 

“Huh, and A plus. Let's work towards that for both of us.” She pointed to her notebook. “Write. You’re not getting out of this that easily, Jess. And I do need your help in math and- what are you doing? Challenging me to a game of poker?” He had fished out a pack of cards from his back pocket and, with exaggerated flair, had begun moving them around. He fanned them out and offered them to her. She gave him a long suffering look, her big, bright blue fixed on his face. “Jess,” She said. 

“Pick a card.”

“Write.” 

“One card,” He insisted, and Rory considered this. 

“One card, and you get to work?” She asked, unsure about why exactly she was bargaining with him. “You promise.” 

“Pinky swear,” He said. “I would offer you my pinky, but my hands are otherwise engaged.” She relented, and selected a card from the deck. It was the Queen of Hearts. “Now put it back,” Jess instructed. “But don’t show it to me.” 

She replaced it, and he started flipping the cards around, quicker and quicker, until they were a blur. She’d given up on following her card a few seconds in, and she resigned herself to watching the quick movements of his dexterous fingers and the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrated on the trick. Finally, he showed her a card. It was the Queen of Spades. 

“Is this your card?” She shook her head, somehow surprised. “I thought not.” He pointed to the pocket of her blazer. Narrowing her eyes, she reached inside, and pulled out the Queen of Hearts. “Huh,” He said. “Would you look at that?” 

“How did you do that?” Rory demanded, peering at the card, as if close observation of the thing itself would reveal everything to her. He shrugged, innocently, taking the card back from her. “You’re a regular boy Kavalier.” 

“Ah, I’m disappointed. Joe Kavalier was an escapist.” 

“I’m the one who should be disappointed. When he was younger, he was practising to be a magician with card tricks and coin tricks. And I was so sure you were a Chabon fan, too.” 

“I am,” He said, defensively. She smiled, feeling an odd satisfaction that, for once, she was the one getting under his skin. 

“I don’t know, I was never a big fan and I remember that he was training to be a regular magician when he was younger,” Rory said, teasingly. “It’s a pretty hard thing to forget,” She nudged him. 

“I was distracted,” He looked at her, intently. She stopped speaking, unsure of how to respond. “All of these homework assignments waiting for me, it's exciting,” He said, raising his brows. 

“Oh, I’m sure. You’re just tickled pink at the prospect.” 

“You know me,” He pulled out a cigarette, and once again Rory admired his long, fine fingers. “Do you mind?” 

She ignored the cigarette and pointed to her notebook, again, and Jess took up a pen obediently. He lit the cig, holding it in his left hand and the pen in his right. She watched him take a drag, and slowly exhale, angling the smoke away from her face. He set the pen down for a minute and rolled up his sleeves, exposing his forearms. She tried to ignore him, the weight of his presence. 

Rory started on her math homework, pulling out another biro from her bag and uncapping it. She did it the same way as him, pulling the cap off with her teeth, setting pen to paper. As they worked, he sneaked the occasional look at her. She was biting her lower lip, her forehead creasing, and letting out the occasional frustrated exhale. When she was trying to think, she would tap the pen against her forehead, and a couple of times, she accidentally did it with the uncapped side, leaving a few inky black marks. He tried to refocus on his work, every now and then, finally finishing the list and moving on to the assignments themselves. 

Eventually, he grew immersed enough into the essay he was writing that he forgot to look at Rory, and when he finished a particularly good paragraph, and, like clockwork, glanced at her, she was watching him. Their eyes met, and she quickly looked back down, but he left his eyes on her for a few more seconds. She could feel them, his dark eyes, fixed on her, unmoving.

Chapter Text

“We liked the same music, we liked the same bands

We liked the same clothes

Yeah, we told each other that we were the wildest

The wildest things we'd ever seen

Now I wished you would have told me

I wished I could have talked to you

Just to say goodbye, Bobby Jean”

— Bobby Jean, Bruce Springsteen

Tristan was bothering Rory again, cracking some stupid one liner about reading, making a pitiable but valiant attempt at flirting. If Jess hadn’t noticed how irritated she looked, he would have had to laugh at how neatly she dealt with him and his prying questions. 

“Jess,” She said, noticing him, and transmitting what seemed to be a plea for help. He obliged, walking towards them.  

“I always knew Mariano was a cheapskate, but I never thought he’d sink so low. You make her buy the tickets for you? Chivalry really is dead.” 

“You got it all, none left for us common folk. Why don’t you go find someone else to beg for a date, Tristan, so you can show off your chivalry and actually have someone to buy a ticket for,” Jess said, sharply. 

“Oh, are you and Mary a thing now? You’re going to sit together and read to each other?” 

“I have a boyfriend,” Rory said, glaring at him. “Not that it's any of your business.” He didn’t seem to be getting the hint. 

“Changed your hair?” Jess asked her, trying to ignore Tristan. She shook her head, a little self consciously. “Looks different.” 

“Bad different?” She asked. 

“No, just… different,” He said, and considered reaching out and touching it, tucking those loose strands that had fallen out of her hair tie behind her ear. 

“You two are adorable , you know that,” Tristan said, trying for a mocking smile. Jess hated the guy. He was everything that he despised about Chilton and its students. Smarmy, self satisfied, superior, and equipped with a trust fund to make him seem interesting. Neither replied, and he finally left, winking at Rory. She glared at his back muttering under her breath. 

“Mary McCarthy, huh?” He said, turning the front cover of her novel to face him. “I’m not surprised.” 

“No?” 

“No. I have a theory that she was named for success.” 

“Well, lay it on me.” 

“Mary, like Mary Shelley, right? And McCarthy, like Cormac McCarthy, right? How could anything go wrong?” Jess delivered this with a straight face, and Rory looked at him, seemingly uncertain about whether to believe in his sincerity. “Then again, it could have been McCarthy, like Joseph McCarthy. And… think of any unpleasant Mary’s?” 

“You can’t possibly be serious,” She said, and he moved his face a little closer to hers and inspected it. 

“Well, you want to laugh now, don’t you? And a few minutes ago you wanted to bash Tristan’s head in with the book.” 

“Oh, I still want to do that. Preferably against the lockers.” 

“Geez, Gilmore. Who knew you had all of this violence pent up inside of you? Just be glad he didn’t see the author’s name. Mary reading a Mary? It would have been the funniest thing he thought of in the last few years.” 

“I thought the bets were still out about whether he was literate,” She said, scowling again, but without any true ire. Jess’, admittedly absurd, joke had worked. 

“Hey, Punch and Judy, if you two are done, are either of you buying tickets?” Paris snapped. Somehow, they had reached the front of the line. 

“Ah, Paris, city of lights, brightening up my day, as always,” Jess said. Rory laughed, shaking her head. 

“You’re on a roll today, aren’t you?” 

“ Tickets .” 

“Two, please,” She said, with mock politeness. Rolling her eyes, Paris handed her two tickets and took her money. A brief argument ensued, but Jess was distracted, thinking about the two tickets in her hand, imagining her giving them to her boyfriend, coming together. “Jess?” Rory asked, finally. “Do you want any tickets?” He almost said no, instinctively, but before he could, she continued. “Come, it’ll be fun.” 

“Oh, please. He’d much rather stay home reading Bukowski whine about how he’s so alone and depressed and old. Is it that you see your future in him?” Paris said. He bought a ticket, but it wasn’t because of her jabs. Jess heard, in Rory’s casual urging, a more serious plea. Gilmore wasn’t stupid. She as much as him could predict how Tristan would act on seeing her with her boyfriend, whoever he was. And Jess was curious too. He wanted to see who it was that had won Rory’s heart. 

“One,” He said, and scrounged in his pockets for cash. Paris did not have the baffled expression that he had been anticipating, and looking forward to. Rather, she had the expression that she got when she answered a particularly difficult question correctly. Victory, and a sly knowing. Jess took the ticket from her and handed over the money, wordlessly. If worse came to worse, he could always leave. Walk around, stare at his shoes, look at the scenery. They walked away together, and Jess could almost feel Rory thinking, trying to decide what to say. 

“Thank you,” She said, finally. “For agreeing to come, I mean.” He looks at her, sees the conflicting emotions in her face. Wonders if he can push her. 

“What makes you think I did it for you?” He asked, with a small smile. She looked a little flustered, wrapped her arms around herself. 

“I don’t think you did it for me. But I am glad you’re coming. When I said thank you, I meant, you know, I meant, I’m glad you’re coming. Not you’re coming for me and thank you for that. No, I meant-”

“Rory, relax,” He said, finally, putting her out of her suffering, his smile growing. “I’ll see you there.” She nodded, looking away from him, at her feet. They had reached her locker, and she started opening it. He had followed her, without thinking, as they had been talking, and he wondered when that had become normal for them. If they had become friends, if she thought of him as a friend. It was somewhat embarrassing, the childlike nervousness he felt around her, although he hid it well. 

“Woolf, PJ Harvey, Plath, Joyce, Patti Smith, Dickinson, The Ramones… you’re in good company,” He said, looking at the inside of Rory’s locker. “You like Patti Smith?” 

“Of course,” She said, depositing her books and slamming it shut. “ Et tu? ” She asked, pulling out her French notebook. 

“Good music, sure. But her books, I love her books. She knew everyone. She basically stalked everyone in the scene to know them, but she knew them all. And she’s good. She writes well. You’d like them.” 

“You still have to lend me The Uncensored Oral History of Punk ,” Rory reminded him, leaning against her locker. “Bear in mind, you’ve built it up a lot in my mind.” 

“Ah, Please Kill Me . Trust me with that one,” He said, and pulled the aforementioned book out of his bag. It was one of the most beaten up books he owned. The front cover was ripped, the spine cracked, and the pages thick with folds and pen marks. Jess handed her the book, and she accepted it, turning it over to glance at the blurb, and putting it in her bag. 

“And I have something for you,” She told him, and handed him a CD that she had pulled out of her locker. “The new XTC album.”

“Wasp Star (Apple Venus Volume 2),” He read out loud.

“I think you’ll like it.” 

“We’ll see if any song on here can top Then She Appeared,” Jess said, casually, as if he hadn’t listened to that song two dozen times since meeting her, since speaking to her for the first time, and thought of her every goddamn time.  

__________________________________

The next time Rory opened her locker, she found a CD with a familiar album cover lying inside. It was signed with a thick, black marker. She stared at it, only half believing that it was really there. She took it out and pulled off the note stuck to it, opening it. She recognised the handwriting instantly. 

Rory, 

As you can probably tell, this is PJ Harvey’s latest album. It’s her best yet. I thought you’d like it. See you at the dance. 

She reread it, and tucked it into her pocket. 

__________________________________

Jess was standing there, feeling like an idiot. He couldn’t quite remember why he’d agreed to come to the dance. Rory was with her boyfriend. They had yet to be introduced. It would have been best if he’d stuck to his original plan and ditched the moment things started to go downhill - he placed that to be somewhere around the time she walked in with her boyfriend and he saw him put his arms around her - but he couldn’t quite tear himself away. Jess was pretty confident that she was avoiding him, and that it was because of the boyfriend. He walked up to them, determinedly. Rory noticed him as he approached. 

“Jess,” She said, and he noticed that every time she said his name it was with a small exhale, and that her eyes would widen, slightly, and the blue would overpower him. The boyfriend looked at her, and him, curiously. 

“Rory?” 

“Dean, this is Jess. Jess, Dean.”

“The boyfriend?” He asked, looking Dean over. The first thing he had noticed when they’d walked in was his towering height which felt even more pronounced when he was standing right in front of him. 

“Of course,” Rory looked a little uncomfortable, or unsure about how to proceed, really. “Dean, could you get me a drink?” She said, suddenly, and her boyfriend looked surprised and shot Jess a wary look but, Jess surmised, couldn’t exactly say no. He obliged. 

“He’s very tall,” He said, as they watched him cross the room, together. She gave him a wry look, and laughed. 

“You’re surprisingly cheerful. I saw you standing alone, in the corner, brooding,” She teased, all the anxiety that she had seemingly been feeling released as Dean walked away. “Very Holden Caulfield. Screw the phonies and all that.” 

“Chilton always reminded me of Pencey,” He observed. “You saw me?” 

“What?” 

“I thought you hadn’t seen me. You didn’t come over and introduce us.” 

“I didn’t know you wanted to be introduced. Anyway, you didn’t come over either.” 

“I got the sense that you’d prefer if I didn’t.”

“But you came anyway?” 

“So I was right?” 

“No,” She said, quickly. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe you didn’t want me to meet your boyfriend,” He said. “You tell me, Gilmore.” 

“Jess, I…” She trailed off. He suspected that she didn’t know what to say herself. 

“You look nice,” He said, quietly. 

“So do you,” Rory said, and she meant it. When she had first seen him, she had forgotten about her boyfriend next to her and the room full of people she didn’t like and the terrible music they were playing. She had been able to think of nothing but Jess, standing there in a dark suit. She had imagined him showing up in a t-shirt in jeans, but she had to admit, he cleaned up nice. She’d had to stop staring, eventually, lest someone notice, but then and there she had known that she couldn’t approach him. Felt certain that if she spoke to him in front of her boyfriend everything would come out and everything that she had tried so hard to preserve would fall apart. “Dean’s taking a very long time with the drink,” She said, finally, looking in the direction of the drink’s counter. He was still occupied, but not with obtaining a drink. Tristan was talking to him, and he was getting visibly irritated. Rory walked towards them, quickly, and Jess followed her. 

“Dean, stop,” She said, loudly, and her boyfriend who looked like he was about to start throwing punches stopped.

“What, she talks and you stop, just like that?” Tristan mocked, and Dean snapped back. Rory looked increasingly distressed and tried interjecting a few more times but - in Jess’ opinion, rather ironically - neither boy paid attention to her. She finally shook her head, frustrated, and left, their voices rising to a fever pitch behind her. Dean didn’t follow her, hardly seemed to notice that she was gone, so Jess went after her, out the door, finding her outside, in the corridor, sitting down on the floor. 

“Rory,” He said, quietly. She was half cast in shadow, a sliver of her face illuminated by the light, and a few tears were made visible. After a brief moment’s deliberation, he sat down next to her. “Dean’s a jerk. Getting into a fight like that… He’s a jerk.” 

“No, Tristan started it. He was just, I don’t even know. I don’t really care, actually, who started it. I wish we could have just left,” She said, her voice shaky. Hesitantly, he put an arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him. They both felt how tenuous the moment was, how easily it could be ripped apart if anything happened, if anyone came to find them there. It felt like they were holding something delicate and precious together. Something easily breakable. 

“You want to leave?” He asked.

“I do, but I don’t want to go back in there, and we came in Dean’s car. I just want to get out of here. This stupid school.” Jess stood up, and offered her his hand. 

“Come on. If you want to go, we’ll go.” There were several questions that she could have asked him, probably should have asked him, but she couldn’t particularly bring herself to care about them. She took his hand, felt his warm, solid grip, and stood. 

“Alright. Let's go.” They walked out the door together. He led her out, her hand still in his. They left the school building behind and exited the campus. Right about then, she wanted to ask what they were going to do, where they were going, how they were going to get away from the school, when Jess stopped in front of a car.

“Is this yours ?” She asked, quietly. Rory’s interest in cars was little to none. Her knowledge was even less. But she had to admit, it was a beautiful vehicle.

“My grandfather’s, so don’t get too excited. I’m only borrowing. He lent it to me for the night with the sage advice that if I hurt it in any way, he’d do the same to me. The car made up for the grand disappointment that was his son, I suppose. It’s a 1969 Corvette Stingray,” He said, waiting to see if she noticed. Her face lit up. 

“Like Joan Didion,” She said excitedly. “In the photograph. I knew it looked familiar” 

“Exactly like her. The old man’s a big fan. He had a bit of a crush back in the day, but he’d never admit it.” Rory opened the door, gingerly, and something in Jess’ throat constricted at the sight of the care with which she navigated the vehicle - the thing that had sparked the first real conversation between him and his grandfather - and the knowledge that she was thinking of Didion, leaning against the car, or sitting inside, looking out, wielding a cigarette. 

He got in, plans for their first destination already forming. Rory had commandeered the CDs he kept in his glove compartment, flipping through them. She grinned wider than she had all night when she saw Vespertine, but finally settled on Springsteen. He saw her relax as the first notes of Born in the U.S.A. came on, leaning back in the seat. 

“I never took you for a Springsteen girl,” He said. 

“I never took you for a Springsteen guy but it's one of three CDs in the car.” 

“As I said, I’m borrowing the car, but I am. And good choice,” He complimented. 

“So, where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” 

“My mother always told me not to follow strange guys into cars.”

“Ah, but what if they have a Springsteen album waiting?” He asked, and she laughed, feeling lighter as the pounding beats of the song vibrated in the car. With a glance at her, Jess turned up the volume. It was them, the music, and their thoughts, and their thoughts were about little more than each other. He had on that smile that always made Rory feel a little burst of victory when she drew out. His eyes were a little wild, and he kept looking at her. 

They eventually pulled into one of those 24 hour convenience stores, the sign lit up with neon lights. He told her to wait, and went inside, coming out after a few minutes. He was without even a bag, holding a small object, impossible to make out in the dark, half covered by his hands. He didn’t enter the car, but leaned into Rory’s side from the outside and showed her what he’d gotten. 

“A camera?” She asked, surprised. It was one of those cheap ones that spit out the pictures immediately. 

“Didion’s not the only one with cigarettes, a stingray, and a camera, now is she?” He said, pulling a pack out of his back pocket. “You don’t have to smoke it, but I think it helps the effect.” She took it, feeling a little embarrassed. 

“Jess, this is-”

“I know it seems stupid, and we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, but I think it’ll make you feel better.” 

“Jess,” She said, again. “This is sweet. That’s what I was going to say.” If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was blushing, or squirming, or doing something similarly entirely uncharacteristic of him. 

“So, do you want to start?” He asked, a little awkwardly, lifting the camera. She nodded, and, self consciously, posed, doing her best impression of Didion. She looked at him, cigarette in hand, fixing her eyes on his, and neither of them were really paying attention when he took the picture. They were a little too busy looking at each other. 

Chapter Text

IV | Beautiful Feeling

“He is still a boy

Two ends to every rainbow

And a train from Mexico

And he's the best thing

He's the best thing

He's the best thing

A beautiful feeling

And when I watch you move

And I can't think straight

And I am silenced

And I can't think straight”

— Beautiful Feeling by PJ Harvey

He drove her home, eventually. It took a few hours for her to realise that there were probably people looking for her, that it was not ordinary for her to disappear without notice. That Dean or her mother would be worried. She had been reluctant to let Jess drop her off to the door, but she couldn’t imagine a half plausible lie. He left, pulling out of their driveway, and she took a few breaths to steady herself and brace herself for the storm awaiting her inside. She unlocked the door and walked in, shutting it quietly.

“Rory.” 

“Mom, I can explain-”

“Rory, it's one am. I’ve been so worried. I called Dean, and he said that you left yourself, and so I chewed him out for a bit-”

“It wasn’t really his fault. I just-”

“And I’ve been going crazy trying to reach you. I tried paging you, but you didn’t pick up. I called Lane, I called… I think I might have called the whole town. In another half hour, we were going to start conducting a search party. In another half hour after that I would have tried calling the police and they would have ignored me because I would have sounded like a crazy lady because kids cut curfew all the time but you don’t, Rory,” Lorelai stopped speaking all of a sudden. “I was so worried, kiddo. You have no idea how worried I was. What happened?” 

“She’s back? Rory, you’re back. Was it that boy? I didn’t like him. Did he try anything, young lady? If he tried anything, I want you to tell me right now,” Emily Gilmore instructed. 

“And who was that who drove you home if it wasn’t Dean?” Her mother asked. 

“And what on earth have you been up to?”

“And-” 

“Mom! Grandma! Can I just explain?”

“Please,” Lorelai said. 

“We were at the dance, Dean and I, and he didn’t try anything, grandma, and he and Tristan got into a fight,” Rory said, slowly. “Tristan is a guy at my school,” She explained to Emily. “He’s, he’s a jerk. He was just trying to get under Dean’s skin, and I guess it worked, because they started arguing and they wouldn’t stop. I hated it. I had to get out of there.” 

“Oh, hun, are you okay?” Lorelai asked, her tense, worried anger quickly pivoting to concern.

“I’m fine, I just had to get out. So I went out to the corridor and Jess came after me.” 

“Jess?” Emily said. “Who is he?” She asked Lorelai. Rory’s mother raised her eyebrows at her daughter. 

“He’s-” There was no word, she realised, that could easily explain away whatever Jess was to her. “He’s a friend. A Chilton friend.” 

“Jess, is it?” Emily asked, clearly fishing. 

“ Mom ,” Lorelai protested. 

“Jess Mariano,” She said, holding her grandmother’s gaze. 

“Mariano, well, he must be Johnathan Mariano’s grandson. I heard that he moved in with him recently. Only a few months ago. That’s a fine family, Rory, the Mariano’s. There was a bit of a scandal surrounding the son, though, Jonathan’s son. Got some girl pregnant and then left, without a word. Jonathan only found out recently and, naturally, quickly took the boy in. He was living in pretty poor conditions, apparently. I never liked the son. A layabout if I’ve ever seen one.” 

“That’s his grandfather. Right.” Lorelai was looking at Rory curiously. 

“A friend, huh?” She said. “You’ve never mentioned him before.” 

“Well, it's a pretty recent development,” She avoided her mother’s gaze. 

“The Mariano’s are a fine family, Rory, but I don’t know how I feel about you hanging around that boy. He’s had a bad childhood from what I’ve heard. You don’t need to be exposed to that.” 

“He’s my friend, grandma,” She said, heatedly. “I’m not going to abandon him just because he’s had a bad childhood.” 

“Keep talking, kiddo,” Lorelai said. Suddenly, Rory felt reluctant to tell them about all that had happened. And nothing really had happened, really, but it felt to her like one of the most quietly momentous nights of her life. She remembered the kindness that he’d shown her. She doubted it was the first word that came to anyones mind when they thought of Jess, but it was true. He was nice to her, nicer to her than he was to anyone else. 

“He took me to a diner close by. I guess we just lost track of time. I was hungry and exhausted,” Rory trailed off, a little ashamed by how flimsy her excuse was. It wasn’t far from the truth, but she didn’t want to tell her mother about the photographs in her bag or the car or driving around, listening to Sprinsteen and The Clash and PJ Harvey. She didn’t know where the time had gone, really. 

“Well, Rory, that’s just unacceptable,” Emily said, just as Lorelai had started nodding in understanding. 

“What?”

“You cannot just ‘go to a diner close by.’ We were worried sick. Your mother must have paged you a dozen times.”

“It died, grandma,” She said, and Emily was about to continue when Lorelai stopped her. 

“Hey, mom, I’ll have a word with her. It’s late, why don’t you call it a night. I’ll figure something out with Rory,” Emily, reluctantly, agreed, giving her granddaughter one last frown before heading upstairs. 

“Rory, are you really okay? With Tristan and Dean?” She said. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Did Tristan say anything about you?” 

“Just the usual stuff,” Rory felt that familiar twinge of irritation that emerged whenever he came up. 

“Nice of Dean to stick up for you,” Lorelai said, nudging her. “Chivalry and all that.” 

“I didn’t ask him too,” She answered, quietly, staring at her feet. “I would have rather we’d just left.” 

“Oh, Rory, I’m sure it came from a good place.” 

“I’m really tired, I think I’ll go to bed.” 

“Hey, wait a second, I didn’t press you about this Jess thing while grandma was here but I still need to know. Who’s this guy that you seemingly know well enough to spend four hours at a diner with, all alone, who comforts you when you’re feeling sad, but hasn’t gotten a passing mention?” 

“He’s a friend, mom. A Chilton friend.” 

“A friend-friend or a Paris kind of friend?”

“Paris is not any kind of friend. No, he’s… he’s a friend-friend, I guess.” It was, technically, true, but it felt untruthful to cause Jess a friend. He felt like something else. He was something else to her. She’d never before had a friend before who could be pretty reliably pinpointed as the source of the peculiar tug in her stomach that she felt every time she saw him. It wasn’t just that he was attractive, that she always felt aware of him, physically, because he was pretty objectively attractive. God , she thought, I have a boyfriend. A perfectly nice, perfectly handsome boyfriend with the best of intentions. 

“So why no mention?” 

“It’s relatively new. I’m tutoring him a couple times a week, that's how we started talking.” 

“Hold on, your Chilton friend Jess is who you’re staying back to tutor every Wednesday? You never even mentioned his name. And that's not that new, hun. You’ve been tutoring him for, what, almost a month now?” 

“Don't say it like that.”

“Say what how?” 

“‘Your Chilton friend Jess.’ You say it like you think I’m lying.” 

“I’m just trying to catch up, babe. Because, last I remember, you have this boyfriend, about yea high, pretty hard to miss, and you went to the dance with him and you’re back and I don’t see him. You came home with this other guy. Jess. That does not seem to me like normal Rory behaviour.” 

“Well, maybe you don’t know everything that's normal for me,” She said, and Lorelai raised her eyebrows, putting her hands up. 

“Hey, kiddo, I’m not trying to fight.”

“Then what are you trying to do, mom?” 

“I’m trying to figure out what’s going on with you and this guy,” Lorelai said, a little ironically. 

“There’s nothing going on. I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal out of this. I came home late and I apologised. I even explained why. And, what? You’re upset that I have a good friend who drove me home?” Rory demanded, and her mother didn’t answer. “I’m going to my room. I’m really tired,” She left, without waiting for an answer, slamming the door shut behind her. She lay down on her bed, still swathed in the layers of fabric of her dress. She took the photographs out of her bag. There were two of her, posed like Joan Didion, leaning out of the car. There was another one, of Jess, that she had taken without him noticing until the flash went off. They were all grainy, the quality abysmal because of the cheap camera and the darkness. But the end of Jess’ lit cigarette was bright and his crooked smile was visible. He was in motion, and a little blurry because of it, nodding his head to the music. His forearms were bare, hands on the wheel, and if she looked closely she could make out the corded muscle and veins. 

__________________________________

Rory and Dean made up the next day. He called her thrice and she picked up on the third call, on the last ring, before she could change her mind. She had known it was him, of course, as she sat on the sofa, reading Please Kill Me: An Oral History of Punk , watching the telephone ring itself out in exhaustion. On the first call she had suspected, on the second she had guessed, on the third she had known. It had been an awkward forgiveness, because Dean didn’t really apologise. He’d asked her how she’d gotten home and, instinctively, she’d lied, giving a false name of some close Chilton acquaintance who had just happened to see her in the hallway. He had believed her, because he didn’t really think she would lie to him. He didn’t want to think that she could. 

The weekend had passed with an awkward, tense silence between Lorelai and Rory, punctuated with the most perfunctory of exchanges. She was avoiding both her mother and her boyfriend, so she spent most of her time with Lane, or studying, or reading. She hated fighting with her mother, she always had, but she didn’t want to give in. She couldn’t. Not about this. 

Chapter Text

“There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison” 

– Persuasion by Jane Austen

“I can’t believe you don’t like Hemingway,” He protested. 

“Really? God, come on, he’s so dry . An adjective once in a while didn’t kill anyone,” Rory said, depositing her books in her locker. 

“Hemingway had clarity that no one else did. He was completely revolutionary. He called it like it was, and inspired half the writers you love while he was at it,” Jess rebutted, defensively. 

“He puts me to sleep,” She retorted. “And don’t pretend like you don’t have your own tastes that oppose the cannon. Forster, Waugh, Sterne…” 

“No one actually likes Lawrence Sterne and no one has actually finished Tristram Shandy.” He loosened his tie, glancing at Rory as she laughed. She had been awkward with him the day after the dance and it had taken them a little time to sink back into a casual rhythm. But he got the message loud and clear from her silence - whatever had happened, it was better ignored. Well, fine. If she wanted to be friends, they would be friends, but Jess could still fantasise about socking her asshole of a boyfriend in the jaw and enjoy it. 

“I finished it,” She said. 

“Now that’s just a dirty lie, Gilmore. No one has finished that book. It’s impossible.”

“Did you try it?” 

“Thrice.” 

“A surprising amount of commitment,” Rory said, raising her eyebrows and cocking her head. Jess, she knew, had the conviction to do without a second thought what she could never do - leave a book unfinished if he wasn’t enjoying it. 

“Hey, I paid full price for it. Eighteen whole dollars. What a waste,” He shook his head. 

“Who else do you dislike? I’m curious. I mean, I have my guesses, but you have surprised me.”

“I can’t believe you thought I didn’t like Jane Austen. That hurt, Gilmore. That really hurt. It’s such a Paris-like assumption to make.” 

“Now you’re just being mean,” She said, grinning. “Come on, Jess. Answer the question.” 

“Fine,” He said, his eyes lighting up. 

“Oh, you’re going to say something awful aren’t you,” Rory groaned. “I should plug my ears now. Where’s wax when you need it? I should have known to protect myself from these cruel siren’s temptations,” She said, dramatically.  

“Hey, you asked for it,” Jess began listing off names, counting them off. “I hated Lord of the Flies for one, and I just can’t get into William Carlos Williams. It's like he’s trying to nail Hemingwy’s succinctness and the Beat’s simplicity but just can’t. Sartre irritates me, and relax, Gilmore,” He said, anticipating her question. “I like de Beauvoir.” 

“That’s not so bad,” She said, cautiously. 

“Ah, I’m starting off slow. I hate Ezra Pound,” He said, and she stopped. 

“ Jess ,” She complained. “You can’t be serious.” 

“I can’t get into his poetry.” 

“But Pound and Hemingway were great friends and Pound helped him, Eliot, Hilda Doolittle, Joyce, and, well, basically everybody.” 

“So, he’s best remembered for knowing great writers, not being a great writer, that doesn’t speak very highly of him,” He said, enjoying winding her up. 

“What about Alba?” Rory demanded. “ As cool as the pale wet leaves of lily-of-the-valley she lay beside me in the dawn,” She quoted. “How can you not love that? It’s so beautiful.” 

“It sounds dirty,” Jess said, and she glared at him. He didn’t want to admit it, but he sort of did love it when she said it in that particular, mellifluous voice she reserved for reading poetry out loud. “Hey, did you know when there’s repeated ‘l’ sounds it's called labial?” 

“You’re awful. Who else?” 

“Ayn Rand. She’s a political nut.” 

“Yeah, but no one could write a four page monologue like she could.” 

“You’re joking. She’s insane - and not a great writer either. You need some Doris Lessing, Gilmore, if you think that that's a great political novel, or if you think that it has great monologues. I’m lending you my copy of The Golden Notebook. ” 

“Come on, have you read The Fountainhead ? I don’t like her politics but, I don’t know, it's interesting.” 

“I never finished it.”

“Now that I can’t believe. It’s a classic.”

“It's the rantings of a nutjob.” 

“She could write better than Hemingway,” Rory said, mischievously. Now she was winding him up. He looked at her, eyes wide with disbelief. 

“Read A Moveable Feast , it’ll change your mind.” 

“Two hundred pages of Hemingway boozing around Paris? What about that is going to convince me?” She asked. He moved closer to her, absentmindedly, to make way as they walked through the hall. Rory turned to face him and her next words caught in the back of her throat as she became aware of their proximity. A few steps closer and her lips would have been on his neck. He could smell whatever perfume she was wearing; it was a heady, mind altering scent. A little floral, surprisingly musky. It hit him like a load of bricks. It suited her. They were both silent for a few minutes, trying to calm their racing hearts, looking anywhere but at each other. 

Rory had tried to keep a little distance between them since the dance. The friendly intimacy they had fallen into - arms brushing, faces a little too close when they were studying or reading together - was shattered, but Jess knew better than to ask about it. He wanted to, but what was the point, he wondered. She had clearly made her decision. She wasn’t stupid, and neither was he. 

“Boozing,” Jess said, suddenly his voice a little hoarse, “with Fitzgerald and Pound and Eliot and Stein. Trust me on this one.” 

“Fine, then you have to finish The Fountainhead .” 

“Deal,” He continued, casually. “And you have to read The Golden Notebook , which I can’t believe you haven’t already read.” 

“Hey, I was busy with Simone de Beauvoir,” She protested. “I couldn’t read every feminist polemic of the twentieth century. I had to prioritise. Anyway, that’s two for me and one for you. No fair. I get one more favour from you.” 

“I’m at your command, Gilmore,” He says, quietly. He can’t help it, he smiles that crooked little grin that she’s only seen once or twice - that’s almost impossible to get out of him - that makes him look like he’s suppressing a deeper sense of amusement. And there's a good reason, this time. She’s blushing beet red. 

“Fine,” She says, determined not to let him beat her. “Get an A in Mr Martin’s class this semester.” 

“That is so out of proportion.” 

Rory stopped in the middle of the hallways and looked at him, seriously. She studied him as if trying to figure out some particularly difficult problem she couldn’t solve, and when he stepped back and ducked his face, dropping his gaze to the floor, her expression softened. 

“Jess, I don’t get it.”

“You’re going to be late for class.” 

“Since when do you care about being late for class?” She asked, raising her eyebrows. 

“What can I say, Gilmore, you’ve inspired me. Anyway, I’m worried about you. I don’t think you’d get over the shock if you got a tardy. And imagine, Paris would never let you forget it.” 

“Don’t change the subject.”

“What subject?” 

“What is it? Why don’t you try? I mean, you’re smarter than just about everyone here, you read everything, you remember everything. You could be acing all of your classes. I’ve read your essays-”

“How did you get my essays?” He asked, just to cut her off. 

“You think you’re the only one who knows how to filch? You take my books and I’ve sneaked a couple of essays out of your bag,” She said, casually, and he looked at her with disbelief and a small smile. God, would she ever stop surprising him? 

“I never took you for a thief, Gilmore.” 

“As you say, it's only borrowing,” He opened his mouth again, but she didn’t let him speak. “Would you be quiet for a minute? Listen, I’ve read them, and they’re fantastic. You’re a great writer. You don’t overwrite but you’re not Hemingway either-”

“Ouch.” 

“You could get whatever grades you wanted. You could get into any college you wanted. I mean, you know your facts forwards and backwards and you can spin a convincing story-”

“Gilmore.” 

“You can write fantastic analyses. I mean, I’ve read Persuasion a thousand times and you had insights that I’ve never thought of-”

“ Gilmore .” 

“I just don’t understand why you don’t try, Jess. You could do anything you wanted, you could be anything you wanted-”

“Rory,” He said, sharply, and she stopped immediately. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d used her first name. It had the intended effect. “Please, just… don’t. College, acing classes, getting teachers to love you, that’s for you. It’s not for me.” 

“Why not?” She demanded. “Why couldn’t you do all of that?”

“Ask my mom,” He said. “Or my old principal and teachers. Or half the teachers here. Or Charleston, who only took me because my grandfather spoke to him and he owed him a favour or something. Wait a few months and then ask my grandfather. Wait a few more and,” His voice almost caught. Almost. “And then ask yourself. Believe me, I’ll have fucked things up somehow.” 

“I don’t believe that. And you can’t believe that. Whatever they think about you or thought about you, they’re wrong. I know how smart you are. You can’t just waste it.” 

Jess looked at her intently, as if deliberating a somewhat ill advised decision. 

“Fine, Gilmore. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll get an A in Mr Martin’s class. But you owe me a favour.” 

“Seriously?” She asked, grinning. “I knew it, I knew you’d come around.” 

“Hold on, Zooey. I heard your speech, but don’t think I’ve completely resigned myself. Remember, there’s a condition.” 

“Alright, what’s the condition?” 

“That’s part of the deal. You don’t get to know what it is until it's time. It could be anything,” He said, and Rory considered this. 

“Within the bounds of reason,” She clarified. 

“Sure, within the bounds of reason.” 

“Okay, deal. You’ll try in class and get an A, and if you get an A, I owe you a favour.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get an A.” 

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“How could I not be, Gilmore? You’re a bountiful fountain of faith in me,” He teased. 

__________________________________

Jess was smoking, alone, sitting behind the school. He had last period free and Rory had in a few words told him to fuck off so she could finish her homework, although she’d been a little more polite about it. Glancing around, he took out a photograph from his pocket. It was one from the night of the dance, of Rory. He had claimed it was blurry and shoved it somewhere in his car. It was, in fact, blurry. She was laughing, and, he remembered, he had been laughing too, and his hands had shaken. 

She looked beautiful. Her hair was a bit of a mess, her eyes were bright, and her cheeks flushed. It was that grin, though. Fuck . Every time he looked at that picture it hit him anew. He couldn’t, Jess realised, just lie down and roll over. He couldn’t just be her friend. And he didn’t know if that meant he owed it to her to be nothing to her, or to try and be something more. 

He was distracted looking at the photo, and he couldn’t exactly hear anything with Siouxsie and the Banshees’ Cities in Dust blaring in his ears, so he didn’t realise that Paris Geller had approached him until she was standing right in front of him with that characteristic scowl. Geller could put him out of business. Jess shoved the picture in his pocket, instinctively, and took his headphones off. 

“What’s that?” Paris asked, following the motion. 

“Nothing,” He said, and she huffed. 

“God, you’re such a delinquent. Smoking outside of school and getting up to secret, nefarious activities. Aren’t you getting to be a parody of yourself?” 

“What do you want, Geller?” 

“I didn’t know you were here. I just came outside to study.”

“And you couldn’t resist the urge to talk to me?” She ignored him. 

“You know, I always sit here,” He recognised that overly amused, artificially friendly tone. She was going on the attack. “Or, well, I used to until you and Rory started coming here for your little dates.” 

“You’ve been watching us?” Jess asked, genuinely confused. 

“Well, I can’t help but notice. You two are kind of obvious.” 

“They’re not dates, Paris,” He said, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Though I don’t know why you care. She’s tutoring me, remember? We already told you. And we only sit here because you kicked us out of the classroom we were going to use.” 

“You’re strangely verbose. Getting defensive?” 

“You’re cracked.” 

“Ah, succinct. That’s more like you.” 

“Do you have a problem with me, Geller?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, spit it out, then.” 

“You’re going to ruin my competition,” She snapped. He paused, trying to comprehend what she had just said. 

“What?” 

“Look, everyone knows that nothing is more distracting for the average adolescent than romantic drama. Hormones are raging, it’s a difficult time. Rory already has a boyfriend, which I’m sure is distracting enough. I don’t need you taking up more of her time when she could be studying.” 

“You sound like her mother. Why do you even care?”

“Because, Rory’s the only one who’s actually competition. I need someone to compete with. It's healthy, keeps me on my toes. If Rory’s distracted, her grades drop. Then she’s not competition anymore and I don’t have that motivation. You, if you tried, would also be someone to compete with, someone to fall back on. Recently, I don’t know why, exactly, you’ve started trying. I’m sure it's temporary and you’ll be back to your regular delinquency soon enough-” 

“Oh, yeah, vandalisation, loitering, strolling arm in arm with the opposite sex on a Sunday,” He joked, trying not to laugh. 

“Anyway, that means both you and Rory will be distracted. Ergo, stop being competition. So, do me a favour, go make moon eyes at someone else, would you?” 

“You know, Geller, if you were someone else I would think you were jealous, but I think you might actually be serious.” 

“Of course I’m serious,” She said, impatiently. 

“If you want to stop Gilmore being distracted, go talk to her boyfriend, not to me.” 

“Sure, sure. You have nothing to do with it. The two of you, flirting in the hallways, looking at each other during class, babbling on during lunch. I’m surprised you’re not with her now.” 

“She’s doing homework. See, nothing to be worried about. She’s as focused as ever. So, you do me a favour, will you, and fuck off?” He said. Paris narrowed her eyes at him.

“I’m watching you, Jess,” She said, turning around and stomping off. 

“Jesus Christ,” He muttered and put his headphones back on, turning the volume all the way up as he pressed play.

Chapter Text

“Her reputation for reading a great deal hung about her like the cloudy envelope of a goddess in an epic.”

– The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James

Rory was trying to be reasonable - patient, even - but Dean was testing the limits of her good humour and indulgence. She had felt inexplicably guilty after the night where she and Jess had left the dance. Lorelai’s implicit accusations hadn’t exactly helped lessen her guilt. He had been insecure since that night, insisting on spending more time together. Weekends, after school, mornings before school. Time when she should have been studying was slowly slipping into that vast black hole of spending time with Dean or explaining that she was busy. She had put her foot down when he’d suggested that he make the drive from Stars Hollow to her school several days a week to pick her up. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand his fears, she did. How much she understood almost made things worse. She knew that it wasn’t just Tristan that he was insecure about. It was the fact that her intelligence, which he had found so impressive to begin with, began to feel like something that divided them. Her fancy private school and its traditions that she obliquely referred to were alien to him. So, when he told her that he couldn’t make their Friday date because of a change in his shifts, and suggested they reschedule for Wednesday, she didn’t quite know how to explain that she was busy. 

“Is something wrong?” He asked, ducking his head to look Rory in the eye. 

“No. Well, sort of. I have a tutoring session on Wednesday after school,” She explained, her voice laden with apologies. “How about Thursday?” 

“I had plans with Todd, remember him?” Rory vaguely recalled the boy whom Lane had had an admittedly brief and entirely unadvised crush on. 

“Sure,” She said, absentmindedly. 

“So, we’ll do Wednesday?” Dean asked. 

“Well, Dean, I can’t just cancel on him.” 

“But it's just a tutoring thing, isn’t it? It’s not graded, Rory. I don’t think it’ll be a big deal if you miss one session.”

“It’s not about it being graded, Dean.” 

“Then what is it about?” He demanded, irritation creeping into his voice. “You can’t miss one session to spend some time with me?” 

“We spend a lot of time together,” She said, quietly. 

“What does that mean, Rory?” 

“Nothing, forget it. Sure, Wednesday. You’ll come over?” He was a little taken aback by her sudden ready acquiescence. 

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said. She nodded, already exhausted with the conversation. Rory wished she could go home and complain about his irrational behaviour to her mom, but she was sort of nervous that Lorelai would defend him. Scratch that, she was pretty sure that she would defend him. Ever since their fight the night of the dance, she had begun to become especially fond of Dean, readily sympathising with him. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then. I have some work to do,” She said, and gave him a brief, impersonal parting kiss. He seemed largely unaware of her irritation, and she was almost impressed by his excessive sensitivity to the smallest of perceived nuances in her behaviour and his complete ignorance of when she was genuinely annoyed with him. He stood up to leave and she followed his figure for a few paces before going into the house. All of a sudden, she didn’t feel like working, least of all getting a start on the chemistry homework she had waiting for her. 

Instead, she picked up the slim volume with that characteristically cracked spine and lovely cover - an almost impressionistic painting of a bridge in pale blues and soft yellows - and pulled out a pen. For once, she would be the one writing all over his books. Jess had been right, she did like A Moveable Feast . For once, she understood what people were always talking about when they discussed the power and immediacy of Hemingway’s prose. She opened the book and settled down on her bed. She had stopped at a page with a sentence he had heavily underlined: 

“we would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright.” 

He had written something in the margin and scratched it out before she’d gotten the copy. She wondered, for a brief moment, what it was - that small little word that he’d felt he had to hide from her. Maybe she was being presumptuous. Maybe he had blacked it out months or even years ago. Maybe it had nothing to do with her, nothing at all. Maybe. 

__________________________________

“A last minute cancellation? That’s the last thing I would expect from you, Gilmore,” Jess said, raising his eyebrows. “Any particular reason?” He was being nosy, sure, but he’d detected an uncharacteristic frustration in Rory when she’d explained that she couldn’t make their Wednesday study session. Perhaps it had been the creased forehead, the furrowed brows, the slight pursing of her lips. Whatever it was that had tipped him off, he wasn’t going to let it go easily. 

“Something came up,” She took a bite of her sandwich so as to make further clarification difficult.  

“Come on, don’t make me use my favour to get an answer out of you.” 

“That would be lame,” She conceded, her lips quirking. 

“So, lay it on me,” He slouched in his chair giving her that crooked smile of his that always set her slightly off kilter. He would tilt his head slightly and duck his head forward, slightly raising one eyebrow. It always seemed to indicate some hidden layer of amusement. 

“Hey, you know what?” Rory said. “I actually liked the Hemingway. I mean, I know everyone loves him and he influenced just about everyone ever and Joan Didion loves him. She said she learned the anatomy of a sentence by transcribing Hemingway. I just couldn’t get into him before. But you were right, A Moveable Feast , it got me,” She rattled all of this off quickly and Jess coolly observed her nervous cadence. 

“Rory,” He said. His casual use of her first name had, in the last couple of days, become more common, but it still gave her pause. This time, however, she wouldn’t let it slow her down. 

“I mean, in the prose in Play It As It Lays you can really see his influence on her work.”

“And, The Hills Like White Elephants had that undercurrent of abortion and power dynamics running through,” Jess said, leaning forward, grinning. He paused, all of a sudden seeing the satisfaction on her face. “Dammit, Gilmore, you’re not going to get me off track. What happened? Why are you cancelling on me?” She fell silent, again. 

“You’ll take it the wrong way.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“That… that you’ll think it's a problem when it’s not.” 

“Why don’t you let me make up my own mind about that and spit it out. Seriously, the suspense is killing me.” 

“Dean, do you remember him?” 

“Ah, the boyfriend,” Jess said, letting a light irony seep into his voice. 

“Yeah, well, since the dance, he’s been a little insecure about things. He wants to spend more time with me. We usually have Fridays has a, well,” 

“Date night?” He asked, teasingly. 

“Yeah, I guess. He has to work this week so we’re moving it to Wednesday. I told him that I was busy but I don’t really want to push him right now.” 

“Why would I think there’s a problem with that, Gilmore?” He asked, quietly, looking her straight in the eyes. 

“You got the wrong impression of him that night with Tristan. He’s not usually like that.” 

“What’s he usually like?” 

“Why do you want to know?” She asked, quickly. 

“Call it old-fashioned curiosity,” He said, shrugging. 

“He’s… he’s nice,” Rory hated the uncertainty in her voice. “You really don’t think there’s anything wrong?” 

“Do you think there’s something wrong?” He said, intently. 

“Of course not, he’s my boyfriend,” And yet, she wanted him to say that Dean was being presumptuous or imposing. She sort of wanted Jess to mock his behaviour. She had expected him to. “I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t gotten the wrong impression about him.” 

“Why do you care if I have the wrong impression of him?” He was asking questions she didn’t know how to answer, that she was loath to answer, that reached back into the recesses of her brain and let out the unbidden thoughts she tried so hard to keep hidden. 

“Because you’re my friend,” Rory said, with all the confidence she could muster. “And he’s my boyfriend.” This was an unsatisfactory explanation, they both knew it, but he didn’t push. 

“Well, I think he’s an asshole, Gilmore. I think he was an asshole the night of the dance and I think he’s an asshole to take out his insecurities on you because Tristan’s a jerk. Maybe you think that’s wrong,” He said, and she didn’t respond. She revelled in his words, for a moment, although she felt the impulse to defend Dean. He’s a nice guy, she wanted to say. Everyone knows he’s a nice guy. 

“He’s just having a difficult time, lately,” She said, half heartedly. There was nothing for him to say. And then, suddenly, “Jess, I think we should reschedule. I mean, I have a math test coming up in a week and you’re getting on track. We shouldn’t miss a meeting.” 

“If you insist,” He said with that same half smile. 

“How about today,” Rory said, impulsively. 

“I can’t,” His lips curved downwards. 

“Why not?” 

“I sort of got detention.” 

“You got detention?” 

“I mean I could always skip it. What’s the worst they would do?” He said. 

“You are not skipping detention, Jess. How long is it?”

“Two hours.” 

“What did you do to get two hours of detention?” 

“They got me with a cig, unlighted. A minute later and things would have been a lot worse,” Jess admitted. 

“That’s what you get for smoking on school grounds.” 

“I live on the edge,” She looked at him and a small, charmed smile slipped past. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“Hey, a life of crime and danger is no joke,” He bit into his apple. 

“What time, then?” 

“Well, I’m not expecting you to wait back two hours for me, Gilmore.” 

“Why don’t you come to Stars Hollow?” She said, suddenly, instinctively, before her mind could vet this suggestion. He was clearly taken aback. “You don’t have to. I mean, I know it’s kind of a long drive and-” 

“Where would we go?” 

“There’s a few places in town. Here,” Rory tore out a sheet of notebook and scribbled down an address for him. She hesitated for a moment before her pen touched the paper. She almost wrote down Luke’s, and the implications of the invitation hit her. If she met him there, she would have to tell her mother and Dean and the whole town. It would mean complications and explanations. She wrote down the address for a small coffee shop, instead. It was a pretty quiet place and hardly anyone from town went. She’d been there once or twice, with Lorelai, when she’d had a brief fight with Luke. 

“I’ll see you there, Gilmore,” He said. 

__________________________________

The cafe didn’t exactly seem like the kind of place Rory would like to go to everyday. It was poorly lit and loud, an unrecognisable, irritating beat on tinny speakers. Jess took a seat close to the front and checked his watch. He was a couple of minutes early. Fuck. This was getting embarrassing. He cracked open his novel and started reading, trying to tune out the sound - he wasn’t generous enough to call it music - and keeping one eye on the door. A few minutes in, Rory burst in through the door. 

She walked towards Jess who set his book down upon seeing her, folding his page in. She sat down across from him. 

“In the mood for some light reading, I take it?” She asked, glancing at his copy of Ulysses. He grinned. 

“I ordered for us. A cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso, right?” 

“Got it in one.” 

“Two cappuccinos for Jess,” The barista called out, and Rory stood to go pick it up. She handed him a sheet of paper before she left. “Here, you can make sure you’re up to date on all your assignments.” 

“Tyrant,” He called out, to her back, and she hid a secret grin. He picked up the sheet, distractedly, and scanned the list that Rory had written for him. She returned as he ticked off another item with a flourish. 

“How many do you have left over?” She set one cup down in front of him. 

“Three, but you have that math test coming up. I think we should focus on that.”

“Excuses, excuses.” 

“Hey, it’s just good prioritising.” 

“How about this? You start working on your assignment, I’ll do some practice problems, and you can help me with the ones I get wrong,” He sighed, exaggeratedly, in resignation. “Hey, how did you get so good at math, anyway?” 

“My mom dated a math teacher when I was in middle school. He was a dick. He got rid of all my books and he gave me a bunch of textbooks to work on while they fucked,” Rory winced. “Sorry if that offends your sensibilities, Gilmore.” 

“It’s not that.” 

“Yeah, well, I spent a year solving all of his old textbooks ‘cause my mom said he was going to be my new father and we had to make him happy. He thought I was stupid because all I did was sit around reading novels and I didn’t know any math or science. I just wanted to show him. It didn’t quite work out that way if you can believe it but when they broke up he left the textbooks. Well, he split without any notice so he couldn’t exactly come back for them.” 

“I’m sorry, Jess,” She said, seriously. “He sounds awful.” 

“He wasn’t the worst, he wasn’t the best,” He shrugged. 

“And you don’t want to do that anymore? Show them.” 

“There’s no point, Gilmore. I’m not going to waste my life trying to prove something to people. If they don’t give a fuck about me I couldn’t give less fucks about them.”

She felt an overwhelming sense of anger at everyone who had disappointed Jess. His mother, his teachers, his principals. 

“You’ve got that murderous look in your eyes, Gilmore, that scares me shitless.” 

“Well, I hate that they treated you like that. You deserved better. You deserved to be told how smart you are. Because you are, Jess, you’re the smartest person I know, and you didn’t deserve them,” She placed her hand on his, hesitantly, holding it for one moment, two. He didn’t pull it away. 

The door to the cafe opened again and two guys walked in, talking loudly. One of them stopped upon seeing Rory, his face quickly slipping into a seething mask of rage. 

“Rory?” Dean asked, incredulously.

Chapter Text

“Never let go of that fiery sadness called desire.” 

– Patti Smith

Rory let go of Jess’ hand, immediately, and dropped her hands onto her lap. She saw the two boys, Dean on her left, Jess in front of her, confused. She tried to plaster a smile onto her face. A comfortable, confident, friendly smile. 

“Dean,” She said, unable to hide traces of discomfort. Another boy had walked in behind him. She recognized Todd. “I thought you two had plans for tomorrow?” 

“We moved them,” He said, quietly, glaring at Jess. “What’s going on here, Rory?” 

“Well, you remember I told you I had a study session. We just moved it. So that we, you and I, could hang out today. Jess,” Dean’s eyes narrowed at his name. “drove into town for that.” 

“He drove into town to see you? A lot of work for a study session.” 

“Dean,” She said. Jess had been looking at her, quiet understanding dawning on him. He had moved on to studying her boyfriend with a cool, amused, infuriating expression. “We just had a lot of studying to get in.” 

“Yeah,” Jess chimed in. “She had a math test coming up. Not that I care, but I’m kind of tied into this thing.” His voice was hard and she disliked hearing it like that, even when he was helping her. Even when it was a gesture of kindness. 

“You said you wanted to study when you got home, when you left. You said you were going home, Rory. You lied to me,” He said, and she could hear mounting fury in his voice. “You don’t even have any textbooks out. What were you planning to study from, Rory? A novel? A single sheet of paper?” 

“Stop yelling!” She said, grateful that the cafe was practically abandoned. Dean’s friend had walked over to the barista with a glazed expression and was flirting with her. He had mentioned something about this place, she remembered, suddenly. That his friend’s girlfriend worked there. God, she was such an idiot. 

“What do you want me to do, Rory?” He demanded. “You’re here with some guy after lying to me that you were going home. You left our date to come see this guy.” 

“Oh, relax,” Jess said, glibly.

“Don’t even say anything,” Dean snapped back. “I’m not talking to you.” 

“No, you’re talking to Rory and you’re not letting her get a word in edgewise. You’re not really talking to her, you’re screaming at her, and you’re not letting her explain.” 

“I think I can talk to my girlfriend without you.” 

“Well, you understand my concern, you’re not doing a very good job of it.” 

“Jess,” Rory said, quietly, and he shrugged, leaning back. 

“I can leave.” 

“Then why don’t you,” Dean said. 

“Don’t leave. Dean, I did go home to study before I came here. I wasn’t planning on giving you a full itinerary,” She couldn’t help a smidge of irritation seeping into her voice. “Anyway, I already told you that we were having study sessions. Why are you getting so mad? We’re just friends, Dean.” He looked unconvinced, and she saw weeks of stilted conversations and yelling and arguments with her mother unfolding in front of her. 

“We’re hardly even friends,” She said, quickly. She couldn’t help it, and she couldn’t look at Jess’ face. “These were assigned in school. They’re basically extra credit.” He was relenting, she could see it. She knew what to say. What vulnerability would seal the deal. “The truth is, I’m struggling in math, and Jess is helping me out. I’m not tutoring him, he’s tutoring me,” She said, miserably. 

He was silent for a few moments, thinking. 

“He’s really just tutoring you?” Dean said, quietly. 

“Really.” 

“Then okay. Sorry I yelled.” 

“No, no, I get it,” Rory said, trying for a smile. She could feel Jess looking at her. She couldn’t look back. 

“Well, uh-” 

“We’ll go. It’s starting to get loud in here, anyway,” A few people had filed in after Dean and his friend. She saw a slight suspicion in his face. “Home, we’ll go home. My mom’s there, we have some food at home. Perfect for studying,” She forced a grin. Jess hadn’t said a word. She couldn’t bear to look at him, she didn’t want to know what she would see. She was scared of anger, sadness, disappointment, of course, but more than that, she wondered if she wouldn’t see anything. If he would pull away from her, or if he wouldn’t even care. That was what scared her most. She couldn’t imagine her days at Chilton without Jess. Without that slight racing of her heart that had become so familiar and his half smile and the intensity of his gaze. 

He had, Rory felt, with a trace of bitterness, written on her soul as easily as he scribbled in her books. Scrawling in the margins. 

“We can go,” Dean said, without any real conviction. He seemed to have deflated and had turned silent. She felt a flare of irritation at how easily he swung between extremes. 

“No, no,” She said, abandoning any effort at a smile, already picking her things up. “It’s okay.” Eventually, she had to glance at Jess to make sure he was following suit, and he was, his face turned away from her, his body tense like a live wire. Despite everything, all she really wanted in that moment was to touch the inside of his arm and have him turn and give her that smile that masked a far deeper amusement, barely suppressed, his face boyish. She kept her hands to herself. 

They left together, Jess following Rory, but she didn’t miss the extra second Dean took to step out of his way. He stood, towering over him for a beat too long. 

“There’s no need to get all West Side Story on me, okay?” Jess said, and Rory was sure that everything was okay, then, if he was making wisecracks. “I know you’re about ten feet tall, but we really were just studying, okay? Your girlfriend said it, we’re hardly even friends,” They were out of there before Dean could answer. 

Rory’s heart had dropped at that last sentence. He didn’t say a word to her, just got into his car, and she got in beside him. He pulled out of the driveway and she gave him quiet directions, her mind racing. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to explain. 

“Jess…” She tried. 

“Any turns coming up that I should know about?” He was gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles were white. She looked at the thin film of skin stretched out over the bone and his arms and remembered the night of the Chilton dance. She wondered if he was thinking about that night as well. 

“No.” 

“Well, you know, I’d hate to be caught unprepared. A guy’s got to know when a turn’s coming or it could make for some pretty bad accidents.” His voice was so bitter she had to stop herself from wincing. 

“Jess.” 

“This is your town, huh? The famous Stars Hollow. Picturesque.” 

“You don’t have to pretend like you’re not mad.” 

“What would I be mad about, Rory? We’re hardly even friends,” His eyes were wild and cold. He had the capacity to be cutting, callous, then, she knew it. 

“I didn’t mean it. Really. Dean was just mad, and you weren’t exactly helping-”

“How is this my fault?” 

“Well, I know you don’t like him, but I did lie to him. He had every right to be mad,” She didn’t know why she was arguing with him. 

“I’m not the one who barged in and started yelling without waiting for an explanation. If you’re upset about what happened, maybe you should take it up with your boyfriend, Rory. Not me.” 

“Oh, please, Jess, like you weren’t trying to provoke him. Turn right here.” 

“I thought you said there wasn’t a turn.” 

“I said there wasn’t a turn soon. This wasn’t soon.” They both scowled. She sneaked a glance at him. “Why couldn’t you have just stayed quiet?” 

“Hey, Rory, it’s not my fault your boyfriend’s a jerk.” 

“He is not a jerk.” 

“Please.”

“He’s not!” 

“Oh yeah, then why did we leave five minutes after we came in? Why did you have to calm him down like he was a child throwing a temper tantrum and you were his mommy bribing him with, I don’t know, ice cream or an extra kiss before bed.” 

“I know you’re upset I made it sound like we’re not friends.”

“Why would I care about that Rory?” 

“Well, if you care about me, then, of course-”

“What makes you think I care about you?” He said. 

“I didn’t mean care, care. I meant, well… I mean, we’re friends, of course we’re friends. I meant care about me as a friend. Not, you know,” She trailed off and glanced at him again. For the first time since Dean had entered, he had a smile, however small. It was a mixed smile, she still saw traces of anger in his eyes. “Hey, you’re enjoying this!” 

“Of course not,” His lips twitched. She was silent. 

“Look, Jess, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. And I didn’t mean it. Can we… can we just make a truce?” He paused, considering it. 

“Okay, truce. But, Gilmore, why do you roll over like that for him? It’s so not like you. I mean, with Paris you fight back. Hell, you even get me back when I say something. Why do you just take it when it's coming from him?” 

“Well, he’s my boyfriend,” Rory said, with some discomfort. She didn’t want to discuss it. “I don’t just take it. He just gets mad sometimes and it’s easier to calm him down and then discuss things later.” 

“He’s not a child.”

“I know that. We do talk about it later.”

“Did you discuss the night of the dance?” 

“Why would we talk about that?” She asked, quickly, her mind flashing back to the long moonlit drive. She couldn’t imagine broaching the topic with Dean. Their relationship would implode in minutes in front of her face. 

“I meant the fight with Tristan.” 

“Oh, that. Well, sort of. I mean, he called me later to talk.” 

“Did you tell him that you didn’t like him getting into an argument and leaving you alone?” 

“Well, he didn’t leave me alone, exactly. I left. And Tristan was the one who started it.” 

“Rory,” It was Jess’ turn to say. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” She said, looking out the window. He assented silently, and glanced at her, his mouth breaking into a little smile. She opened the window a little, and the breeze caught her hair and she laughed as it flew. Fuck. He couldn't breathe when she looked like that. It took every ounce of self control in him not to reach out and trace the plane of her cheek and her jaw and her neck with his fingers. Still, he couldn’t help it. He tucked a stray hair that had slipped out behind her ear, keeping his eyes focused on the road. She glanced at him, eyes wide, and his fingers accidentally grazed her nose. 

“Slipped out,” Was all he could manage. She nodded, looking down at her shoes, blushing, biting her plush lower lip. 

“What do you guys talk about?” Jess asked, finally, after a brief silence. “When you’re together.” 

“Lots of things,” She said, defensively. 

“Like..?” 

“Well, like, lots of things. I don’t know. We talk about everything. School and… everything!”

“Okay, okay.” 

“Why?” She demanded. 

“I don’t know, in the brief and hostile time that I’ve known him… he doesn’t really seem like your kind of guy,” He shrugged. 

“Well, he is my kind of guy. He’s exactly my kind of guy.” 

“Maybe I don’t know him that well,” Jes had an amused little smile, sparked by her reaction. She crossed her arms. 

“You don’t.”

“Sure, sure.” 

“You don’t!” 

“Hey, Gilmore, do I turn right or left here?” 

“We talk about all sorts of things.”

“Because, look, I’ve never been a Robert Frost fan, and now isn’t the time to do a Road Not Taken reenactment.” 

“We talk all the time.” 

“I guess I could just turn right and keep driving and see what happens. Dean won’t mind if we don’t actually go to your house. He seems like a spontaneous kind of guy.” 

“Left, and we have plenty in common.”

“Oh yeah, like what?” He asked, suddenly, turning to look at her. 

“Keep your eyes on the road,” She avoided his gaze. “Like, well, I lend him books and he reads them and we discuss them.” This struck her as a pretty pathetic defence. 

“Does he know PJ Harvey? Patti Smith? Does he like Virginia Woolf?” 

“I’ve introduced him to some stuff.” 

“Ah, so you guys have got a teacher-student thing going.”

“No!” She protested, and he shrugged. “Almost there, just turn down that street. He likes discussing things with me.” 

“Okay, what did you guys talk about on your date today?” Jess challenged, and she took a few moments to remember what, exactly, they had discussed. She couldn’t think of anything interesting, anything that would make a convincing point. She had explained what they were doing in school and he had told her something about work. Mostly, they had sat in an amicable silence, catching up on their days. It wasn’t unpleasant, but she didn’t know how to justify the simple comfort of their dates against Dean’s frightening mood swings. She didn’t really know how to justify it to herself. 

“School, work, all sorts of things.” He dropped the topic as he pulled into her driveway, parking the car next to Lorlelai’s. “Come on,” She got out of the car and walked up to the door. When she glanced back, he was still sitting in the driver’s seat, looking at the house, an indecipherable expression on his face. “Jess? Are you coming?”

He got out and followed her, snapping out of whatever trance he’d gone into. He still looked awkward, though. She thought, suppressing a laugh, that he was considering jaywalking or some other minor punishable infraction. He was eyeing Babette’s gnomes suspiciously. 

“What is it?” She met his eyes, and was surprised by the vulnerability she found there. He looked like a kid, standing there in his too large jeans, biting his lip. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, of course. I just didn’t realise you were such a townie, Gilmore,” He said, nudging her. “Paris would bust a lung if she saw your hick town.”

“Hmmm,” She pretended to be annoyed, but all she really felt was a flush of relief that he seemed alright, and the sneaking suspicion that he was just pretending. It wasn’t her place, though, she reminded herself, remembering how cool he had been in the car. It had scared her, how quickly and easily he had slipped away from her. It wouldn’t do to get too invested. He was volatile, dangerous. If only she didn’t like him so goddamn much. 

She took his hand before she could think better of it and pulled him inside, through the door and into the foyer. When she heard her mother, she let it drop, and they both slipped their hands in their pockets, instinctively, as if they were cold. She missed the sensation of his hand in hers, even for those brief minutes. The comfort of his warm grip, his calloused hands that fit perfectly around hers. They were slightly bigger than hers but the skin was tougher and the knuckles far more pronounced. She would have liked to compare them, noting down each difference, tracing the places where their paths had diverged, leaving imprints on their skin. He had a small scar on his right wrist and she wondered how he’d gotten it. 

“Rory? I thought you weren’t coming back until later? Lane’s here, she’s oh-” Lorelai stopped short when she saw Jess. “Who’s this?” 

“Mom, this is Jess. Remember, my friend from Chilton I told you about?” She stressed ‘friend’ for them both, but for entirely different reasons. Her mother raised her eyebrows. 

“Oh, okay. Um, hello. I’m Lorelai, Rory’s mom, as you were probably clued into by the fact that Rory just called me mom and also I’m wandering the house yelling which I probably wouldn’t do if I didn’t live here. Then again, I could also just be a crazy aunt or-”

“Mom,” Rory interrupted. 

“Right, sorry. Hi. Jess, right? Rory’s mentioned you.” He nodded, wordlessly in response. Ah, Rory thought. He was feeling monosyllabic. 

“You said Lane’s here?” 

“Yeah. Lane, come in here,” She called. Rory’s best friend walked in, holding a stack of CDs. 

“Hey, I got some new stuff. I know you wanted the new PJ Harvey so I bought it over. I can lend it to you for a bit, if you want. It’s great.”

“Her best yet,” Jess and Rory said together, and shared a look. 

“Thanks, Lane. This is Jess.” 

“Hi, also, you’re wrong. Rid of Me is still the best.”

“You have no idea how wrong you are,” Jess said, seriously. “Listen to it again. Carefully this time. I mean, the title alone. It’s so good.” 

“But, Man Size,” Lane protested, naming one of her favourite songs from the album. “And 50ft Queenie.” 

“Good Fortune,” He countered. “This is Love, Beautiful Feeling.” 

“Yeah, and what about The Whores Hustle and the Hustlers Whore?” Rory interjected. “It’s such a good song. Rid of Me is good, but I have to agree with Jess. This one’s better.” 

“If you want to talk song titles,” Lane said. “What about When the Pawn… ?” 

“That’s a good one,” He agreed. 

“You still have to lend me the CD,” Rory reminded her friend. 

“I’ll get it for you,” Jess said, casually, piquing Lorelai’s interest. She had been standing silently, studying the three kids, watching the knowing, nudging looks between her daughter and this boy she’d never seen before. 

“That’s nice of you,” She said, then. It was a little sad, her voice, because she realised that Rory was hiding this from her. That she wasn’t just tutoring Jess. That they weren’t just friends, either, but that they were great friends, that they were close, and that she didn’t know anything about it. She felt a sudden wave of resentment directed towards him, standing there with a little smirk, looking at Rory so unabashedly. 

Still, when he looked at Lorelai, knitting his brows together, noticing the undercurrent of irritation in her voice, the look so reminded her of somebody. She just couldn’t put her finger on it. 

“You’re a Fiona Apple fan?” Lane asked, surprised, as they walked to the table in the kitchen. 

“He has all kinds of hidden depths. He’s a Springsteen fan as well.” Lorelai watched as his eyes darted towards Rory, amused, and they both laughed. They had little secrets, little jokes. It startled her, more than anything, as if there was this whole world of her daughter’s that she wasn’t privy to. That Rory didn’t want her to be privy to. 

“I so would not have taken you for a Springsteen fan.” 

“I’m full of surprises.”

“So, what made the two of you come back here? Where did you meet? Jess, did you come into town?” Rory glanced at her mother, surprised by this line of questioning. 

“We met to study,” She said, cautiously. 

“I thought you were going to meet Dean.” 

“I met Dean, then I went to study with Jess and… and Dean showed up,” He was silent for this, letting Rory do the talking. He seemed to sense that this was a touchy topic. 

“Were you guys at Luke’s?”

“No, there’s another cafe in town that we went to. It was just easier for Jess to get to. He was coming in from Hartford. Less driving time, you know.” 

“So how come you guys came here?” 

“It was getting loud.”

“After Dean came?” 

“Yeah.”

“Rory, did something happen?” 

“He just got kind of mad.” 

“Why?” 

“Well, he didn’t know I was meeting Jess and he thought I’d lied to him. I hadn’t.” 

“What did you tell him?” She asked, innocuously. 

“I told him that I was going home to study, and I did,” Rory snapped. “I didn’t realise I had to give him a full-day schedule. He had no reason to get mad.” 

“Well, hon, it probably wasn’t great for him to think you were home, studying, and then to find you with another guy.” 

“I can’t believe you’re taking his side again!” 

“I’m not taking sides, hon. And if I was, I’d always be on your side.” 

“That’s what I thought, but you keep defending Dean. Every time we get into an argument you defend him.” 

“I’m just saying, I know he’s set unrealistic expectations, but any guy would get mad at seeing his girlfriend with someone else when he thought she was at home. He probably did feel lied to, Rory.” 

“He has not set unrealistic expectations. He had no reason to get mad! We were studying. Jess and I are friends!” 

“Maybe he didn’t think that, especially after the night of the dance.” 

“What are you saying, mom?” 

“I’m not saying anything, hon. I’m just trying to see things from his side so that you can make things up.”

“We already did! I convinced him that I wasn’t lying to him, that he had no reason to be mad.” 

“I know you wouldn’t lie to him, but…” She trailed off, seeing Rory’s guilty expression. “Did you lie to him, honey?” She hadn’t gone home, after all. There hadn’t been time. She had gone straight to meet Jess. She had cut their date half an hour short for it. That was the truth. But she couldn’t say it. 

“Jess, we can go to my room to study,” Rory said, quietly, ignoring her mother. 

“Rory?” 

“What, mom?” She exploded. “What do you want me to say? Yeah, I lied to him. I lied to you too. Jess and I didn’t just drive back that night. We drove around! We didn’t just lose track of time. I wanted to stay out. I lied, okay? I lied.” 

“Jess, I think you should leave,” Lorelai said, quietly. 

“Mom, it’s not his fault.” 

“It was lovely having you, come again sometime.” 

“You’re being rude!” 

“It’s fine, Gilmore,” Jess said. “I’ll see you in school.” He raised a hand to Lane and before either girl could stop him, he walked out of the house. 

“I think I should probably leave too,” Lane said, following him out. 

Lorelai and Rory stood opposite each other, glaring. 

“What are you doing, Rory? What is this? What, do you have a crush on him? Is that it?” 

“No! He’s my friend.”

“I’m not that dumb, kid. He’s not just a friend. Why are you lying to me? And don’t even get me started on that night. We are going to have a long discussion about that.” 

“Please,” Rory muttered, under her breath.

“I don’t even recognise you right now.” 

“You don’t recognise me, mom? Well, maybe that’s because you don’t know me as well as you think. I bet you think it was Jess’ idea to stay out because you’ve decided not to like him, but it wasn’t. It was mine. He offered to drop me home. Actually, he was the one who took me out of there when I wanted to while Dean was busy fighting with Tristan. And it’s not me tutoring him. He’s tutoring me! I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d react all crazy, but I needed help in math and he’s really smart. He’s the smartest person I know, mom. Without question. And today, he spoke up for me when Dean was yelling. For me,” Rory turned and went into her room, slamming the door shut behind her. She fell onto her bed, feeling tears run down her face. 

Chapter Text

“Love. The reason I dislike that word is that it means too much for me, far more than you can understand."

– Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

“What happened last night, Gilmore?” Jess asked, sliding into his seat next to her. 

“My mom and I had a big fight. It was awful. She was yelling and then I started yelling and now we’re not talking. I hate fighting but I’m so mad at her. And I think I might be fighting with Dean? I’m not sure if we are fighting. He called last night and I didn’t pick up. I guess I have to call him up, but it’s all a mess.” 

“Well, I don’t know about you, but Dostoyevsky always cheered me up,” He said, glancing at the blackboard. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s a treat.” 

“You know what they say. The Americans would die for freedom, the French for love, the British for honour, and the Russians will just die.” 

“Cheery.” 

“Yeah, I thought so.” 

“God, I so do not want to be in class right now.”

“Hey, at least your reading material is appropriate for your situation,” He said. She glanced down at her copy of Anna Karenina . “You’re sure you're not in the mood for the Russians?” 

“What do you mean?” She asked, quietly. 

“What?” 

“What do you mean it’s appropriate for my situation, Jess?” He looked at her, cautiously. 

“Well, I can’t help but notice a certain resemblance that your boyfriend has to Karenin.” 

“What are you talking about?” She demanded. 

“Rory, it was a joke.” 

“No, it wasn’t. You’re serious. If he’s Karenin and I’m Anna, what does that make you? Vronsky?” 

“What?” 

“You think this is your chance to sweep me away and I’ll break up with Dean who’s terrible and it’ll all be just peachy?” 

“I don’t think that’s how Anna Karenina went.” 

“What exactly are you trying to say, Jess?” 

“I’m not saying anything, Rory. I don’t know why you’re getting upset.” 

“Because you find it hilarious that my relationship is going up in flames. You think it’s right, you think that that’s what should happen.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.” 

“Yeah, well, now I do. Go ahead, tell me how much you hate him.”

“I think he’s a jerk. And an idiot. That’s all. And I think he doesn’t deserve you.” 

“Oh, there it is.” 

“It’s what I think,” He shrugged.  

“You don’t just think I deserve better, you think I don’t really like him, don’t you?” 

“Rory.” 

“That’s what all your insinuating questions about what we talk about and your snide little comments have been about. You think I don’t really like him. What, Jess, do you think I like you better?”

“I didn’t say that.” 

“So what have you been trying to do? Huh? You were trying to make Dean jealous, weren’t you? Is this a game for you, Jess? You don’t like him, you want to prove something? It’s not funny to me.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” He said, coldly. 

“I like him, Jess. He’s my boyfriend, and I really like him.” 

“Good for you.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I guess you must since you’re going to make things up with him.”

“He had every right to get upset!” 

“Why do you keep fucking defending him, Rory? What has he done that you keep justifying every shitty thing he does?” 

“He’s a nice guy! He’s basically a perfect guy.” 

“Oh, yeah, your mother sure thinks so.” 

“Don’t.” 

“Really, though, I think you two will be very happy together.” 

“Thanks.” 

“What will it be, a June wedding?” Jess asked, leaning forward, his eyes glinting. He was being cold - and a little cruel. “They say summer’s the perfect time, but I’ve heard that spring is nice too.” 

“Stop it.” 

“You know, maybe I was wrong. You two are perfect for each other. Oh, I can just imagine you two strolling arm and arm around your little town. Of course, you have to speak slowly to make sure he grasps everything, but any good girlfriend would do that ,” They both sort of knew they’d gone too far, then. She, when she saw the hard look on his face. He, when he saw her eyes widen, hurt. 

“Mr Mariano, Ms Gilmore, if the two of you are finished with your conversation may we begin class?” 

“Sorry, Ms Hartfield,” Rory mumbled, looking down at her desk. She felt anger and regret roiling through her, and she sneaked a glance at Jess. He wasn’t looking at her, he was staring straight ahead. 

__________________________________

How had it happened? It had been two days and Rory kept going back to that fight. She was sitting in her room, alone, listening to the PJ Harvey CD he’d gifted her. They’d both been ignoring each other in the hallways, strategically ducking away. She couldn’t help but notice how much lonelier and emptier her days felt without him. 

During lunch, she’d seen him talking to a gorgeous, Amazonian girl from the grade above who had touched his chest. Rory had made the executive decision to abandon her plans to catch up on homework during her free period at the end of the day, after spending French replaying the scene in a loop in her head, and had taken the early bus home. 

She hated that she couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

If it was anything else - anyone else - she would be pouring her heart out to Lorelai. But it was Jess, so she couldn’t. She hated these feelings. These difficult, complicated feelings that she couldn’t quite comprehend. She couldn’t help it. She liked him. She couldn’t keep ignoring it. But she didn’t think she could survive these feelings, she didn’t want to face them. The size and weight of them. 

Rory remembered when Dean had first kissed her in Doose’s and when she’d first seen him in school and their first date. It had been easy and simple. A rush of butterflies, a perfectly nice kiss. He was handsome. That she could manage. This she didn’t even understand. 

The door slamming shut interrupted her thoughts, and she turned the volume down instinctively. 

“Rory, is that you?” Lorelai came into the room. 

“Thanks for knocking.” 

“You’re home early.” 

“Yeah, well, I had a free period,” She said, and her mother studied her for a few moments. 

“Look, honey, I know we’re having a fight but you seem upset, so why don’t we forget that you hate me and I hate you for a few minutes and you tell me what’s wrong and then we can go back to it. Sounds good?” Rory tried to come up with some sort of clever retort, but she felt exhausted. She hated fighting with her mother. It wore her down. 

“Sure,” She said, softly. 

“Okay, then,” Lorelai sat down on her bed, cautiously. “What’s up, kid?” 

“I had a fight with Jess. In school. He was talking about Dean and I just snapped. And I think Dean and I are fighting. But I'm not sure. And I’m angry with you for defending him and getting mad at me and accusing me when I didn’t do anything wrong. I wasn’t trying to lie to him. I just… I just didn’t want to fight. I didn’t want him to get upset. Which didn’t go very well for me.” 

“I’m sorry, hon. I don’t know why I got mad. I think I was just scared seeing you with this guy who I don’t even know, who you hid from me. I acted like, well, I was acting like Emily Gilmore.” 

“I didn’t want to hide it from you. I just didn’t know how to explain things,” She said, quietly. 

“Oh, I know, kiddo. I get it. Can we put this behind us?” Lorelai asked, and Rory opened her mouth to say yes, but she heard that voice in her head: ‘why do you roll over, Gilmore?’ Goddamn you, Jess Mariano, she thought. Why can’t you leave me alone? 

“No, mom. We can’t put it behind us, because I still hate that you take Dean’s side. I can’t just forget about that. He’s not perfect, mom. Why is it that whenever I screw up even a little you take Dean’s side? I can screw up too, mom. What is it? Why do you always rush to his defence?” 

“Hey, I don’t always rush to his defence! I’m on your side, Rory.” 

“I thought you would be, but the night of the dance, you defended him. When we met him at the cafe, you defended him. Everytime we fight, you defend him.” 

“You just seem happy with Dean, hon. I don’t want you to ruin that for a crush on this guy .” 

“His name is Jess and it’s not a crush!” 

“You like him, don’t you?” 

“He’s my friend, of course I like him.” 

“You don’t spend half the day in bed brooding over a fight with a friend, Rory. You like him. That’s okay, you can have a crush, but you shouldn’t ruin something you have with a great guy because of it.”

“What do you have against Jess, mom? What has he ever done to you, huh? You don’t even know him.” 

“Every time you have a problem with Dean, he seems to be right in the middle of it. And I hear things, okay, Rory.”

“You hear things ? What have you heard about Jess ? Who have you been talking to about him?” 

“Well, my mom said that he’s had a rough childhood. I know guys like that, Rory. The dark hair, and the mysterious, reserved atmosphere around them, and the smirks, and the air of damage. But they’re dangerous, hon. They’re hurt and they strike out. I’m not letting you get caught in that. That whole Holden Caufield act? You think I haven’t seen that before? I have, and he’s going to hang around for a bit, break your heart, and leave. That kind of guy - they’re not safe.” 

“I can’t believe you. You’re forming your opinion about him based on what grandma said. Has it occurred to you that you were acting like her earlier and now you’re talking like her? Attacking on what? Unseemly comportment?”

“Hey, that’s just my two cents, hon.” 

“You know what? Jess actually reminds me a lot of you. But he wouldn’t talk like you’re talking, mom.” 

“Geez, you sure are defending the guy you just got into a big fight with about your boyfriend.” 

“He’s my friend! How many times do I have to tell you?” She stood and walked out of the room, leaving her mother behind. Lorelai followed her out. 

“Rory. Rory, wait.” 

“What, you want to point out more of Jess’ character flaws?” 

“No, look, hon. Fine. I’ll give him a chance.” 

“What?” She asked, knitting her brows together. That wasn’t what she’d been expecting, and all the momentum she’d built up sort of dissolved. “You will?” 

“You’re right, I’m acting like Emily. I’ll give Jess a chance. He’s your friend, and I trust you, kiddo. That means I have to trust your taste in friends and I have to trust that you’re making the right decisions. I’m not going to act like my mother and try to control your life. And about Dean… I really am sorry. You’re right, I just don’t want to see you lose this part of your life that makes you so happy. But if he’s not making you happy anymore, then I was wrong. He’s not as good a guy as I thought he was. No more Dean talk, okay? Just… if anything changes, you’ll tell me, won’t you?” 

Rory blushed at the implication. 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” 

“Okay, great. Well, since you’re home early and I have the rest of the day off, how about a cup of coffee?” 

__________________________________

“You seem rather upset today, Jess. I suppose it wouldn’t have anything to do with that Gilmore girl?” His grandfather asked, and Jess’ head jerked up. 

“What?” 

“Ah, I suspect I have hit the nail on the head,” He had on a satisfied little smile. Jess shook his head, amazed that his grandfather still remembered a name he had mentioned, offhand, months ago. He had been suppressing the instinct to talk about Rory for weeks. They had both been playing a similar game - evading any mention of each other, narrating every incident with one intentional missing piece. “I met Richard at the club the other day and I remembered our little conversation. As I thought, your friend is his granddaughter.” 

He considered this, trying to connect these diametrically opposed parts of Rory. Stars Hollow and grandparents from his grandfather’s circle. That small town house and the mansion that her mother had probably grown up in. 

“So, what’s going on, young man?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Jess…” 

“We just had a little argument. No big deal.” 

“You like her.” 

“Sure.” 

“You, boy, are impossible.” 

“Are you trying to have a heart to heart, grandpa? Man to man? Because I’m not really in the mood to lay it all on the table just now if you don’t mind. How about tomorrow we do a little baking, start a book club, twirl around in a circle with flower crowns.” 

“Hmmm. If you don’t want to talk about it, boy, that’s fine. But trying to keep everything in isn’t going to get you anywhere.” 

“Since when are you a proponent of baring your soul?” 

“I’m not,” The old man said, coldly. “But from what I understand she’s a fine girl and she’ll be sensible about things. The last thing you need is a distraction from your studies.” 

“Don’t worry about that, me getting distracted is the last thing she wants,” Jess said. “She wants to better me.” 

“Well then, I suggest you let her.”

“I’m not a project.” 

“Of course not. I was under the impression that friends helped their friends,” He leaned forward, seriously. “Don’t let this fight go on for too long, Jess. Believe me. It is appealing to stay upset and maintain one’s pride, but it is a brief victory. Allow yourself to be embarrassed, if need be. Don’t hold back too much. You’ll regret it.” 

Chapter Text

“A man does not recover from such devotion of the heart to such a woman! He ought not; he does not.”

– Persuasion by Jane Austen

Jess had gotten her a present. Hastily, messily wrapped, sure, in one of his grandfather’s newspapers. Small, certainly. But, if he knew her at all, he knew she would like it. It fit in the pocket of his jacket and he had spent hours labouring over the inscription, mentally writing and rewriting. How to sign off? How to begin? Rory Gilmore, he thought, what are you doing to me? 

He had skipped school that day, the first time in a while since Rory had started noticing when he wasn’t there. He’d needed time to think, and he had known that if he saw her, he would throw caution, reason, every inhibition to the wind. He would have begged her to forgive him, begged her to take him back, begged to put everything behind them and just let him sit next to her while she studied. But he had to mull over things as rationally as he could. Bolster himself. Spend a few hours in a bookstore searching for the perfect present. He’d settled, eventually, on Austen, reliable as ever. The shop had a couple of pristine copies with inflexible spines, too big to fit in a pocket. 

After a while, though, he’d gone back home and wrapped his own copy up - weighed down with his annotations - after inscribing it to her. He’d added a few extra notes in the margins. He checked his watch; she would have reached home. It was as good a time as any. 

__________________________________

Rory was sitting on her porch, reading. She was trying to distract herself. Dean had called her and she’d been snappy, irritable. They’d had another argument about that evening in the cafe with Jess. All she could think of was what Lorelai had said, “if he’s not making you happy anymore, maybe he’s not as great a guy as I thought he was.” Was he making her happy anymore? She didn’t know. She didn’t want to admit it, but it was true. She didn’t know if she was happy with Dean anymore. 

But it was so easy with him. Most of the time. 

As if summoned by her spiralling thoughts, he appeared, walking towards the house. He hadn’t noticed her yet and he was hunched awkwardly, his hands stuffed in his pockets, walking with large, quick strides. 

“Dean?” She asked, shutting her book and standing up. “What are you doing here?” 

“I, uh, I was calling,” He looked a little unsure. “Rory… I’ve been missing you. It feels like we’ve been really distant lately.” 

“Yeah, I suppose we have,” She couldn’t meet his eyes. She didn’t know how to talk to him anymore. She thought of Jess, ‘why do you always roll over for him?’ Why did she? Why couldn’t she hold her ground with Dean? Her mind flashed back to that damned Donna Reed incident and every time he’d yelled and assumed and every time she’d bent and taken it. He walked closer to her and put his arms around her. He didn’t have the slightest inkling of her thoughts at that moment. He assumed the worst, but he couldn’t guess that, at that moment, she was running through their relationship in her mind and coming up with nothing but questions. “It’s been a strange couple of weeks.” 

“I miss you,” He kissed her. It was the same as it was. Pleasant, nice enough, although his lips were a little dry and rough. They separated, and she glanced to the left, ducking her face. There, in front of the house, was the last person she expected to see. 

“Jess?” Rory asked, disentangling herself from Dean’s embrace. She saw his face fall, his jaw twitch, that wry, defensive little smile of his that she hated to see. He was pulling away from her, she could see it happen, and she moved towards him inadvertently. He quickly tucked something in his pocket, stepping back.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean demanded. She ignored him. 

“Jess,” She repeated. “It’s not like you think.” 

“It’s good you’ve made up. Really, you two are just adorable together. Perfect,” He stood still for a second, she saw his shoulders tense. He turned away from her and walked towards his car. He had parked it a little away from the house and they both strode towards it, leaving Dean, crying her name, behind them. 

“Wait, Jess, please,” He stopped, finally, turning back to her. 

“We can’t keep doing this, Rory. I can’t do this. Whatever this is between us. If you want him, you can have him. Just don’t… don’t smile at me the way you do and look at me the way you do. Don’t accuse me of trying to win you over for a game. You think I’m playing with you? Aren’t you playing with me? I can’t. I won’t do it. Please, just tell me the truth. Are you staying with him or aren’t you?” Jess said, and for once she could see a crack in that masterfully constructed facade. She had tears running down her face and she was shaking and it took everything in him not to wrap his arms around her and hold her. “Just tell me.” 

“Please don’t leave,” She whispered. “I don’t want you to leave.” 

“We can’t go on like this anymore. You… you deserve better than that.”

Rory wrapped her arms around herself, shaking a little. He couldn’t stand it, seeing her like that. This is what I do to her, he thought, bitterly. His grandfather had told her to try, but didn’t he owe it to her to let her go? When he knew what he was, when nearly everyone but Rory had recognised what he was. This is what I do, he thought, watching as she cried, quietly, unable to reach out. This is what I am. 

“Do you really care about me, Jess? Really? Because, I…” She didn’t finish, but he understood. It was his turn to say yes, yes, yes, of course he did. How could he not? Every part of him did. But he waited, he didn’t answer. 

“Okay then,” She said, wiping tears away. 

“ Rory ,” He said, and this time it was his turn to beg. 

“I’ll see you in school, Jess,” She took a deep breath, tried for a smile, but her eyes were still wide and hurting. She turned away, walked towards the house. He allowed himself a moment of indulgence. Watched her leave. He walked to his car, slammed the door shut, sat silently for a few seconds, staring blankly. Suddenly, as if possessed, he started the car and pressed the clutch, changing gears. He drove away. Neither looked back. 

Dean was still standing on the porch, talking to Lorelai. They both saw Rory, sobbing, walking towards them. 

“Oh, hon,” Lorelai said, sadly. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Her boyfriend said, clenching his fists. 

“No, it wasn’t- just forget about it,” Rory mumbled. He wrapped his arms around her and she considered pulling away, but she didn’t have it in her. It was easier to give in. To lean into his arms. It was just so much easier. 

__________________________________

They were sitting in Luke’s together, the next morning. Rory had been largely silent since the previous night. It couldn’t have all amounted to nothing - her and Jess. She didn’t want it to. But she didn’t know she would face him later in school. And the next day. And the day after that. It would take every part of her, and a little more, to cut that thread that connected their souls. 

“So, kid,” Lorelai said. “Excited for school?”

“You can say it mom?” 

“Say what? I was just wondering if you’re looking forward to this new day of learning at your fine institution of-”

“What you’re being too careful to say.” 

“Uh, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“About Jess.”

“Oh.” 

“Go ahead.”

“You won’t get mad?” 

“I won’t get mad.” 

“Is it going to be hard for you to see him?” 

“Yeah,” She said, quietly, looking down at the table. “I mean, I’m not excited for it if that’s what you mean. It’ll be awkward and awful and I’ll want to hide.” 

“Uh huh.”

“You can say what you’re thinking, mom. Really.” 

“Well, hon, are you planning to be… friends again?” 

“It seems unlikely.”

“Okay, well, good.” 

“Good?” 

“Come on, Rory. Yesterday you were sobbing in my arms because of him. I get to be happy that he’s not going to be in your life anymore.” 

“Maybe I should talk to him today,” She said, despite herself. “I just… I can’t imagine school without him.” 

“You never told me how close you two were,” Lorelai said, hesitantly, softly. “I didn’t realise.” 

“I couldn’t tell you, really. And with Dean… it was all too complicated. He was just someone I could trust. Someone I could go to. Someone away from all of this,” She gestured out the window to the town. She’s slipping away from me, her mother thought, watching her daughter as she slipped up, revealing a small smile, recalling some incident with Jess. Lorelai thought of him, how he shared secret smiles with Rory, unabashedly. 

With Dean she had never had cause to be afraid that Rory was pulling away from her. After they’d stopped hiding their relationship from Lorelai, after she’d come around to him, she had been happy that Rory had the perfect first love. The kind of person she’d never had. But maybe she’d been blind. Dean hadn’t been who they’d thought he was. If she cast her mind back, if she looked past how happy she had been that her daughter seemed happy, there had been signs from the beginning. But if she couldn’t trust Dean to treat Rory like she deserved to be treated, who could she trust? Certainly not this guy who her daughter liked a little too much. Their every interaction had hints of a shared secret. No. She had to try. She had to try to hold on to her daughter for a little longer. 

“Hon, this crush, maybe you should leave it in the past,” She knew she was testing the waters. 

“It’s not a crush!”

“Whatever it is. You came back crying after a minute with him. Maybe staying away for a little while, just enough time for you to reevaluate, wouldn’t be the worst idea,” Lorelai felt guilty as she said it. She knew Rory would be paralyzed by indecision if she didn’t act now. She knew her daughter. 

“Maybe,” She said, considering her mother’s words. 

“Think about it,” She encouraged.

Chapter Text

“Each time you happen to me all over again.”

- The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton

Jess couldn’t quite wrap his mind around their fight. Goddamnit, Gilmore, he thought, sighing. He was watching her unabashedly, for once, his head turned in her direction - she was sitting at his three o’clock, seats were fixed. He didn’t really care what Paris, who had on a smug little smile, or Tristan, who was smirking, or anyone, really, had to say. It couldn’t all be over. It just couldn’t. 

Rory was trying to ignore him. His dark eyes were fixed intently on her, staring. She resolutely tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, revealing the entirety of her side profile to him, and looked straight ahead. She hadn’t met his gaze once. It was too painful. All she could think of was his silence when she had asked if he cared about her. But he had come to see her. And he had seen her… and Dean. 

“Mr Mariano, isn’t it? I don’t suppose you’re too busy staring at Ms Gilmore to enlighten us about the dichotomy in the story?” The class snickered, and Rory blushed beet red, staring down at her notebook, but Jess was unfazed. He coolly looked to the front. 

“Looking at A Mark on the Wall as a modernist text, Woolf is establishing the story, and modernism as a whole, in response to realism. Modernism is defined by fleetingness, ambiguity, flux, an emphasis on the - often circular - process of thinking, subjectivity, and, specifically in Woolf’s work, the female perspective.” 

“Stop there. Ms Gilmore, please continue,” Jess looked at her, curiously. 

“If modernism is defined by vagueness and internality, as,” Rory’s voice caught, for a second, “as Jess said, then realism can be understood antithetical to that. Fixity, certainty, objectivity, sharpness, and conventionality.” 

“Think,” Jess chimed in. “of Austen vs. Woolf. In most of Austen’s work, we rarely if ever suspect the characters of motives and natures that she has not intended for us to think. We are meant to dislike Mr Elton from the start, but we are expected to like Wickham and Elliot in the beginning. Or, at least, our opinions are determined by what the characters’ think of them. Woolf, however, hardly gives us any clues as to how to feel about this male presence.” 

The bell rang. 

“Very good. Class, as a reminder from Mr Medina, your essays are due tomorrow. Now, he has instructed me to say that he knows that all of you have already completed first and second drafts and today you will only be doing final edits, if anything. He looks forward to seeing your thoroughly revised papers tomorrow. And if you start today, he can tell . Class dismissed.” 

“I hate substitutes,” Paris mumbled to Rory. Jess watched, sort of bemused. The two girls, he had noticed, seemed to have come to a tentative truce. Perhaps because Paris had finally gotten the message that Rory wasn’t interested in Tristan. Perhaps she was having an odd bout of sanity. Who was to say? 

Rory moved to the left so as to make her way to the door, and, just to see what would happen, Jess paused. She nearly bumped into him. 

“Oh,” She said, surprised, her lips parting. She inhaled, sharply, and then quickly filed out of the rows of desks.

“Why in such a rush?” He asked, following her. 

“I thought you said you were done with this. I thought you never wanted to talk to me again,” She said, ignoring Paris, still standing there. 

“Rory,” He said, glancing at Paris. “Look, do you want to talk about this somewhere else?” 

“Sorry, I can’t. I have class.” 

“Are we done, then?” He asked. “We’re never going to talk about this again. We’re just never going to talk again?” 

“I guess not.” 

“So that’s it?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Rory demanded. “Isn’t that what you insisted on? You didn’t answer, Jess, and I’m not stupid. I’m not going to play a game. I think… I think it's better if we leave this in the past,” She said, practically regurgitating what Lorelai had said that morning. 

“Since when?”

“What?” 

“Since when do you think that? Because yesterday you seemed like you had something to say. Like you didn’t just want to forget about it.” 

“Yeah, well, I thought you had something to say too.” 

“I did,” Jess said, quietly. 

“Well, then you should have said it then,” She snapped back. 

“Lovers’ quarrel?” A smug voice cut in. They hadn’t realised that they’d amassed a small audience. Paris, who was watching curiously, a few stray students from English who seemingly had nothing better to do, and Tristan. 

“Shut up, Tristan,” They said, practically in unison. 

“Ooh, feisty as ever,” He said, smirking. 

“Did you want something?” Rory asked, cutting him short, exasperated. Jess had to suppress a smile, despite himself, at her tone. 

“Do you know what these are?” Tristan said. 

“They look like tickets.”

“To PJ Harvey.” 

“Wow, you have good taste, I’ll give you that.” 

“Surprisingly enough,” Jess muttered. 

“You’re into PJ Harvey, right?” 

“Yeah, how’d you know?” 

“Well, I’m all knowing.” 

“How godlike of you,” She said, her mounting irritation rising to the surface. 

“Well, one of these is for you,” He continued, unbothered. Jess stared, disbelievingly. Rory’s gaze flickered to him, immediately, as if looking for something. Support, disbelief, indignation, or perhaps just simple acknowledgement of the preposterous statement that they’d both just heard. Whatever it was, she seemed to find it there. 

“I am not going to a concert with you, Tristan.” 

“Why not?”

“Because it would seem like a date!” 

“Probably because it would be a date.”

“I am not going to date you.” 

“Why? Think Mariano will get jealous? Looks like he’s turning a little red as it is,” He mocked. Jess locked his jaw. Rory wouldn’t want him to interject, he reminded himself. She blushed. 

“No, what? No. No, that’s not-” She stammered. “No, Tristan, I have a boyfriend.” 

“Ah, the boyfriend.” 

“Yes, so I’m not going to go on a date with you,” Rory said. She glanced at Jess one last time, lingered, for a moment, and then walked away. Tristan scoffed and walked away, shoving the tickets into his pocket. Jess stood there for a moment, his gaze flicking between their retreating figures, an idea springing into his mind. 

__________________________________

Rory wanted to talk to Jess. She had wanted to speak to him since she’d walked into school, but she’d kept her mother’s words in mind, turning them over. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was better to just put this thing between them behind her. To try and forget. 

She just had to talk to him one last time. 

Having made her decision, she started making her way to the gardens. He was always in that spot during his free period. If it hadn’t been for their fight, she would have already been there with him. 

She just had a few minutes before the bell rang for the end of the last class. 

“Jess?” Rory said, unable to hide the acute sense of betrayal she felt. He was sitting there, but he wasn’t alone. She recognised the girl. Summer, Tristan’s ex girlfriend. The same girl he’d been talking to days ago. The same girl who had laughed and brushed his chest. They were sitting close together, the way Jess always sat with her, on the tiny bench, his face angled towards her. He was smiling, broadly, an uncharacteristically unguarded smile. 

His eyes darted to her upon hearing his voice, registering her hurt expression. 

“Rory?” 

“I thought you wanted to talk,” She said, locking her jaw.

“I did,” He got up, quickly. “Rory, I-” 

“I’m going to go,” She said, looking anywhere but at him. Before he could stop her, she turned and started walking away, quickly. 

“Rory,” Jess called, following her. “It’s not what you think. Rory . Just listen to me for a second.” She paused, turning to face him, and shook her head. 

“Have fun with Summer,” Her voice was hard and cold but there was a quality in her eyes that made his heart wrench, that convinced him that once again, he had fucked up, that he had hurt her again. He couldn’t seem to stop hurting her. “I’m done, Jess. I’m done.” 

He didn’t stop her as she walked away this time. Perhaps, he thought, he never should have. After all, hadn’t he already realised she was better off without him?

Chapter Text

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will.”

- Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

“Ah, Ms Gilmore, just the woman I was looking for,” Mr Werner said, smiling benevolently. Rory could hardly bear to look at him. “Why don’t you step in here with me,” He led her to an empty hallway. 

“This is about my last test, isn’t it?” She asked, despondently. 

“I’m afraid so. What do you think happened, Ms Gilmore?” 

“I’ve just had a lot on my mind recently, I guess.” 

“I’ll admit, I was surprised to see it. Your performance has improved since you started working with Mr Mariano, and I’ve had word that his has as well. I took the liberty to ask around. Apparently, he has lapsed into old habits once again. By any chance, have the two of you paused your sessions?” 

“We have,” She confessed. She felt concern, despite herself, for Jess. 

“As I suspected. Well, I can’t force you to resume working together, Ms Gilmore, but I think it would serve you both. You’re two of my best subjects. I would hate to see either of your academic performance decline.” 

“Thanks for your help, Mr Werner. I’ll speak to Jess,” Rory turned and left, ducking her head. She wanted nothing more than to go home and curl up in bed, preferably with PJ Harvey playing. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. What she really wanted was to talk to Jess, talk like they used to talk, on that same bench, leaning towards each other. She could picture his face with perfect clarity; crooked grin, sparkling eyes, tousled hair, corded arms, and, oh, that familiar crinkle of his brow that emerged when he was reading, or thinking, or looking at her. It was as if he had been conjured, from that very first day in the library, to haunt her. Once again, she thought of that smile he reserved for her that looked as if he was holding back a laugh, the one that she had seen a million times sitting on that bench. 

That bench. Jess and Summer. She shook her head. She was done with Jess Mariano and the conflicting, complicated mass of emotions that he drew out of her. She remembered what Newland had said to Ellen, “each time you happen to me all over again.” She pressed her eyes closed. No, no. She was done. 

Rory walked through the school’s large doors to the courtyard. 

“Dean?” She asked, surprised. God, she really could not deal with him right now. “What are you doing here?” 

“I thought I’d come pick you up,” He said, grinning. “So you don’t have to take the bus.” 

“Dean, I said I didn’t want you to come pick me up. It’s forty five minutes both ways. It makes absolutely no sense.”

“Okay, well, I’m here now,” He was still smiling. “So you might as well let me pick you up.”

“But I told you, explicitly, that I didn’t want you to come pick me up,” Rory said, frustratedly. “I’m really not in the mood for company right now. I’ve had a long day. School was hard and I bombed a math test and I just really want to be alone right now.” 

“What, so you’d rather sit with a dozen people on a bus than with me?” 

“I won’t be talking to people on a bus, Dean.” 

“Yeah, well, I’ve had a long day too, Rory. I had a hard day at school too and I drove all the way here trying to do something nice for my girlfriend and you’re throwing that in my face! Is it so bad for me to want to catch up with you?” 

“God, what would we say? ‘How was your day, Rory?’ ‘Fine. How was yours?’ ‘Fine.’ ‘How’s your mom?’ ‘Fine. How’s your sister?’ ‘Good.’ I’m really just not in the mood, Dean.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I was boring you.”  

“Could you keep your voice down?” She hissed as a few people turned to stare. 

“I don’t know, Rory. I’m getting kind of mad, okay? I just wanted to do something nice.”

“Oh, come on,” She muttered.

“What?” 

“None of what you’re doing is you trying to be nice. You don’t trust me. That’s why you call me five times a day and try to see me every day and pick me up from school even though I’ve told you I like an hour of peace on the bus. You’re just making sure I’m not with-” 

“Can you really blame me? I don’t even recognise you right now,” He said, coldly. She looked at him and tried to recall the Dean she liked. She could hardly make him out. 

“I can’t really recognise you either.” 

“I’m not the one that’s changed.”

“Maybe you haven’t changed. Maybe I just didn’t see you until now,” She said, softly. He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. “Dean, I think… I think we’ve both had enough, don’t you?”

“What do you mean, had enough?” His voice was rising again. 

“This was nice while it lasted but I think it might be time to call it off. I don’t think we’re working anymore. I don’t think we have for a while, and I didn’t want to admit that, even though I knew it. It felt too risky to give this up, but I think it’s time.” 

“You’re breaking up with me?” Dean demanded. 

“Yes,” She said, her voice a little shaky. “I’m breaking up with you.” He turned around abruptly and got into his car, slamming the door shut and pulling out of the courtyard before she could get her thoughts straight. “It’s really over,” She murmured to herself. 

Rory thought she felt someone’s gaze on her, and she turned her head to find Jess, watching her, the strangest expression on his face. It wasn’t what she had accused him of. There was no joy, no satisfaction, no amusement. He looked surprised, and sympathetic. There was a hint of something else. No, she wasn’t imagining it. Pride . He looked so proud of her. 

She couldn’t help it, she offered up the smallest smile, and in that busy courtyard with dozens of her classmates milling about, talking at the tops of their voices, she was aware of nothing but him and the moment they were sharing, however brief. 

Whatever happened, whatever happens, she thought, we have this. Our own little corner of the world.

Chapter Text

And I believe in Love

And I know that you do too

And I believe in some kind of path

That we can walk down, me and you

So keep your candle burning

And make her journey bright and pure

That she will keep returning

Always and evermore

– Into My Arms by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

Jess was packing up his things absentmindedly, his mind flitting back to Rory. If only he could explain to her what he had been doing with Summer. If only she would listen to him for a minute. He was almost too distracted to notice that grumpy, blonde presence to his right.

“Can I help you, Paris?” He asked, with exaggerated civility. 

“I overheard a pretty interesting conversation yesterday,” She crossed her arms, that familiar, satisfied look on her face that came from knowing something he didn’t. 

“Peeking through keyholes again? Listening through the cracks of doors?” He mocked. 

“Funny, and no. I was standing in the hallway and they just didn’t notice me.”

“And you made no attempt to make yourself known?” 

“By the time I realised it was private they were already halfway through. Anyway, that’s not the point. It was between your girlfriend and Mr Werner.” 

“Rory is not my girlfriend,” He said, sharply. 

“Have I touched a nerve?” 

“Get to the point, would you?” 

“Relax, Mariano. I just learnt something about this whole tutoring situation you and Rory have going on. It seems the two of you weren’t entirely honest with me,” She said, studying his face, waiting for a reaction. He recalled Paris’ suspicious questions around his and Rory’s first tutoring session and their half truth of an explanation. He could so clearly picture Paris mocking Rory; the flush that would creep to her cheeks, the embarrassed, pained look that would come over her face. She’d hate for anyone - especially Paris - to know that he, or anyone, was helping her. 

“Leave her alone, Paris, seriously. The last thing she needs is you bugging her about this,” He turned to face her and looked at her straight on, humourlessly. 

“That’s not what I’m trying to do.” 

“Then what are you trying to do?” 

“I’m trying to tell you to fix it. You guys need each other's help,” Paris said, irritably. He snorted. 

“It’s not that easy.” 

“Then think of it as a challenge. Just fix it, Mariano. Start working together again.” 

“What is it to you, anyway?” 

“I told you, you and Rory are my competition,” She said. He examined her, curiously. 

“You wouldn’t be acting out of genuine concern, would you? Well, well, I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” She snapped.

“I think you are.” 

“It doesn’t matter. Anyway, she’s broken up with the farmer.”

“He’s from Chicago.”

“This is your chance. Why don’t you swoop in, get the girl, live happily ever after.”

“Like I said, it’s not that easy.” 

“Why don’t you try talking to her?”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” 

“Try harder,” She said, seriously.

“Paris-”

“Look, Mariano, you know I’m the last one to care about either of you, and you would never let anyone see if you missed her, but Rory’s having a hard time. Talk to her, okay?” With that, she turned around and strode out of the class. He watched her go with something akin to disbelief. His slight smile slipped away quickly enough. 

All he could think about was how much he wanted to tell Rory about that strange encounter, but that was always what he wanted. 

__________________________________

“You have a minute?” She stared at him, surprised. They hadn’t exchanged a word in at least a week. He took advantage of her confusion and slipped into the seat beside her. “I’ve been slipping lately since we stopped our tutoring sessions. I know we’re… we’re not exactly friends anymore, but I thought we should start again.” 

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Rory asked, cautiously, coolly. 

“We’re going to keep seeing each other. Don’t you think it’ll be better if we get used to things as they are?” 

She glanced down at her lap. She didn’t like things as they were, getting used to it was the last thing she wanted. But… wasn’t that what she’d said? If it was easy for him, shouldn’t it be easy for her too? And, as much as she hated to admit it, she did need his help. She missed his patient explanations and seeing his quick brain in action. She missed following the way he thought. She missed the certainty he imbued in her. 

Well, she didn’t really have a choice, did she? 

“Sure, why not?” 

“Great,” He said, smiling, but she couldn’t help but feel that there was something strained about it. 

“When do we start?”

“Why not today, after school?” Neither of them mentioned last time, but the memory sprung to their minds. They leaned towards each other, as if there was something between them, drawing them together, and he became aware, all of a sudden, of her perfume, and she could think of nothing else but his eyes, fixed on her. She looked away. 

“It’s a half day. We have to leave in an hour.” 

“We could go somewhere else.” 

“Well, we could go to Stars Hollow.”

“Same place?” He asked, and she hesitated. 

“It wasn’t exactly conducive to studying last time.”

“No,” Jess said, with a hint of a smile. “Anywhere else we can go.” He thought he saw Rory privately grappling with herself, trying to come to a decision. She bit her lip, thoughtfully.

“Yeah,” She said, casually. “There’s this diner called Luke’s in town. They have the best coffee in Stars Hollow, you’d like it.” He could sense, somehow, that she had taken an important step. 

“I’ll drive us there,” He offered. 

“Alright,” She said, and he made to get up. 

“Jess,” He looked back at her. “I’m still… We’re not… It’s not all okay, you know that, right?” 

“I know, Gilmore,” He said, quietly. 

__________________________________

Jess wasn’t really sure if she would show up. He was leaning against his car, his gaze fixed on Chilton’s gates. He’d been waiting for her for ten minutes, he still wasn’t prepared when she walked out. She didn’t see him at first, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her big, beautiful blue eyes, her long brown hair, the nervous set of her mouth, and her perennially flushed cheeks. She looked like a grown up Matilda or like the passionate Marianne Dashwood. 

He raised a hand to greet her and she nodded in response as she walked towards him. She didn’t offer a single smile and he did not hazard one. It was a tenuous bridge that he was building towards her. Perhaps, he thought, it would be best if they returned to friendship, if they could. He wasn’t entirely certain friendship was possible for them, but he wanted to try. 

Rory got into the car and he slid into the driver's seat. They did not say a word to each other. She wondered if it was always going to be overshadowed by memory. Their drive that night after the dance returned to her. She had felt closer to him than she’d felt to anyone. She’d felt as if he understood some part of her that she didn’t have the capacity to verbalise. Then that far tenser, more volatile drive home after they’d run into Dean. Oh, Dean. If it wasn’t for him, would she feel so incapable of speaking a word to Jess? Would she feel that fear of flinging herself into the unknown with him? It had never really been about Dean, though, had it? It was always her and Jess. 

He was so goddamn good at masking every emotion that she never knew what was real and what was feigned. She could never be certain if he was just playing with her. And it hurt her to think of him, to be around him and not be able to reach out to him, to not break down that final wall between them to reach the final threshold of intimacy. But with every passing day where they did not speak, it was as if they were reinforcing that wall. Every time she could not confess, every time he couldn’t, every time they didn’t say hello or, or, or, I care for you, it seemed to grow all the more opaque and strong. 

She looked over at him, and their eyes caught, and it felt like she was being caught in the act every time she looked at him, or as if her sleeve was getting caught on a loose nail and she couldn’t pull away without it unravelling. His eyes quickly returned to the road, and she tried to focus as well. 

Would she ever feel certainty with Jess? That was what she had liked best about Dean. He seemed to know exactly how he felt about her. And wasn’t that why she had gotten so upset with Jess? He had made her uncertain about Dean, about him, about herself and what she felt and what she knew and what she wanted. 

Oh, but there was something so exciting, so thrilling about the very same uncertainty that scared her. Yes, it was not knowing what he was always going to do, but feeling like she knew him better than she knew anyone, but also her uncertainties about herself. With him, the whole world seemed wide open, and it terrified her. 

She liked him, she knew she did, and she had been ready to tell him, on the brink of telling him, and she hated the way he had made her feel - as if the very ground under her feet was unsteady. 

“Rory,” He said. “Which turn should I take?” 

“Go right,” Jess glanced at her, perhaps he had noticed the tremble in her voice. 

“ Jesus ,” He muttered as he pulled into the town square. She couldn’t help but let a small smile slip through at his frank astonishment. “Did they location scout here for Sunnydale?” 

“We were actually a prime contender,” Rory quipped. “There it is,” She pointed to the bright yellow sign and Jess parked the car across the street. They got out of the car. She was faced, once again, with a clear awareness of the step she was taking. If they went into Luke’s together, everyone would know. Her mom, Dean, Lane, and the whole town. She wouldn’t be able to keep it to herself anymore.

“Rory?” He said, turning back, realising that she’d stopped. 

“Coming,” She called out, gripping the straps of her bag and walking towards the war as if she was striding into battle. They entered the diner together and she was smiling about something he was saying about small town diners. His lips were quivering with amusement as she struggled not to laugh, but all humour left his face as he looked across the diner. 

“Uncle Luke?” 

Chapter Text

And yet I adore him. I think he's quite crazy, and with no place or occupation in life, and far from happy, and philosophically irresponsible – and there is absolutely nobody like him. 

Was she really beautiful? Was she at least what they call attractive? She was exasperation, she was torture.

– Ada, or Ardor by Vladimir Nabokov

“Jess?” Luke said, disbelief colouring his voice. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“I live here.” 

“In Stars Hollow?” 

“No, close by. In Hartford. Grandfather said he told you.”

“You’re living with your grandfather? That’s twenty minutes away. Why didn’t you… why didn’t you give me a call, kid? I told your mom to tell you to give me a call.” 

“He said you didn’t want to see me,” Jess said, quietly. “He said that we hadn’t talked in too long and there was no point in restarting a relationship now. He said he called you.” Luke’s face hardened. 

“Old bastard. He never told me you were living with him and, of course, my sister decided to keep your address from me. Said she couldn't tell me your address without the permission of your new guardian. Said she'd speak to him. Your grandad probably thought I’d be a bad influence on you. He never did like me. To be fair, I never liked him very much either,” He said, shrugging. He finally noticed Rory, standing there, understanding slowly dawning on her.“Rory, this is my nephew Jess.” 

“I know,” She said. “We go to school together.” 

“Jess, you go to Chilton? You always were the smart one in the family. Who the hell knows where you got that from?” The boy standing next to Rory hadn’t said a word, he was looking at Luke mutely, his jaw twitching. She thought she saw a hint of pain in his eyes. 

“He lied to me,” Jess said, finally. “Of course he did.” Slowly, cautiously, she touched his shoulder. He glanced at her, looked away. 

“Look, kid, I’m sure he had good intentions. Why are you staying with him anyway?” 

“Mom couldn’t deal with me anymore, he showed up, offered to be my guardian. Put me in fucking private school. You know how it is.” 

“Yeah… yeah, your mom said you were having a hard time last time we talked.”

“You didn’t want to talk to me? Couldn’t give me a call?"

"I tried, Jess. I asked your mom where you were and she just wouldn't tell me." 

"And that was that, huh?" 

“Jess,” He couldn’t think of anything to say. Nothing that would justify his actions. Nothing that would justify his nephew. He remembered the last time he had seen him; ten years old and already so angry with the world, already hurt, already abandoned and neglected. He’d been so shocked that there was an adult who was actually interested in him. And, of course, Luke thought, with a rush of shame, he’d gone and abandoned Jess too. “I just… I just thought you were better off without me-”

“A family trait.” 

“And your mom and I had just had a huge fight, and, well, I don’t know. I should have given you a call. I should have tried harder.” 

“Whatever,” He said, mustering up a cruel smile. “I turned out alright.” Luke could barely stand to look the kid in the eyes. Hadn’t he always known this would happen? The hurt little kid would turn into a teenager with rough edges and battle scars. 

“Listen, will you give me your number? Maybe we could see each other this weekend. Grab dinner,” Jess ignored his uncle, turning to Rory. 

“I have to go,” He said. She nodded, watching him leave. Before she or Luke could think of anything else to say, he had crossed the street, got into his car, and was pulling away. She caught a glimpse of him before he disappeared from view. His chin was quivering, she thought she saw the glint of tears. It pained her far more than she had expected to even glance at Jess crying. It made her want to do something irrational like run after his car. 

“Why don’t you sit down,” Luke said, with a sigh. “I’ll make you a cup of coffee.” 

__________________________________

Jess hadn’t been at school for the last two days. On the third day, instead of staying in school for her free period and getting some work done, she asked the office for his address and took the bus to his house. 

It was hard to imagine Jess living in that large brick manor, as hard as it was to imagine her mother growing up in her grandparents’ house. After a moment of hesitation, she rung the doorbell. A housekeeper opened the door. 

“Hi, is Jess home? I’m looking for him.” 

“He’s not home, I’m afraid.”

“Is he out? When do you think he’ll be back?” She hesitated. 

“Are you a friend of Jess.” 

“Yeah, I’m Rory. We go to school together.” 

“I’m Mrs Hopkins. Why don’t you come in, I’ll call Mr Mariano. He can explain things to you.”

“Oh, okay, thank you,” Rory said, stepping into the house. She waited in the foyer until she heard the familiar sound of expensive shoes on marble. 

“You must be Ms Gilmore,” The elder Mariano said, smiling politely at Rory. “Jess has mentioned you.” She tried not to blush, tried to restrain herself from asking what, exactly, he had said. 

“I’m actually looking for Jess. Do you know when he’ll get back home?” She asked. His face darkened. 

“I’m afraid you’re a little too late, Ms Gilmore. My grandson left home two days ago to return to New York after we had a bit of a… falling out. He’s a troubled boy and I tried to give him opportunities, but he decided not to take them. From what I understand, you were a good influence on him, but he’s had a hard life, and that changes a person. I was trying to do what was best for him, but he couldn’t see that. Well, if he can’t accept help, there’s nothing I can do,” Rory listened to this speech with growing anger. 

“Most people don’t appreciate being lied to from what I understand, Mr Mariano, regardless of whether they’ve had a hard childhood.” 

“Excuse me?”

“Jess liked living with you. It was the most peaceful, stable time in his life. He even liked talking to you although I can’t imagine why, if you always talk about him like this,” She said, angrily. “And you drove him off. If you’d apologised, he could have forgiven you. He wanted to live like this, with you, to have someone who cared about him, someone who wouldn’t abandon him. Your dirtbag of a son left him and his mom could never take care of him and now you’re trying to write him off because he had a hard childhood? Maybe I was a good influence on him, I don’t know, but your grandson was a great influence on me too, Mr Mariano. He made me better, he makes people better. If you can’t see that, then I’m glad he left, because you don’t deserve him.” 

“I am not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner in my own house, young lady. I see why you and my grandson were drawn to each other. You both display a complete lack of manners.” Rory ignored him. 

“Where has he gone?” 

“What?”

“You heard me. Has he gone back to New York?” 

“Yes.” 

“To his mom’s house?” 

“Yes, although God knows what he thinks she can do for him.” 

“Please give me the address,” Rory said, calmly. Wordlessly, he strode away from her. She followed him. “I’m not leaving until you give me the address.” She didn’t know what she was going to do, but she knew she had to do something. 

“I am going to my office where I have the address written down,” She didn’t respond. He returned with a slip of paper which he handed to her. She glanced over it and turned to leave. 

“From what I’ve heard, you have a bright future. Don’t throw it away on my grandson,” He said bitterly. 

“If you could get over your ego and apologise to him, maybe you could mend your relationship with him. He has a bright future too, Mr Mariano. He’s the smartest person I know,” She walked out of the door with another word, her heart racing. She felt like a different person. Or, rather, like she was becoming the person she had always wanted to be. 

__________________________________

Rory hadn’t gotten any sleep that night. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking of Jess. She’d even picked up a Kerouac that morning as her book of choice for the day. Standing before those iron wrought gates, she could not imagine spending the rest of the day in classes, drifting from classroom to classroom, trying to focus. 

Before she could fully think through her decision, she turned away from the school and walked back to the bus. She was already mapping out the bus changes in her mind, readying herself for the moment in which she would see Jess. 

__________________________________

The strangest thing was, he didn’t look surprised to see her. He opened the door and there he was, and her heart broke a little when she saw him because she had never seen him look quite so battered and exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was unbrushed, and he wore crumpled pyjamas. There was a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth and he was holding a large cup of coffee. 

“Hi,” She said. He smiled, despite himself. 

“How are you?” 

“Good, how about you?” 

“Good,” There was a beat of silence. “You hungry?” 

“Starved.” 

“I know a place,” He said, stepping out onto the landing and shutting the door behind him. It’s a block down. I get lunch there everyday.” 

“Sounds good.”