The Other Applicant

It’s three in the morning when Lorelai calls. Rory just fell asleep an hour earlier, but that doesn’t make it any easier to wake up. The signal drills itself into her ear and she tries repeatedly to get it to go away until her sleep-ridden mind understands that it’s a call she has to answer. Lorelai is on the other end. Richard is in the hospital again. Rory can tell right from the start that this one is way worse. A planet killer, a destroyer of worlds. Lorelai interrupts the call pretty quickly since Emily is wandering the halls wearing only her nightgown and has to be taken care of. So, the world is ending after all.

Without being told Rory knows she needs to go. She stumbles out of bed, bumps into her desk on her way to the bathroom, almost falling over. Nothing breaks, except a bunch of blood vessels in her hip where the corner of the table gets her. She’ll have a bad bruise but she has more urgent business to deal with now; She throws up, impressively right into the toilet bowl, even while still being on her feet in front of it. Despite her accurate aim she falls to her knees and clutches the porcelain until she’s done. She’s boiling, that’s how it feels, legs sweaty against the tile. Had she stayed asleep she probably would have just woken up with a headache, but sleep, as it turns out, is pretty vital to actually sleeping it off.

She tells herself it’s the shock, but has to admit, ruefully, that she had way too much to drink last night. She does the inventory in her head; two drinks at that fancy place Logan started them out in. Then beers at that club, two, no, three while they were dancing, with a bunch of his friends, there is always someone new. Then she thought she should head home, but was persuaded to stay. And in the VIP-section she had whiskey, that’s the culprit. Her memory gets a little hazy around here, Logan dropped her at home, after a terrible car-ride during which she felt sick. God. Remembering a night out is like watching a bunch of strangers’ drunken conversation, weird how you never seem to get used to that. A hot flash of shame swallows her and she heaves again.

When there’s nothing left to evacuate she washes her face in cold water, and winces at her mirror image. She looks too young, too dumb, especially for someone getting too old for this shit. Eyes red, mouth and nose too. Hair plastered to her face from tap water, sweat and probably a little vomit. It seems connected to her, her behavior and what has happened to her grandfather. It’s not, she knows it, her debauchery has nothing to do with the cardiovascular disease of Richard Gilmore, if any connection is possible, his genetic set up at least has a slim chance of affecting her life, even behavior, but not the other way around. The descendant’s privilege. But what does logic matter when she feels, idiotically, stubbornly, that this is her fault? She decisively pulls her hair up in a too tight bun.

She’s still drunk. But it can’t be helped, she has to get a cab to take her to Hartford. It’ll take a huge chunk out of her checking account but what’s the option? Knowing what needs doing she still bounces off the walls in the apartment, desperate, crying, trying to get dressed for what has to be fifteen minutes before her phone rings again. Dressed in only a t-shirt, one sock and halfway into her sweatpants she picks it up.

“Rory.”

“Luke!” she sobs.

“Hang tight", he says, firmly, warmly. “I'm coming for you.”

If Jess is to be honest he has lost track of time. They’re at Marin’s place and he knows it’s late, but that's it, and it’s the way it should be. Marin is in her underwear, and he is still in his pants, but he’s working hard to rectify both those things. His phone rings. Nothing weird about that, and he would have ignored it. Except. It’s a Tuesday night. Not a day when any of his friends might call to try to make him come out with them. So, he checks it, over Marin’s objections, she holds onto his hair protesting softly, but when he sees who’s calling he jerks free at the cost of a few strands and glances at the digital clock - eleven-thirty - and goes cold. He presses the call through and a tiny, urgent voice crackles on the line.

“Mom’s not home.”

He needs a second to be able to speak.

“Did you look in the garage?”

“I looked.”

He sits up on the edge of the bed, rigid, sober in every sense of the word suddenly.

“Okay", he manages while pressing a hand to his temple to keep his head from exploding. “Isn’t her car in the driveway?” He doesn’t ask about her dad, the divorce was finalized last month and the man has kept very busy since then.

In hindsight Jess should have seen something like this coming.

“Nah-uh", she says, and he hears she’s crying now, she’s been brave so far.

He makes a sound but bites down around it before it becomes something unconstructive, like a wail or a growl. Marin pokes his side with her toe, urging him to get off the phone, but he slaps her foot away. She gets up jaggedly, heading for the bathroom and slamming the door behind her.

“Listen", he says, trying to drown out his own heartbeat while still being quiet enough to not upset her further. “I want you to go check the front door to the house.”

She sniffles.

“Check it?”

“Try to open it.”

There’s a shuffling sound when his much younger sister makes her way to the door.

“It’s locked.”

He feels like he can breathe again.

“Okay, good.” He swallows. “I’m coming, but it’ll be a while. A few hours maybe.” He starts getting as dressed as he can with the phone clutched between his shoulder and head. “Go back to bed, try to sleep, and if you can’t… Do you have the book I bought you?”

“Yeah.”

“Start reading it, when I get there we’ll finish it together. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He ends the call, and puts the rest of his clothes on. He knocks on the bathroom door.

“Marin! I’m leaving.”

“Whatever, Jess!”

He mutters a string of appropriate swear words while exiting the place. Already cold from the tension he barely notices the January air jabbing its nails into him. He heads for his car and gets into it, turns the key and the engine starts humming, but before he gets going he needs to make another call.

“Jess?” Luke’s voice is rusty from sleep.

“I need you to go to Liz’s.”

There’s a distortion on the line, then silence. For a second Jess thinks the call has ended but then he hears Lorelai mumbling through sleep in the background.

“Luke!” he says, sharper.

“I’m here.” Luke clears his throat. “I’m pressed for sleep s’all. Lorelai’s dad got sick the other night, kept us up around the clock.”

“Sorry-” Jess starts.

“Nevermind that now. I’m on my way. Tell me what happened.”

CHAPTER ONE - The Horse You Rode In On

“Why do you think we should consider you for the position of Editor-in-chief of the Stars Hollow Gazette?”

“Well, Taylor. You know me.”

“I do indeed. Still, indulge me.”

Rory stares at the aging town selectman’s sweater vest. It’s in red and green and she knows she could drop some comment about them being Christmas colors and how it’s a bit late for those. And Taylor would brush it off but it would bother him. She keeps a smile at the thought from getting too wide and answers the question, hopefully without any hint of indignation that he would even ask.

“For starters I grew up here, this is my hometown and my devotion to this community should be no surprise to anyone. But neither should my academic merits. I went to Chilton and worked at the Franklin. I finished at the top of my class, I was valedictorian. I went to Yale, majored in journalism, worked at the Yale Daily News and did a stint at The Stamford Eagle Gazette. I spent a year on the campaign trail for Obama, and have since had recurring jobs with The New Yorker, The National Enquirer, Teen Vogue, Life Magazine, to just mention a few.” She wonders if that came out boastful and hopes it didn’t, considering there are publications mentioned she isn’t particularly proud of herself. “That should qualify me plenty to take over the editor’s duty of a magazine I’ve been reading since I learned how to read, a magazine I still have a subscription to, mind you.”

“Let’s turn the question around then. Why would you consider working for a paper of this size?” Taylor gestures at the room, which really is small and dusty compared to most places she’s worked. “Having come from such distinguished publications, I mean. Where’s the attraction?”

She hesitates, and doesn't think she should have to share the details of her sudden homecoming. On the other hand this is Stars Hollow. Nobody has ever needed an issue of the Gazette to know everybody else’s business. On the other, other hand, Taylor needs to be taught that not everything concerns him.

“I think I mentioned Stars Hollow being my home", she goes with. “I’ve decided to spend more time with my family.” It’s not an outright lie even if it doesn’t come close to being the truth, there’s a lot of grayscale like that in adult life, Rory has discovered.

“That’s funny.” Taylor scratches his beard.

“Why is that funny?”

“Because that’s what the other applicant said as well.”

“Other applicant?”

“You didn’t think a job of this magnitude would go by unnoticed, did you? There are plenty of people who would be happy to land it.”

“Oh, of course not, and I’m sure they would", she hurries, and blushes with harm.

Taylor smiles and pats her hand in a conspiratorial manner.

“Don’t worry, you’re definitely my favorite.”

She instinctively returns the smile, and it makes her a bit queasy.

“So…?”

Taylor shuffles around the papers he definitely keeps in front of him just for show.

“So, it's down to you and one other candidate.”

“Oh.”

Bernie Roundbottom was approximately one thousand years old when he died last month, and he was phoning it in for the better part of Rory’s comparatively short life. Who could possibly be a valid opponent for this position? What other top scholar villagers lingers in Stars Hollow that could offer an iota of competition?

“It’s not you, is it?” The words slip out from between her lips as a horrifying feeling takes root inside.

Taylor’s eyes widen in genuine surprise.

“Heaven’s no! Do you truly think I’d have you jump through all these hoops if it was already a done deal?”

Rory takes care to politely swallow this outrageous statement.

“Then who?” she asks instead.

“I hardly think it’d be ethical to-”

“Come on, Taylor, it’s me you’re talking to.” She chuckles disarmingly. “The dairy queen. The poster girl for morality. I’m not gonna challenge whoever it is to an armwrestling match. I’m simply bursting with curiosity as to who might qualify at the level that I have just accounted for.”

“I’ll have you know it’s someone highly qualified”, Taylor insists. “Also a previous member of this community, who’s just now looking to settle down here to, just like you, spend time with the family. And since you’re twisting my arm: A fancy degree isn’t everything, and your experience is mainly that of a journalist, while your competitor has years of experience with different levels of editorial work.”

Rory swallows a remark about how almost every journalist has a degree of editorial work in their resume and considering the staff limitations on this particular publication whoever gets the job will have to do everything anyway so more editorial experience isn’t necessarily a critical merit. Her eyes narrow. She knows she should drop it, it makes her look bad to keep pushing, but something about Taylor’s delivery drives her crazy.

“Well, do I know this person?” she asks, and when Taylor looks extremely guilty for a fraction of a second she knows he just needs one more push. “I’m dying here, Taylor.”

Taylor stares at her under bushy eyebrows. She’s filled with a sense of foreboding.

“If you must know, it’s Jess Mariano.”

Her jaw drops, there’s no stopping it, no hiding it.

“Jess Mariano?”

It’s the strangest thing hearing his name, speaking it. It’s being reminded of something obvious, like the fact that you’re going to die. He’s always on her mind without any conscious thought going into it, and it’s acceptable because of the absence of him. The nearness of him, even just as the other applicant for the same job demands something from her, like the organization of someone’s funeral.

“I can’t believe this!” she laments, and not for the first time.

She’s in Lorelai’s kitchen nursing a much needed cup of coffee. Her mother, who is critically regarding the left-overs in the fridge, turns her head.

“And you’re sure he said Jess Mariano, and not Tess Teryamo, or Chess Berrybombo or-”

“As sure as death and taxes.”

Lorelai shakes her head.

“Hell has officially frozen over.”

“You don’t say! The day Taylor Doose would even consider Jess Mariano over me.”

Lorelai lets go of the fridge door to be able to gesture.

“The Rory Gilmore!”

“I mean, I even told him I was coming back to stay in Stars Hollow, and he’s still thinking of having someone run the Gazette from what? Three states over? He said Jess was looking to settle down here, but come on!” She actually lets out a short laugh before noticing Lorelai’s rigid back. “What?”

Lorelai closes the fridge, stands up straight and turns.

“Well, actually…” she says, and looks a bit like Taylor did earlier: guilty.

“What?”

Lorelai speaks, uncharacteristically slow:

“In that regard I guess you’re both in the same position, literally.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He moved back”, Lorelai blurts, wringing her hands.

There’s an uncomfortable pause as Rory struggles with the simplest of words.

“To Stars Hollow?” And when Lorelai doesn’t answer. “When? How have I missed this?”

“You’ve been busy in Hartford.”

Rory swallows thickly.

“Yeah, but this is Jess Mariano back in Stars Hollow. Someone would have told me.”

Lorelai sits down next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“They wouldn’t wanna bother you with this", she tries, then goes on: “It’s okay that you’ve been busy, your grandfather’s sick.”

Rory crosses her arms.

“For how long has he been back?”

“Just a few weeks. Luke says he’s mainly helped out in the back, before and after opening hours, some early morning and late evening shifts.”

Rory tries to get her head around just how clueless she has been.

“Why haven’t you told me? This isn’t him being back for a couple of days being spotted when disappearing around some corner.”

Lorelai remains silent. It’s unreal.

“Mom!”

Her mother makes a pained grimace.

“I’m not in a position to tell you all I know so I figured it would be easier if I didn’t tell you at all.”

Rory just gapes, shaking her head in disbelief. Lorelai continues:

“You have to understand, my loyalties-”

“Loyalties?” Rory echoes.

“My relationship with Luke means I can’t just throw information around without-”

Rory gets up, rather jaggedly.

“Got it.”

The absence of Jess has only been an illusion, he’s already here, in her house. She takes a breath, a slow one, she’s more upset about this than what seems reasonable. But then again, her life at the moment is pretty upsetting. So, she decides to just toss this into the hurricane that currently constitutes her existence. She plops back into her seat.

“Fine, he’s back. That makes it a bit more reasonable that he’d go after the paper, but just barely.”

“I didn’t know about that”, Lorelai urges, her thumb rubbing Rory’s shoulder blade in short little motions.

“It’s fine, mom.” It really isn’t. “I mean, it’s not that Jess doesn’t have what it takes…”

Then what? The nearness of him demands something. It’s easy to feel all poetic and mild and wish him the best when what’s best for him is something completely different from what it is for her.

“Then what?” Lorelai predictively asks.

Rory never could stay indifferent to him. She’s jittery just from the idea that they’re currently sharing the same few square miles, it’s too far and too close at the same time. She’s excited and upset and it’s too complicated to convey, even to her mother, or maybe especially to her. She shrugs.

“The fact that Taylor would even give him the time of day… I don’t get it.”

“Maybe Taylor Doose is more complex than any of us have given him credit for.”

“Maybe he’s scared of Luke.”

“Can’t you just ask him?”

”Taylor? More than I already have? How would that look?”

“Like Stars Hollow hasn’t changed a bit?”

“There are limits to the embarrassment I’m willing to suffer at the hands of this place.”

“Well, then.” Lorelai tilts her head. “You better get used to breathing through the ignorance.”

“Much less blissful than what people have been telling me”, Rory mutters and taps her nails on the surface of the table.

Lorelai seems to relax, she gets up and pulls out a bunch of takeout-menus from the drawer, studying them.

“Do you have Jess’s phone number?” Rory asks.

Lorelai lowers her menus.

“You know, I heard they were looking for someone at the Woodbridge Chronicle-” she starts.

“An ad wrangler”, Rory decisively protests. “Occasional writer of puff-pieces for local businesses.”

“But they have papers in Hartford and Providence too, remember Providence? That Hessel-woman is still editor at the Journal-Bulletin, and you might check in with her. There’s nothing stopping you from doing what you’ve already been doing with a trimmed back circuit.”

Rory shakes her head.

“That’s regression, a self-imposed demotion. If I go to smaller papers I should have bigger positions.” She pauses. “And are you telling me to drop the best opportunity for me just so you don’t have to give me a simple phone number?”

“But I just don’t want you to have to-”

“I’m fine, mom. Me and Jess are on friendly terms.”

Lorelai regards her for a bit, then chuckles.

“Don’t you mean friendish?”

Rory holds out her hand.

“Phone number, please.”

He’s already at Weston’s when she arrives, only five minutes late, so he must have been on time, or early even, judging by how comfortably dry his jacket hangs from his chair, and how the season’s inevitable cold-nipped red cheeks and nose are nowhere to be found on him. He spots her and gets up, sticking his hands into his pockets, then pulling them out again and starting to fidget with his cuticles. On the phone he was pleasant, warm but collected, sounding almost as if he had been expecting her call. A different attitude from what he’s projecting now.

She smiles instinctively at the awkward gesture, which definitely puts her at ease because he must be feeling like she does; She’s nervous, more so now than she thought she’d be when walking here, when getting up this morning, even when calling him. It was so easy to press the buttons. Years of talking to strangers have made her desensitized to social anxiety, but now it catches up with her: She’s about to have coffee with her highschool boyfriend. A highschool boyfriend who broke her heart, and came back and told her he loved her and ran away again and came back again and asked her to run away with him. A highschool boyfriend who pulled her out of a dark place. A highschool boyfriend she tried to use to get back at her college boyfriend.

She freezes in front of him when all this comes back to her, and has no way of knowing how long she might have been locked in thoughts like that, had it not been for him; He blinks, then smiles, softly, and takes a step up to her rigid figure and puts a hand on her shoulder leaning in and placing the side of his face to hers. That wakes her up, and her own hands shakily reach for his shoulder, elbow.

“Hi", he says, smile audible in his voice, his breath on her ear.

“Hey yourself", she answers, trying to sound humorous.

Her instinct is to kiss his cheek but it feels dangerous to put her lips to his skin, so she hinders the motion in the middle of its sequence, settling for just pushing her face lightly onto his. He’s warm against her winter cheek. He pulls back, ears a bit red, and she notices she’s burning up herself, despite just having stepped inside, like he transferred his warmth to her. It’s so familiar, being this close to him, even if it’s been years and hundreds of miles, doesn’t seem fair that he gets to go away without going away. They look at each other, she feels her own heartbeat in her throat and tries swallowing to get rid of it.

“I’m just gonna-” She gestures toward the counter.

“Oh yeah.” He nods and sits back down.

Relieved, she turns to the counter and places her order, having a hard time imagining ingesting what she had planned on all of a sudden. While she waits she glances at Jess who stirs his coffee. They picked Weston’s out of some misplaced idea of privacy. In reality she and Jess meeting up will be all over town no later than tomorrow. She knows. Maybe once she’s in charge of what makes the gossip column she’ll be able to control that, just a little bit.

She gets her coffee, her danish, puts them on the table and wriggles out of her coat, hanging it over the back of her chair, then immediately picking up her cup and taking a sip despite the beverage burning her tongue, anything to stay busy while she grasps for a good way to start. What did she expect? That they could conduct a casual business conversation, just to clarify a few things?

“So", he says, and she almost drops the cup but catches it at the last second placing it back on its saucer with both hands. “I was glad you called.”

“I’m glad to have called, and to have made you glad", she clunkily responds and chuckles a little from the embarrassment.

“I’ve been meaning to myself", he says.

“You have?”

“Uhm. Yeah. Or…” He pauses, staring at his coffee and stroking his longer hair behind his ear. “I’ve been trying to work up the courage, which I suppose counts as intent, but-” He sighs sharply, like he’s been needing to breathe. “You’ve always been more courageous than me.”

She gasps and turns it into a theatrical sound of outrage, even reaches out and lightly slaps his hand, all in the service of hiding her real, ambivalent reaction to his words.

“What are you talking about? You’re like, the bravest person I know.”

The corners of his mouth pull it into a smile, making creases in his cheeks that have her wishing she’d kissed him there after all.

“Ha! Reckless is probably the word you’re looking for.”

“I’m a writer, don’t tell me my words.” She smiles, a great deal more comfortable all at once, maybe because of his self-deprecation, or their rusty jargon creaking back into motion again.

He smiles too, and moves his hand dismissively.

“Tomato-tomahto.”

“More like potato-potahto.”

He laughs. It’s a short bark of a sound, but with a distinct musical note to it, like part of a song. When he gets quiet his eyes land on her again, and there’s a thickening sensation in her chest. Damn it.

He looks good. Such a silly observation, as if that’s it. He looks good because he has this magnetism about him, it pulls at her, it repels her mother. Like an actual law of physics, but sure, he looks good. That’s a very safe way to put it. She clears her throat.

“I hear you moved back.”

His smile fades slightly, but clearly.

“It’s true.”

“I did not see that coming", she goes, and stirs her coffee, following the spoon’s repetitive motions with her eyes, it helps her focus.

“Yeah, it was a bit of a curve-ball, but that’s my life, I guess.”

He sounds dry, a bit bitter and she looks up. He’s chewing at his lower lip, and drags a hand through his hair, pushing the fingers to his head.

“Where are you staying?” she hurries, to keep from being hypnotized.

“The diner.” He shifts in his seat. “But I’m looking into getting something of my own, an apartment, in time.”

She frowns. That’s a real decision, not just some whim.

“Wow. Are you okay?” Another safe line, an open question which he can choose a safe answer to.

“Okay really doesn’t cover it", he says on an exhale, gesturing dismissively. “But I don’t want to talk about it right now. Maybe later?” He makes eye contact with her, it’s a real request, or invitation, so she hastily nods. “And what about you?”

“I’m fine", she answers, automatically.

He leans in a little, resting his chin on a hand.

“I’ve read your stuff all over.” His free hand does a little wave with the spoon. “And I saw your picture in the National Enquirer of all places.”

“Oh, that.” She blushes.

Logan brought her to a high society party for New Year’s Eve and it was filled with photographers.

“So, is that still a thing, with that Huntzberger-guy?” He smiles, but it looks a little stiff.

“Oh no, we’re just friends.” She clears her throat. “We picked it up again kind of recently, actually. He moved back east before Christmas and called me, we got reacquainted, he likes to have someone he can take to parties. And they’re usually great places to network.”

He nods, but is clearly done with the subject of her and her college boyfriend, so she turns the conversation around again.

“What happened to your job at the publishing house?”

He twitches a little, it looks like pain.

“Uhm, I- It’s actually still there, I’m a partner. Not that that pays the bills though.” There’s a short but severe silence before he picks up the conversation again, with another question: “You said on the phone you were back in town too, is that because of your grandfather, or…?”

She nods, quickly, as to get it over with.

“I was sorry to hear about that", he says, and she’s forced to nod again.

They’re silent. Rory closes her hands around her cup of coffee, pays mind to how the warmth creeps into her fingers, to the moment it starts to burn.

“So you’re staying with Luke and Lorelai?”

“I’m actually staying in Hartford most of the time", she replies. “My grandmother needs the help when my grandpa gets his home visits and the rest of the time…” She falls quiet, clings harder to her cup.

“So she won’t drive herself crazy”, Jess finishes for her.

“Yeah.” Rory smiles at him weakly.

“That’s good of you", he says.

God! Why is this so difficult? This has been real for a month already, she’s settled into it and convinced herself she’s a real pragmatic under pressure. After the call Luke came to pick her up and they drove to Connecticut, three days later she put her apartment up for rent, and after two weeks she was settled in Hartford. She and Lorelai have their movie nights every other evening, catching up on their years-long backlog, and everything in Hartford is as usual, on the surface at least. But here, now, her throat burns, her hands shake, like she’s back to that night when Lorelai woke her up with that phone call. She desperately clears her throat. She has to bring it up, now, before this turns into something else.

“Well, anyway I’ve been looking for local jobs, and like magic, the Gazette finally announced it’s looking for a new editor-in-chief.” She forcefully keeps her voice, light, casual, hoping to shake loose some information from him rather than have to ask him outright about it.

His expression is inexpugnable, like it mostly is, but after several minutes of warm, heartfelt conversation, it sticks out a bit. Or maybe she’s imagining it, she does know he applied for the position after all. He leans back in his chair.

“Yeah", he just says.

She’s too impatient to hang around this vague moment, and goes on:

“And I thought, that would be perfect for me, a chance to advance my career a bit, even if it’d mostly be a title, y’know, ‘cause of the limited circulation of the paper. But still, it would increase my range. And I’d get to put my own spin on it, renew it, make it readable.”

She laughs, but even to herself it sounds hollow. Irritation takes a whip to her. She rarely second-guesses herself these days, her life is too swell for that, present circumstances excluded, of course. But now her highschool boyfriend makes her squirm, forces her to play hardball, by not doing anything, not saying anything.

“So, imagine my surprise when Taylor Doose tells me that Jess Mariano has applied for the same position.” She gestures, palms to the sky, and laughs incredulously again.

Jess does not mirror her expression, that much is clear, but she’s too trapped in her own line of reasoning to stop talking. Historically, words have been her friend, granted, she’s not always saying the right thing, but she has inherited her mother’s verbal prowess, and can keep spinning the same thread until the hard core of her point is wrapped up in miles of yarn.

“Like, you are the last person I’d imagine would go for that job.”

She’s still smiling, but the words have hard edges to them now, she can’t seem to control that. He’s silent, while she can’t keep her annoyance from her voice anymore, maybe she never could.

“You know, since you hate this place.”

Just like that, she’s run out of words, and has to look at him, really look at him. He sits straight in his chair, face serious, and gaze locked to a spot on the table. She feels like telling him to look at her but he does before she gets a chance to, and then she wishes he hadn’t.

“Just to get this straight", he starts, voice tight. “You called me because of the job?”

Her instinct is to say yes, obviously, but when she hears his words, how they sound, paired with their short but sweet conversation before she started in on her mission, it makes her feel like wincing, and she tenses her muscles to keep from doing just that. Not that he needs a verbal answer, or even an expression.

“I see", he says, and then twists his face into a grimace. “But now that you mention it, I never would’ve pegged you for a homecomer either, miss big-shot international correspondent.”

Anger explodes in her. Real anger. She hasn’t felt that for years.

“Are you referring to yourself as a homecomer? The Jess I knew would rather be caught dead than identify as a Stars Hollow resident.”

“The Jess you knew was a vain child.”

His words are like whip lashes. The answer is cruel, both to him and to her who was in love with him, just because he’s partly right about it doesn’t make it any less painful. But the pain does remind her of all the shit he pulled, in a visceral way even, and that enables her to respond fast.

“Tell me about it.”

There’s a loud noise that makes her twitch before realizing it comes from him pushing out the chair while still sitting in it. Muscles move in his jaw and he stares at her, eyes dark and angry. This has not gone the way she hoped, but now that she thinks about it she has a real hard time remembering just exactly what she was hoping for, and how any hopes of that vaguely sunny nature would seem realistic.

“So", he goes on. “You’re scared I’m gonna land the job over you? You’re sizing up the competition?”

Is that what she’s doing? Shoot. Her heart beats hard, adrenaline makes it difficult to control herself.

“What competition?”

He actually smiles at that, quickly and coldly, like the blade of a knife glistening in the winter light.

“Easy there, miss Gilmore", he says, voice like honey. “Let’s just see what mister Doose decides.” With that he stands, grabs the jacket off his chair and pulls it on, leaving her at their rickety table in Weston’s with the organization of someone’s funeral to manage.

He holds himself together well enough, even when the frosty air slaps him in the face as he exits the café. As he passes the window a glance slips to her where she still sits inside, gaping. He feels the small but decisive muscles holding his chilly smile in place and the rhythm of his body, it's sometimes elegant machinery, keeping his legs moving. He rounds the corner and stops. Apparently this is as far as he goes.

What people think or even say about him doesn’t matter, at least it’s what he’s been telling himself, but that only applies when people think he’s a bastard. A thief, a marauder, a trickster, a hoodlum, the antichrist. That’s okay for some reason, comfortable even, but the idea that people might witness him being weak in public bothers him plenty. So he takes the rod to himself and forces his body, this sometimes piece of junk machinery, to keep moving. There’s a place behind the building, the opposite of a facade, where Weston's keeps their dumpsters, and he slips in there, between them and the ugly wall of the building. His breathing becomes labored and he stares at the white air of his exhales as he struggles to make sense of himself.

What is this? What are these feelings? Before meeting Rory he tried to not think too hard about them. He was happy, no denying that, for the first time in a while, but he couldn't or wouldn’t think of why. Not that it helped. Now, it’s all too clear what he was hoping for: For them to be friends again. Not just on friendly terms, none of them owing the other a thing, but friends. For her to bestow her genuine attention on him again, to make him feel like he used to with her. To make this town - this half-mile, four-block, freakhole of a medical experiment - actually make any sort of sense to him. He’s begrudgingly accepted that Stars Hollow is his destiny, this is as far as he goes. But with the friendship of Rory Gilmore, that might actually be okay.

Only, she’s not interested in his friendship, more like the other way around. She would prefer him to not be here at all. At least that makes two of them. He lets go of an audible exhale and is so embarrassed. He’s so fucking stupid. Once more he wishes he could excavate the part of him that needs her, the starved part that has been kept docile since they last met with the phrase ‘it is what it is’. It’s a great phrase, it maintains the status quo and is vague enough for him to be able to freely fantasize about what ‘it’ is, exactly. It’s a conservation agent, a tranquilizer, and fucking rendered useless by the disastrous conversation they just had. At first he thinks it’s nausea but then realizes that he really feels like crying. He refuses though, clears his throat and swallows, it doesn’t help, but he pretends it does. Enough of this.

Living at the flat above the diner means he doesn’t really have expenses outside of food yet, but he would really lose it if he had nothing to do during the days, even the ones when Rory Gilmore isn’t tearing his heart out of his body. So, he heads back to the diner and throws himself into work despite it not being his shift. Cesar shoots him a strange glance but doesn’t question it, he never does. A nephew suddenly being back working the diner after ten years is apparently regarded as Luke’s business, and you don’t get into that.

Jess is grateful Luke doesn’t get on until in an hour, he needs the time to level himself. But when Luke arrives he can still tell something’s up. Instead of getting to work he walks straight up to Jess, pulling his collar as he goes. They head behind the curtain to the small, cramped space that just exists to offer doorways to the three different spaces of Luke’s: the diner, the apartment and the store room.

“What happened?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” Jess automatically answers, pushing his uncle’s hand off his neck.

“Why do you always have to make this so difficult?” Luke ushers Jess into the store room. “You were having coffee with Rory, right?”

“So?” As he speaks he thinks how he’s still such a child, he should have gotten better at this honesty thing by now.

“So, how was it?” Luke patiently asks.

Jess’s throat starts to itch again. He shrugs.

“It was nothing really.”

There’s a pause.

“Really?”

“A work thing.” It’s not a lie, one small step closer to honesty.

“A work thing?” Luke raises his eyebrows.

“She’s going after the editor position at the Gazette.”

“Well, yeah, I knew she was. What does that have to do with you?”

“So am I.”

Luke’s jaw goes slack, silence settles. Jess lets a few very long seconds pass before making an effort to leave, but Luke puts a hand on his chest stopping the movement.

“You went after the same job?”

“No offense, but I can’t keep working here. You can’t afford me for one thing.”

Luke waves dismissively.

“I can afford you just fine.”

“Well, you weren’t supposed to have to.”

Luke makes a little gesture meaning they’re only tabling the discussion for a later time while dealing with more urgent business, but Jess knows it’s the last time he’ll hear of it, if left to the devices of his uncle.

“And she called you about that?” Luke asks.

“Even had a few sips of coffee with me over that.”

Luke frowns, doesn’t seem to be able to make sense of the situation, not that Jess blames him, he’s not exactly helping with clarifying things.

“What? Is she worried Taylor will pick you over her?” Luke chuckles, but when Jess doesn’t appear to share his mirth he gets serious. “Is that it? Is Taylor considering giving you the job?”

“Considering being the operative word”, Jess hurries.

“Still!” Luke exclaims, smiling, but this time wider, and Jess actually smiles too, when he figures out that his uncle is proud of him. “What do you know? Taylor Doose likes the credentials of Jess Mariano.”

Jess rolls his eyes.

“There’s something intoxicating about a person you can’t stand needing something from you, I guess.”

“Hey!” Luke barks. “You’ve done good work! Seven years, and you helped build that publishing house. Don’t you dare sell yourself short.” He waves a finger around, then shakes his head. “But I’d never thought I’d see the day when Taylor would be forced to eat his own words.”

“So, we’re both pleased with the situation", Jess tries. “Can I go now?”

“Wait a minute! What did Rory say about it? I bet she was pretty proud of you?”

This is where it gets really hard for Jess. Partly because an entire world is shattering around him, one in which Rory Gilmore has his back, partly because Rory Gilmore is family to Luke now, Jess can’t just share the uncensored version with him without declaring outright war.

“Not exactly.”

Luke stops smiling, so Jess goes on before he has a chance to imagine the worst.

“I guess she was kind of counting on that job.”

Finally the severity of the situation seems to dawn on Luke.

“What did she say?”

“It’s not important.” Jess clears his throat. “Anyway, it’ll be settled soon enough, I’m supposed to hear back tomorrow.”

“Okay.” The word is dragged out.

Jess tries for the door again.

“Hey", Luke says with a hand on his upper arm.

“What?”

“I’m sorry about the meet-up. I know you were hoping-”

“I don’t wanna talk about that", Jess interrupts firmly. “But thank you.”

Like magic, the doorbell chimes and a very familiar trot stomps into the diner.

“Jess!” Doula’s voice is strong for its size. “I’m here!”

Jess smiles.

“Better get out there before she raids the donuts.”

“Fine. To be continued.”

“Maybe.” He hurries back into the front, tailed by Luke.

Doula is at the counter. She’s climbed a stool, her legs dangle while she predictably eyes the glass dome holding the donuts, with frightening intensity. The sight of her does something to him, there’s an internal scurry, a clean-up crew, the emotional version of doing a salute. At attention, soldier. Paradoxically, there’s relief to have her in sight. The feelings didn’t used to be this clear but have gotten sharper since that night when she called him back here. He still smiles, and finds he doesn’t have to force it.

“Hey,” he says, walking up to her and giving her a hug.

“Can I have a donut?”

“Sure.” He lifts the lid, handing her a chocolate one.

“Don’t give her that!” Luke objects, but drops it when he realizes it’s already too late. “You could at least start with some eggs", he mutters and then immediately stumbles over Doula’s worn My Little Pony-backpack that she’s dropped by the stool. “And pick that up before somebody breaks their neck.”

Doula slides off the stool picking her bag up and handing it to her brother.

“Yes, Grumpy Cat", she says, causing Jess to start laughing.

Then everything’s fine for a while. No matter how he feels about it he’s where he has to be, and there’s an undeniable calm in that, at least when his sister’s around. She devours her donut while he checks her bag and discovers Liz has forgotten to pack clean underwear once again, he’ll have to buy her some to keep here at some point.

He and Doula head upstairs and he helps her with her homework. Later he’ll make her dinner and she’ll stay over. Since he’s back here it’s a thing they do, on his initiative, it gets boring chores and potential triggers off of Liz’s back and offers him a break from worrying about it. But the irony of Jess Mariano providing a stable home life, or helping anybody, even a six year old, with their homework is not lost, even on Jess Mariano. When they’re done with her assignments he seats her in front of the TV so she’ll be good and distracted when he performs the challenging task of untangling her hair. She looks to develop his rougher kind eventually, but it’s still soft, almost baby-ish, with hopeless knots usually centered around bits of dried sugar. He has a brush that’s supposedly good for it, acquiring that in itself was torturous. It required a visit to the beauty shop, and interacting with his old high school fling, who knew enough to keep him through a half-hour lecture on hair technology. Just over a brush for his sister, and even after that, it’s still a goddamn chore trying to fix it.

“Is it true what Grumpy Cat says?”

“What is he saying?”

“That you’re moving back.”

He hasn’t told her because he doesn’t want her thinking it’s because of her. Sometimes people’s good intentions, things they do on your behalf, can become splinters under your skin. That’s why he went off on Luke so frequently when he was younger. He’s since stopped feeling indebted, and is currently working toward also feeling deserving of the effort his uncle put into him. Growth, dammit. It’s been difficult though, considering Luke had a way of looking at him back then like he was a chore, a challenging and interesting chore, but a chore nonetheless. He doesn’t want her to know that her mother’s fuck-ups were bad enough for him to uproot his entire life, especially not if he becomes wildly unhappy here, which he kind of has to count on. She can’t be allowed to carry that around. Still, it was pretty silly thinking he could just sneak back into town, she’s pretty sharp for a six year old.

“It’s a done deal, kid.” Jess gestures at the boxes stacked in a corner. “I am moved back.”

“Are you gonna buy a house?”

“Maybe not a house, but somewhere other than this place.” He makes a face. “You live here too long you start to smell like french fries.”

“I like french fries.”

He chuckles.

“Good thing I’m not in a hurry then.”

There’s a pause, he works at a terrible snag by her ear and she winces and breathes sharply from the pain, but without complaining.

“Why?” she says.

“Why what?”

“Why are you moving back?”

Jess presses his lips together, forcing an over-accentuated shrug that she can’t see of course, time to use actual words.

“Needed a change in scenery. I never got the deal with cheesesteaks anyway.”

Her silence gives the distinct impression that she’s not buying it.

“Is it because dad left?”

“Doula”, he says, attempting to turn her name into a period at the end of a sentence.

“But-”

“But it’s not important.” He turns her toward him, and her eyes - dark, like his - search his face. “You know what is?” He points to her. “Are you glad I’m staying here?”

She nods.

“Well then. That’s all that matters", he says, and means it, even if it stings.

After she’s gone to sleep his phone rings. It’s Matt and Chris calling with their weekly update on business in Truncheon. The three of them are partners and they’ve been having meetings like this since they started out and the plan is they’ll keep doing it, even when one of them has moved away. He has tried to let them off the hook. It’s not like the title partner means any actual money for them anyway, you do the work you can pick out a meager salary, but a partner is nothing but a questionable title. However the guys have refused to quit, they’re friends after all, and if they’re not gonna take the term partner seriously then who is? To justify the time going into their weekly conference calls, Matt and Chris spend some time spitballing different options for him.

“Hey, when you become editor of that paper you can do reviews of our publications!”

Jess holds the phone in place between his face and shoulder while he puts the dishes from dinner back into the cabinet.

“I doubt the people of Stars Hollow have any interest in Sex, Drugs, and Super Bowl - the story of an NCAA defector", he mutters.

“Or Flatulation Nation", Matt admits, voice uneven by a chuckle.

“Or My Life as a Little Punk", Chris adds.

There’s a pause. Jess wipes off the stove.

“Maybe one of our poetry collections?” Matt tries, but Jess just laughs. “I am trying to help.”

Jess drops the phone back into his hand and sits down at the table.

“I know.” He pulls a hand through his hair, tugging at it in frustration. “But the job is not a sure thing, I’ve got some competition.”

“Really?” Chris says, endearingly.

“Yeah", Jess coughs more than laughs. “Rory Gilmore went after it too.”

“Shit.”

“Rory Gilmore?” Matt goes. “I thought she was busy writing life-style articles for the highest bidder and making the gossip columns with that big-shot boyfriend of hers.”

Matt always knows just what to say. Jess swallows and deliberately tips over the salt shaker, the grains spill out on the surface of the table.

“Her grandpa got sick, so she’s back.”

“Claiming what she thinks is hers no doubt", Matt croaks on the other end.

“Are you okay?” Chris asks.

“Yeah!” Jess says quickly, almost aggressively.

“But if she’s back the job will go to her, right?” Chris goes on. “Isn’t that town kind of like her mother ship?”

“Yeah, probably", Jess admits, and huffs bitterly. “I was real cocky about it though, you would’ve been proud of me.”

“Hey, it doesn’t matter if you lose as long as you go down swinging", Matt says.

“Who says that?” Jess objects.

“I do.”

“It sounds like something a loser would say.”

“And what am I if not an absolute loser?” Matt retorts and Jess can hear his shit eating grin over the phone.

“You take pride in the strangest things.”

“At least I know what I am", Matt says. “Hey, if you know about her going for the job she probably knows about you.”

Jess wets a finger tip with his tongue and dips it in the salt.

“Yeah, we went for coffee.”

“And? Was she shaking in her boots?”

“Not really.” He forces some humor into his voice. “More like she thought I would bow out gracefully.”

There’s a sound over the line, a snort from Chris, a one-syllabic laugh dripping with disdain from Matt.

“But you won’t, will you?” the latter says more than asks.

“No", he says, voice low, but firm.

“Losers go down swinging, very ungracefully", Matt goes, triumphantly.

“I guess we do.”

“Fuck her!”

Jess puts the salt-dipped finger into his mouth.

“Yeah,” he says. “Fuck her.”

‘For the processing of your job application please report in at the Gazette at one o’clock. Respectfully, Taylor Doose.’ Jess blinks at the screen of his cellphone. Who the hell signs their texts? And ‘report in’? Couldn’t a rejection-letter be a simple e-mail? But what else can you expect from this town? He checks his watch. And a margin of thirty minutes. Jeez.

Nevertheless he hangs his apron and heads to the Gazette without bothering with his jacket, figuring he’ll be back quickly. He walks into the office but stops in his tracks when he comes face to face with Rory, standing just inches from the entrance. She’s unfairly lovely, clean and in proper attire, like for a second interview. Oh, shit. Her eyes widen and her cheeks redden, then she takes a few steps sideways to put space between them. He goes hot and cold. Happy to see her, then angry too, and embarrassed over his thin, worn t-shirt and his jeans that are stained with grease and cream cheese and his hair that is unwashed, then furious at himself for caring.

Taylor clears his throat as he walks into the room from an adjacent one.

“Oh, you’re both here", he says, like it’s a surprise to him. “Good.”

“Care to explain yourself, Taylor?” Rory says, tilting her head with a cool little smile.

Funny how her line can be interpreted as both bossy and utterly charming. Jess blushes, and bites the inside of his cheek.

“Absolutely Rory!” Taylor goes with that condescending, indulgent tone he uses for her.

He takes a seat behind a desk and gestures at them to sit down also. Rory does take a seat and Taylor urges Jess to get another chair from the next desk but he won’t, can’t bring himself to. He’d rather be standing for whatever humiliation follows. Taylor raises an eyebrow but lets the disobedience slide and starts browsing the papers in his hands instead.

“Well, you see, I have a problem", Taylor starts, a kind of theatrical concern in his voice. “I simply cannot choose between you.”

An outraged laugh escapes Rory.

“Then you form a committee to decide on the matter, Taylor", she says. “Or you get a simple second opinion in, you don’t bring the applicants back in at the same time, this is not how it’s done.”

“That is what I respect most about you Rory, your steadfast devotion to protocol.” Taylor smiles, and Rory looks like she’s just had a shot of lemon juice. “Of course, I was hoping you’d be lenient toward me in this instance.”

Her chest rises and falls and a hard smile reappears on her lips. She folds her hands in her lap.

“How can we help, Taylor?”

Taylor’s smile widens, and Jess has to hold on to his facial expression for once when it dawns on him that the old coot is enjoying this.

“Well, as you know, the Gazette’s anniversary is coming up, in a month actually, and at first my plan was simply to have a new editor installed in time for the new issue, but as it is…” He pauses, clearly for effect. “I was hoping you’d be willing to prepare an issue each for the occasion.”

Rory makes a tiny, but clearly upset sound. Jess immediately calculates how much time and effort would go into it, and it’s doable, albeit far from desirable.

“Both of your issues would be printed and sold for the price of one to the people who’d get to vote on their favorite", Taylor goes on, excited. “The creator of the winning issue gets the job.”

“And a month’s worth of labor would be wasted by the loser", Rory says, and Taylor blinks, as from having been rudely awakened.

Jess actually turns his head to look at her. Is she concerned that she’ll be the loser? Her eyes flick to him quickly. Oh. No. She’s really trying to save him from the wasted work. He’s equal parts insulted and moved.

“I don’t expect you to work for nothing!” Taylor protests. “Let the record show that Taylor Doose takes labor laws very seriously! You’d share the paycheck for the month.”

“The record shows that Taylor Doose is at least quasi-serious about labor laws", Jess mutters and Rory actually snorts in agreement.

Taylor crosses his arms.

“If it doesn’t suit either one of you, you are of course welcome to drop out of the process!” he snaps, apparently not appreciating being the butt of a joke he is most days. “Heaven knows you’d make my life a lot easier if you did.”

Jess swallows and sneaks another glance at Rory who drops her little smile, muscles in her jaw tightening as she raises her head. So he does too. Losers go down swinging, very ungracefully.

“No", he says. “No way.”

Rory smiles again, this time sweetly, how can he stand a chance against that?

“We’d be happy to do this for you, Taylor”, she says, voice soft and melodious.

Taylor rubs his hands together.

“I am so pleased! It’s for the good of the town. And the democracy you requested, Rory, will truly be in play this way.”

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