Archive of Our Own

Rory stares at her computer screen - willing it to work so she can finish the fall edition of the gazette, poem and all. It's been on the fritz all day, with its weird messages and its general propensity for shutting off right when she's about to save something that she spent hours working on.

"Come on!" she hits the side of the monitor and groans, "god, even the Delorean was less temperamental than this, and you can't even time travel!"

She squints her eyes, scrutinizing the machine, and mumbles, "can you?"

The black screen stares back, unchanging and silently taunting her. She endures another minute of this stubbornness, before conceding with a loud huff.

"Fine. We'll call it a day," she stands up and points an authoritative finger at it, "but you will work tomorrow. Do you hear me? The people need the poem or I'm going to be exiled from my hometown."

She waits another second to see if she's miraculously scared it into working. She rolls her eyes to the ceiling and pulls her bag off the back of the chair. She shifts around the abundance of items in it, until she hears the telltale sound of keys clacking together. Her fingers pull the key ring out as she steps outside the door into the foggy fall night. She slows her hurry at the sound of leaves rustling around her and the feeling of a damp, cool breeze against her legs. The skirt of her dress lifts slightly; she smiles, because she does love Stars Hollow in the fall. As she kneels down to put the key in the bottom lock, she swears she hears her name called. She pauses and looks around, but it's difficult to see two feet in front of her on this misty early evening. She turns back to the lock, but just as she turns the key, the shout is much closer.

"Rory! Wait!"

Her head swings to the right, and she almost falls over from her hunched position at the surprise of Jess running straight at her: his medium length, dark hair shaking in time with his steps, his black boots slowing down on the pavement as he sees that she finally sees him. One hand reaches across his chest, holding up the strap of the messenger bag on his shoulder. He's appropriately bundled in jeans, a thermal shirt and hooded jacket. She carefully pushes herself up to stand, the breeze against her stocking clad legs making her shiver this time.

"Jess?" she asks as he gets closer, "What are you doing here?"

He takes a couple of inhales to catch his breath.

"Sorry for shouting," he nods towards the door in front of them, "just didn't want you to have to go through the rigmarole of locking this thing. I know this place is guarded better than the ark of the covenant."

The corner of his mouth tips up and immediately mesmerizes her; she mirrors it and responds,

"At least I don't have to wade through a snake pit."

"There is that," he concurs. He shoulders his bag higher and stuffs his hands in his pockets somewhat shyly, "I need a favor. Please."

She folds her arms across her chest curiously.

"Name it."

"Can I use the printer here? At least, I'm assuming you have a printer, or did Bernie nix those too?"

"We have a printer. A nice one," she promises with a flirty raise of her brows. She turns the handle, "come on in."

He gives her a grateful, short bow before following her inside.

"You're a lifesaver," he states, dropping his bag down onto a chair, "I broke the printer at my mother's house trying to print a two hundred page manuscript."

She blinks, "you broke it? Please don't break ours, we don't have it in the budget to get a new one. In fact, we don't have a budget at all."

"Lucky for you, it waited to break until a hundred and fifty pages in," he pulls his laptop out of his bag and meets her eyes, "I only need fifty pages. Is that cool?"

"Oh yeah, fifty pages? Ol' Bessie can handle that."

"She sounds like a good girl," he winks, and an inexplicable heat rushes through her. She slowly drops her bag to remove her jean jacket.

"She's very good," she clears her throat and leans over his computer, "here, let me get you connected to the printer."

Without needing to look, she knows his eyes are on her - she can practically feel them through her clothes.

"I like your dress," he mumbles, "seems a little chilly for something like that, but I guess you have to dress for your work environment. Why is it so hot in this office?"

She turns her head slightly, catching his thermal ride up above his hips as he shrugs off his jacket. Just as quickly she turns back to his laptop screen.

"They like it hot in here, and the thermostat is so old I have no idea how to use it. Which I'm sure my coworkers see as a benefit."

He chuckles and taps her arm.

"Why don't you print those last fifty pages for me, and I'll go fuck with the thermostat? I've lived in many outdated apartments. Bet I can finagle it to never go above seventy degrees."

She gasps, "you're a lifesaver! Deal! Easy, easy deal. The dial is over there by the filing cabinet."

"On it, and the manuscript is the only one open on there right now."

"On it!"

They part and work quietly on their respective duties, but hers is easy and she's got the print job moving within a few minutes. She shifts herself to lean on the corner of her desk, the position giving her an enthralling view of Jess intensely focused on the task at hand. Her eyes wander over him: the long sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing the movement of his forearm muscles as he meticulously tends to the antiquated thermostat dial. Despite his efforts to cool down the space, she has to fan herself as her own temperature rises.

"Almost got it," he mutters almost apologetically, "feel free to open the door for a breeze if you need it."

She shakes herself away from sensual thoughts and laughs.

"Are you kidding? That door is way too heavy to be propped open."

"Heavy door and comically intricate locks," he muses, "makes you wonder what Mr. Roundbottom was really getting into in here."

"I'm sure the FBI has been on his tail for years."

"Must be why he finally retired. Got exhausted by the chase," he grunts, using force to pop the cover of the dial off, "there we go. You're about to be in a mildly tropical paradise for as long as this office is in business."

"Perfect, I'll start packing a bikini in case I get any chances to sunbathe."

He throws a suggestive look at her, brows raised and smirk high, as though he's picturing exactly that; but to her surprise, he doesn't comment on it. The heat in her face cools slightly with the realization that any signals of attraction she's received from him thus far might have been a delusion. She turns her gaze away from him and runs a hand through her hair, she walks over to the printer to start collecting the pages for him.

"How long is this office going to be in business?"

The mumbled question calls her attention to him, but his eyes are still on the instrument at hand.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you going to keep this place running? Or…move on to something else? If Taylor is paying you, I don't imagine it's anything to make a life off of."

"Are you…asking me about my personal finances right now?"

She sees his brows furrow. He shakes his head in denial. After a minute with no follow up, she sighs.

"Okay, anyway. What's going on in your world, Jess?"

"Work, work and more work. That's about it."

"Are you feeling like a dull boy?"

"Very," he snaps the dial cover back on. He stands straight, wiping his brow with the back of his hand before dropping it to rest against his hip. He leans his shoulder on the wall.

"You know that episode of Twilight Zone where all the guy wants to do is read?"

"Sure I do," she smiles softly, "he gets what he wants, but his glasses break at the end. No one to fix them."

"Well I don't wear glasses," he takes slow steps towards her, "so let's just say my daydreams are filled with explosions and I'm actively seeking a bunker."

She laughs, "what about me?"

"You can come to the bunker. We'll go Dutch on it," he muses with his hypnotizing smirk, "we should fill it with books ahead of time though, in case in our world the libraries don't make it."

"But wait a second. You edit books for a living," she realizes, face scrunched in confusion, "your work is reading books."

"Yeah but I have to have my editing cap on, and there's also the thing where my livelihood depends on how well someone's book does," he widens his stance to face her fully, "I miss reading for pleasure."

The sound of that word from his mouth makes her swallow; she averts her eyes to the printer tray and pulls out the remaining pages for him.

"Here, fifty pages and the mass destruction of our forests for you, Mr. Mariano."

"Well if someone could explain to the trees that my brain works best with paper and pencil, I bet they'd understand."

He takes the pile of paperwork from her and adds it to the stack in his bag. He turns back to her; they share a warm but charged grin. The leaves flowing outside the window catch her attention, and she thinks about the cozy promise of a night in watching TV. She meets his eyes again.

"Have you seen the episode where the older actress watches her own films until she's absorbed into them? It's one of my favorites. It reminds me of how I feel when I'm reading a good book."

"That sounds like something I can relate to," he shrugs a shoulder and makes a humble suggestion, "I hear the apartment at Luke's is free. And he has an almost modern television now. Shall we see if we can find it?"

She grins, feebly attempting to control its width as to not give too much of her excitement away,

"Let's go!"

They shut off the lights and collect their things, hanging by the front door for a minute while Rory fastens every lock.

"What were you doing at your mom's anyway? In Stars Hollow?"

She asks, walking next to him down the sidewalk with her jacket pulled tight around her body for warmth.

"Vegetable cult thing. But it worked itself out, and I was supposed to have dinner with Luke but he's all…"

"Discombobulated," Rory finishes his sentence with a forlorn sigh, "I know. My mom is…"

"Human," he mumbles kindly, "she's human. We don't need to talk about it."

She takes a shaky breath, grateful for this grown up Jess, for his discernment. She nods.

"It would all be speculative anyway. She's not sharing much with me either."

He turns soft eyes on her briefly.

"Anway, I was supposed to have dinner with Luke, but he canceled. Suddenly I had a free night in Stars Hollow on my hands, and well you know the kind of trouble I can get myself in with that."

She smirks and points towards the ground as they walk past Doose's.

"If you look closely, you can still see the outline."

"Shhh," he teases with a finger to his mouth, "not everyone knows that I'm the imaginary murderer."

They walk with their heads turned, locked in a shared look of nostalgic amusement. Rory frowns when she hears something strange. She looks up and sees a crow on a street lamp.

"Did that bird just talk?"

"Didn't notice," he shrugs, "I've become totally unfazed by Stars Hollow's quirks."

"Must be hearing things," she mumbles to herself, gaze forward again. They cross the corner and are within feet of Luke's when she thinks she sees something in the mist ahead.

"Are those people in the street? At this hour?"

"Maybe Stars Hollow has more than imaginary murderers," Jess muses dryly, "or worse, they're regular old townsfolk. Come on, let's get upstairs."

She gives one last squinting glance to the apparitions. She writes it off as a Halloween decoration or a figment of her mind's creation and follows Jess's lead.

Within an hour, they're camped out on the couch with a table full of snacks, the television flashing black and white scenes in front of them. They found a few lonely beers in the fridge and decided to rescue them from expiring. Rory takes a long sip of hers, making a slight face at the aggressively cheap taste of it, and sets it down on the table.

"Luke buys things purely based on their purpose," Jess mumbles, and she looks over to see that he was watching her. He gestures his beer can towards her, "wants beer. Goes to store. Sees beer. Realizes the end result is all the same, so buys the cheapest one. And here we are."

His verbal illustration inspires a laughing grin.

"He is a practical man."

Jess shrugs and sets his beer down, the corner of his mouth bending downward with it.

"Perhaps to a fault."

She turns slightly more towards him, kicking her legs up to curl them next to her on the couch.

"He's human," she whispers his words back to him with kind eyes, "he's human. We don't need to talk about it."

His throat moves, causing her attention to shift there. She then moves her gaze to his mouth, and sudden visions of kissing in the streets of Stars Hollow invade her mind. She bends her head downward, attempting to hide the blush on her face. The edges of her red dress rest on her thigh, and she remembers something.

"Thank you, by the way," her head tilts up. She finds a confused look on his face.
"You said you like my dress. I forgot to thank you," she regards him, "and I like your thermal shirt. It looks…cozy."

He takes a teeming breath before gripping the hem of his shirt and holding it towards her.

"Want to borrow it? It's a little warm for me."

His suggestion sends shocks through her. She's speechless, and he stands up without a clear answer. Adjusting herself to look up at him, her face grows long as she watches him lift the shirt up, slowly and steadily, over his torso. He keeps his eyes trained on hers, but the more of his muscular form that is revealed to her, the lower her gaze drifts. With his upper body bare, olive skin glowing in the soft light of the TV and stomach lines shadowy in the most toned places, she can no longer ignore the desire flooding her veins. Still speechless, her eyes drift back up, meeting a pair of intense hazels that bore into her, causing an internal devastation of any fences she had put up around the potential activities of the night.

She audibly exhales, slowly pushing herself off the couch to match him in stance. Their dilated pupils move like searchlights over each other's forms, trying to excavate the meaning of the pregnant auras surrounding them. She steps a little closer to him, and suddenly it all seems to click: long-repressed sensual dreams from their youth are reawakened by the contexts surrounding them. But, as their eyes lock on each other's once more, they smile - because the pieces they always needed to make those dreams a reality are finally here: age, maturity and circumstance. The air seems to spark like a match against a striker between them as they get closer. He drops his shirt on the floor, and while her attention is momentarily taken by that, she suddenly finds herself in his arms, pressed up against the chest she was so recently admiring. Where she might have held back or stiffened up at this proximity in her youth, she now melts. She welcomes his embracement, sinking her softness against his sturdy build. He looks in her eyes while his hands grasp her figure, flowing over her clothed curves with an affectionate but tender grip. They venture up past her waist, and he moves back just enough to be able to press his palms to the sides of her face. He still only peers into her though; she harnesses her sensual bravery and covers his crooked mouth with hers. His response is immediate, the pressure of his touch strengthening on her face while he meets her passionate kiss with equal fervor.

"Tell me if you don't want to do this," he mumbles against her lips when they come up for air, "tell me now, please, before it goes too far."

Her insides jolt with understanding; because she knows he's not saying he won't be able to physically stop himself, but that the emotional recovery will wreck them. Her eyes shoot over his face before she presses her lips to his again. He gets lost in the feeling, throwing himself into the 'part' that they once correctly declared will always work. On a loud intake of breath, he pulls back; a crinkle forms between his brows that she wishes to massage away.

"You're not saying anything."

"You told me to tell you if I don't want to do this," she whispers back, "I think I'm saying plenty."

The crinkle satisfyingly smooths out, and she now takes the opportunity to press her hands to his head, drawing him near to continue their new and improved, adult make-out preamble to exploring the rest of each other. The burning, lustful excitement within her multiplies each second that goes on; and it becomes clear that Jess feels that way too as his fingers scour her back for a way into the dress she's wearing. Without breaking apart, she takes his hand and leads it to the zipper on the side. He roughly yanks it down, the ensuing zipping sound a mere mumble against the roaring of their heightened desire. She moves her hands to the bottom of her dress, parting from him to pull it over her head. He barely has a second to take in her under clothes, because she hurriedly pushes off her bra, then her tights and whatever was beneath them. He embodies the same urgency, unsnapping and throwing off his jeans and underwear. They both play it cool in the company of each other's fully bare bodies for the first time, but internally their minds are whistling an indulgent holy shit.

She sucks in a breath as he propels himself back into action, wrapping her up in his hold again to strangle her with hot kisses. He spins them around in an uncertain circle, and finally parts from her to ask,

"Couch or bed?"

She glances at both objects, and while something about the bed makes her feel a little weird (perhaps the possibility of others using it for what they're about to use it for), the couch feels awfully too innocent for how thoroughly she hopes he's about to take her.

"Bed."

His lips are on hers again, arms and legs leading them to the bed across the room. Once they're at the edge of the mattress, he tenderly pushes her onto her back. She crawls backwards until her whole body is on the bed, coyly opened knees and perky nipples greeting him as he joins her there. He pushes her knees out more with a sexy smirk fixed on his face; he crawls between her legs and gently kisses his way from those lips back to her mouth. She feels his excitement pressing on her thigh, twitching with each languid sweep of his tongue against hers. He shifts his hips slightly, getting closer to the part of her that's now profoundly pulsing for him. She can feel his whole body pause there. He breaks their kiss, and asks similarly to his last question, as though his brain cannot expend any focus on forming full sentences,

"Condom?"

She slumps slightly, "I don't have any."

He swallows, and she can see he's trying to hide surging disappointment.

"Me neither."

She shrugs a shoulder and says, "I'm on birth control. If that's enough for you, it's enough for me."

He hesitates before the magnificent smirk returns.

"It's enough for me."

Her features brighten, and in time with fusing his lips to hers again, he's pressing inside her.

The butterflies in her stomach expand to between her legs with every one of his rhythmic thrusts. It's dreamy, hazy and completely consuming as he thoroughly, yet tenderly, orchestrates their pleasure. His mouth traveling across sensitive skin, his hips driving into hers in a purposeful way - hitting that throbbing pulse point with satisfying rubs, his palms stretching over the reactive peaks of her chest. And most enchanting of all, her name repeatedly falling from his gorgeous lips, dancing over her neck, and into her ears like a mellifluous and evocative tune. The thought of coming together in this way has sat latent somewhere in her subconscious for all these years, and the bodily experience is wholly fulfilling and mentally heady; she feels like they're in a twilight zone of their very own, mirroring the concepts still flashing on the distant TV screen. But it's a dimension she'd willingly be stuck in forever, a consummation of treasured daydreams culminating at the perfect time (because she has no doubt the teenage experience would have been nothing like this). The fantasy has aged like a fine wine, the taste being completely worthy of the wait.

With his tongue and teeth pressed against her neck, his hands at her waist and his hips roughly rolling against her as the horizon of their built up pleasure closes in, she calls his name; her fingernails dig into his back to counter the onslaught of radiating quakes erupting from her middle. Either the feeling or the sound, or maybe a potent combination of both, sends him to his end moments behind her. She's still trembling through the remnants of her own climax while he's frozen with release inside her; her name on his lips slows and mellows to an intimate pitch. They let the remainders of pleasure run the course, exchanging their feelings about what just happened through muted kisses and gentle touches until they take a collective breath and take stock of each other. Eyes drink in unspoken messages conveyed through looks and relaxed limbs, surveying for the kinds of cautionary signs they tried to ignore the last time feelings for each other surfaced.

Satisfied irises meet once more, and all she can feel is warmthupon reflecting affectionate grins to each other.

"Are you okay?"

She inhales at the tender inquiry.

"I'm in another dimension, I think."

The corner of his mouth perks up, though he asks again,

"Are you okay?"

"Of course," she promises, lifting the back of her hand to ghost over his cheek, "are you okay?"

"I'm," he opens and closes his mouth, "I'm vibrating and fuzzy all over."

"Dirty!" she proclaims with a playful brow, "But…is that good?"

"It's not bad," he replies and at her imploring look he apologizes, "I'm going to need time to come up with the right words for it. Good is just…the starting point, Rory."

She shivers; he seems to mistake it for something temperature related and crawls off of her to lie down and pull the covers over both of them.

She turns in bed to face him but quickly realizes that eye contact is too intense for her inundated senses. He lifts his arm open to her, and she nestles into the inviting space. She feels his lips on her head, his hand rests on her shoulder. She dares not puncture the lovely bubble of silent affections, reveling in the continuous sweeping of his thumb on her skin and the faint touch of his kiss on her hair. And he doesn't either for a while, to the point where when he does speak, she jumps slightly in his arms.

"Are you writing the book?"

She then realizes this is the question he was getting at before, when he asked her about the gazette staying open. She laughs quietly, because it's funny to her the things that he will dance around, and the things he's comfortable saying directly. Maybe it's the way the events unfolded tonight that he now feels comfortable asking, or maybe he always intended to and was simply biding time. Either way, she replies,

"I'm trying to. I haven't quite found an inspiring setting yet," she shifts her head to rest on her chin, "but I think I'm going to ask my grandmother if I can use the house in Hartford."

After a pensive second he asks, "the house I went to? For dinner with you and her?"

"We only had salad," she teases, "but yeah. That house. She moved to Nantucket and put it up for sale. It hasn't sold yet."

His chest expands with a breath beneath her.

"I bet you have a lot of memories there."

"I do. I have a feeling it will be creatively stimulating."

His chest inflates again; she turns her ear to listen to his heart.

"You know what else that place would be good for?"

"Hm?"

"A huge party."

The out of character suggestion, mixed with the euphoric air of the evening, sends her into a fit of giggles. The laughter is contagious, and soon they're a tangled heap of shaking silliness.

"Jess?" she says as the goofiness dissipates.

"Yeah?"

"If I throw a party there, will you actually attend?"

She asks the question carefully, making sure he can decipher the underlying meaning of her words: are you going to stick around?

He kisses her head.

"If I recall, I have a party to make up for. And I also happen to have a Hartford dinner to make up for," he mumbles somewhat dozily against her hair, "so I don't have much of a choice."

A sleepy energy diffuses over her too; she mumbles back,

"You do have a choice."

"Then…" he pauses pensively, "I'm still going. Because I want to."

She wakes up hot the next morning, the blankets feeling heavy on her. With her eyes still closed, she tries to push them off; the sound of Jess groaning against her ear reminds her that it's certainly not a blanket. She opens her eyelids and finds they've evolved into a new sleeping position overnight: he's behind her, spooning her against him. The heavy blanket turns out to be his arm over hers; she sighs contentedly as the arm snuggles her closer. It's a heavenly feeling that leads to something poking against her bottom. She bites her lip, an irrepressible smile of self-satisfaction spreading on her face. He groans again near her ear; he lifts his arm and sweeps her hair to the side so he can place teasing, soft kisses on the back of her neck. Her skin erupts in goosebumps. She lifts up her leg slightly, wordlessly inviting him in. He moves his hand under the blankets and down her curves, pressing her leg up a little more to push inside of her. Quiet moans harmonize as he lazily thrusts in and out, at a perfectly unhurried speed for an early morning tryst. Over time, his hand roams from her thigh to between her legs; she blazes with burning delight while his fingers work her towards a powerful end. Although most of her is still half-asleep, her nerves are lit up with sensitivity, and she quickly finds herself calling his name as she comes undone around his hand. He doesn't follow directly behind this time, and she's a moaning mess of feelings when his fingers start up again minutes later. She finds his arm under the blanket and grasps onto it for some stability, but it influences him to rub her faster. She shakes erratically with blooming pleasure, until he takes her to that place again; this time she emits an incoherent howl into the otherwise silent apartment. He grabs her hip to chase his end, fingertips pleasantly bruising skin while the bed shakes beneath them. He finishes with his thumb pressed deeply into her back, his mouth buried in her tangled hair.

His grip softens, he sweeps a healing palm over tender places. Today, she does turn around to face him, but she has no words. He doesn't seem to either, so she cuddles into him, hoping to share a sweet nap.

But their bubble is burst by an outlier. A banging knock at the apartment door jolts them fully awake.

"Luke?!" Rory whisper-shouts to Jess.

"Hold on let me get my x-ray glasses," he quips back with a half-smirk.

"Rory, I know you're in here. I saw you come up here last night, and you never came back down."

The humor falls completely from Jess's face at the unrecognizable voice, but Rory blanches - she knows exactly who it is.

"What the hell is he doing here?!" she exclaims with a deeply perturbed look. As she stands up from the bed, she sees hints of disappointment gather at the corner of his features. She feels nauseous with anger and anxiety, for both of them.

"I don't know why he's here, I'm so sorry. I'll get rid of him."

The responding silence is worse than the questions she imagined might be going through his head. She's fuming by the time she's jumped into her dress and yanks open the door. Logan's eyes immediately comb over her, invalid offense and disgust painted on his face.

"Why are you here?" she demands crossly, "And what do you mean you saw me last night?"

He frowns, trying to peer into the rest of the apartment over her shoulder. She spreads herself out to block the view.

"I planned this whole, extravagant night out for us last night. One last night together, one last night with the life and death brigade. Did you not notice the messages on your computer, the guy on the unicycle, the talking fucking bird or, gee, the people standing in the street near the diner last night!?"

She blinks harshly in shock; heat simmers in her head and she explodes.

"I told you this was done! I ended this. I didn't want one last night with you! What is wrong with you?! Why can't you ever let anything end on someone else's terms? I can't believe you're up here, giving me a hard time when you're the one being totally insane, Logan! How did you even get up here? How did you take over my computer, and the streets of my hometown?! This is incredibly invasive!"

"Who came up here with you last night? I saw a man with you. He didn't come back down either."

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm right here."

Jess's voice sounds over her shoulder, she turns her head, and her jaw drops because he's standing stark naked in the middle of the apartment.

"Dude!" Logan exclaims in discomfort, covering his eyes with his hand, "What the fuck?"

"What? You have a dick, don't you?" Jess replies dryly while pulling on pants, "You certainly have some balls coming up here when we're trying to bask in the glow of our love making."

Rory's jaw drops lower, her eyes locked on him in a mix of confusion and wonderment. She follows his steps until he's right beside her, still shirtless. Logan drops his hand and looks between them.

"I know you," he narrows his eyes on Jess, "great American novelist, right?"

"Stop! Go away!" Rory yells, sticking her arms out in front of her as if she's going to push him herself.

"Blonde dick. We've met. You haven't changed a bit," Jess casually scrutinizes him, "in maturity or otherwise."

Logan grits his teeth in annoyance and returns to her. She glares until he's frowning, then her eyes widen as he turns desperate.

"I'll leave Odette for you, Rory. Is that what you want?" he takes a step towards her, but she steps back, "Just say the word, I'll do it I swear."

Her shoulders creep up to her ears, feeling deeply uneasy in this weird situation, and extremely protective of the man she's truly interested in, the one enduring something right now that he shouldn't have to.

"I don't want that! I don't want you, I don't want your life," her voice cracks with fury, but it gets scary quiet as she continues, "please listen to me. Please leave. I'm sorry I sought comfort in you, Logan. It wasn't right, and it's not what I wanted or needed. That's why I ended it. Please. I'm begging you to listen to me. Get out of here."

His face hardens but his body softens in defeat.

"I just wanted one more night."

"That's not for you to decide."

He stares at her, and she stares back, staunch and unwavering. Jess clears his throat.

"She asked you to leave. You waiting for an escort?"

Logan looks between them one more time. He scoffs and spins around on his heel. Rory doesn't even want to watch; she hastily shuts the door behind him.

She turns to face Jess, and her heart immediately aches at the dispirited look on his face. Panic rattles in her chest. She pleads,

"No, please don't get weird. Please don't! I didn't invite him, and I don't want him."

She hazards a few steps towards him, he backs up, and she suddenly feels suffocated by grief.

"Please, Jess. Please don't get weird."

Her eyes water and it seems to unravel something in him; he softens and steps closer to her.

"If I'm being weird Rory, it's because I care," he states in a disquieting tone, "not because I don't."

She blinks hard, trying to keep the tears from falling.

"I can explain-"

"You don't have to. I'm not listening to anything that bumbling idiot said," he pauses; her heart stops.

"But to inspire that kind of passion…something had to have happened between you two recently. And I don't love my proximity to that."

She desperately repeats, the tears freeing themselves from her lashes,

"It's not like that!"

He holds a hand up in front of her. Her horrified gaze darts back and forth between his palm and his face. His features scrunch, like what he wants to say next hurts him. And when she hears the crackles of vulnerability in his voice, she realizes that it does.

"I have too many feelings invested in this," he whispers, gesturing between them. He swallows, and she thinks he's looking into her eyes, but her vision is too blurred to be sure.

"I'm not…saying anything here other than I need to go slower, Rory. I need some time and a little space. That's all I'm saying, okay?"

The tears take on a life of their own now, pouring down her cheeks while she tries to take steadying breaths. She feels his hands on her arms, and then his thumb under her eye. His fingers brush some of the hair out of her face.

"Are you crying because I'm making you sad? Or something else?"

She sniffles and presses her palms to her eyes.

"I'm crying because I'm tired of not knowing what happens next."

Her confession sounds garbled to her, and she wonders if she needs to explain herself. But then he kisses her head, and she remembers how well he knows her.

"You do know what happens next. Go to Hartford and write. Email me your work. We'll talk."

….

"He only responds when I message him about work. It's been a month, Lane. It feels like we're just…business partners right now."

Lane eyes her friend from across the spacious living room, fingers flipping through a photo album left behind in the Gilmore mansion.

"Well, business partners is better than nothing, right?"

Rory sighs and shoves a handful of skittles in her mouth.

"I guess," she makes a face, "do these skittles taste a little weird to you?"

"And you got a lot done with your book, so you've actually been talking a lot," Lane's brows furrow as she gets to the end of the album, "why are there no baby pictures of your mom? This photo album says it's from the early 70s."

"There's a story behind that, but I forget what it is," Rory replies distractedly, "and that's a logical fallacy."

"Oh no, don't weaponize your higher education against me. I'm your friend! I'm on your side."

Rory shoots her an apologetic look.

"You're my best friend. I know you are. I just…I want to do something, I want to be the brave one. The one to make a move and show him that I want him badly enough to put myself all the way out there. I need a plan."

Lane gets up to cross the room and grabs a handful of skittles for herself. She walks around, eyes taking in the space that she hasn't been inside for years; she pops the candy in her mouth.

"They taste fine to me. Sugary and sweet."

"Weird," Rory murmurs, lifting the bag to inspect for an expiration date.

Lane hums in thought, pausing near the staircase.

"This would be a great place for a Halloween party. It has that sort of haunted-mansion antiquity about it."

Rory drops the bag of candy, sitting up straight with a gasp.

"Lane, you're a genius!"

Her friend directs uncertain eyes on her.

"I am?"

"Yes!" she jumps up from the couch, "A party! He said he would come to a party here if I invited him. Halloween is next week, that's perfect!"

"Okay, I am a genius then," Lane accepts with a superior smile, "I'll help you plan! But I won't be able to go. I still go trick or treating with my kids, it's the Mama Kim in me."

"Protective is good parenting," Rory shrugs but as she digests that she realizes, "shoot, who else would I even invite? Mom is busy with wedding stuff, Paris has young kids so I'm sure she's either taking them, or she's taking the night off to herself while the nanny takes them out…I'm not really in touch with anyone at Yale, or Chilton for that matter. Wow, I have no friends Lane!"

"Even better," Lane snaps her fingers, "tell him it's a party, but only invite him. Then he will have to talk to you."

"Oh my god. You need a crown, or a Nobel peace prize, or a zillion dollars or something because you are the smartest person in the world, Lane Kim!"

"It's this house I think," she fans a hand through the air, "it really brings out my intellectual side."

"I've had a similar experience," Rory grins softly and takes a second to appreciate the surroundings before getting down to business, "so. How do I invite him?"

"Text him. That's more personal that an emailed invite," Lane spins around in a circle, "I know I've already gone once, but can you remind me how the get to the bathroom in this labyrinth, please?"

"Down that hall on the right."

"Thanks, Hoggle!"

Rory picks up her phone and looks at the last message she sent him that received no response - How about my mom and Luke?! How much you want to bet they're both going to organize a flash mob?

She squirms while she stares at the keyboard, trying to think of what to say without being too pushy but also pushy enough that he knows it's important to her. Her fingers hover over the letters, until she bites the bullet and sends,

Hey, I took your advice. I'm throwing a Halloween party in Hartford! Next week, 7pm. Best costume gets a bottle of scotch from my grandpa's liquor cabinet! I would love to see you there. :)

She immediately locks her screen, too anxious to subject herself to seeing those three texting dots and receiving nothing. It's happened before in the past month with him.

"Rory, do you have a pad?"

She looks up to see her friend standing in the hallway with her legs crossed. She holds up her finger and searches for her purse.

"Did you text him?" Lane asks while she looks.

"I did. Nothing yet."

She finds her tote bag and rummages through it.

"Need light," she mumbles and unlocks her phone to use the flashlight. She gasps as it opens to her texts with Jess,

"He turned read receipts on! Oh my god. Who does that?!"

"Ew!" Lane agrees then says more thoughtfully, "Honestly, that makes sense for Jess as a person though."

She shoots her friend a look.

"Sorry. So he read it and didn't reply?"

"Maybe he's still thinking," she mumbles and moves on, shining the flashlight in her bag. She finds the travel pack of pads she keeps in there, but she's a little confused as she takes it out and sees that it's unopened. She remembers running out of pads, and she thought she put this replacement in there sometime during summer. Near it she spies her plastic container of birth control. She gasps.

"What? What's wrong?!"

"Lane, I haven't taken my birth control in weeks! I turned off the alarm one day because I was writing and it kept going off and-and I never turned it back on, and all of my attention has been on the book, and oh my god, I haven't had my period and I think the day I turned the alarm off was right after…"

Their eyes meet, and Lane doesn't need her friend to finish that sentence. They share equal looks of alarm. Lane takes a big breath in and out.

"Well…I guess the universe works in mysterious ways, huh?"

Rory blinks blankly back at her before her face crumples slightly.

"What do I do? Am I jumping to conclusions?! Jess won't even talk to me, oh my god! Why do my disastrous propensities seem to prevail?!"

"Rory, it's okay," Lane walks over and hugs her, "it doesn't have to be a disaster."

Rory softens, resting her head on Lane's shoulder. She whispers,

"What do I do?"

Lane holds her tight for another minute. Then, she pushes her slightly away, and Rory is encouraged by the resolute look on her face.

"We're going to get tests. And then we're going to pick you out a Halloween costume."

…..

Rory paces the echoing foyer, the sound of her footsteps reminding her that she's still alone on Halloween night. She pushes the green sleeve of her costume back to check her watch.

"It's after eight!" she groans and stomps a foot. She's been doing nothing but anxiously ruminating for the last hour; even though he never responded to her message, she expected him to keep his promise. As she spins on her heel to do another lap across the threshold, her phone rings. She jumps, startled by the full volume of it. She holds her breath, but when she turns it over she sees that it's Lane calling.

"He's still not here," she answers, tone dejected.

"I know he's not there. That's why I'm calling," Lane speedily replies, "I'm out with my kids and I just saw him walking with Doula. I think he's taking her trick or treating!"

Her face falls but with all of the pent up emotions of this day, and the last week passed, it hardens in anger.

"Are you serious?! Luke was supposed to take her! My mom just told me that yesterday, she said that she thinks Liz is overcompensating for not properly parenting Jess, because she's forcing Doula to take an adult trick or treating with her for safety despite her age and how harmless that town is. She said it would be Luke!"

"Well, unless Luke has de-aged by twenty years, grown a full head of dark hair and, I'm just gonna say it, beefed up, then this is definitely Jess."

She seethes, huffing with indignance.

"Where is he?! Did you see where they went?"

"Of course, I'm on your side, remember?" she then whispers, "I'm following them from a distance. They're about to turn onto Peach Street!"

"Lane, I love you," she picks up her purse and the keys to her mom's jeep from the floor, "Thank you. I'm on my way."

"I know those hormones are soaring right now but be careful! Don't run any kids over!"

"There's only one person I really feel like running over right now, don't you worry," she mutters contemptuously, "you'll see me soon, I'm sure. Bye."

Her eyes diligently scrub the busy streets of Stars Hollow. She drives slowly, mindful of all the little lives running around her that have nothing to do with her current state of aggravation. The car is silent aside from her cursing Jess out under her breath and acting out conversations in her head with him. She made incredible time barreling down the highway from Hartford, and she knows Peach Street is a long stretch with an ample amount of houses. He should still be here somewhere. As she passes Dean's old house, she spots Lane. She somewhat recklessly slams on the breaks and beeps the horn. Lane's head swivels to her. She waves and at Rory's no-nonsense look, she points a few houses ahead of her. Rory gives her a nod thanks and pulls into the next empty space on the street she can find.

She jumps out of the car, slamming the door behind her. On the sidewalk, she's much less heedful to the small children around her, forcing her way through groups of them without apology. She nears a large brown house, and she sees a short girl in a Lydia Deetz costume, and she immediately remembers Luke mentioning how his young niece loves "that weird movie with the guy whose name you can't say three times. You know, beetle guts or whatever". She rushes forth, and as she gets closer she sees that it's definitely Doula. She follows her movements, and then she spies him: standing away from the sidewalk, almost in the middle of the road in what seems like some vain effort to separate himself from the festivities around him. It would make her smile if she weren't filled with rage at the sight of him.

She picks her pace up, jogging straight at him as she shouts,

"Jess Mariano, don't move!"

He and Doula turn to her; a look of befuddlement on Jess's face, and a friendly smile on Doula's. Her lungs are burning because she never moves like that, let alone in her current condition. But the adrenaline rush throttles her right in front of him in seconds. She sucks in air for a moment before turning to Doula with a wave.

"Hi Doula. I love your costume!"

Then her face falls as she turns to Jess, "I need to talk to you."

He regards her outfit, "aren't you supposed to be throwing a party?"

She momentarily sees red, but she has the wherewithal to think of his sister.

"Do you mind if I steal him for a minute, or twenty, depending on how long it takes me to kick his butt?"

Doula barely covers her amused smile.

"My friend is over there. I'll go with her until you're done," she turns to her brother, "good luck."

"Wait-"

He calls after her but she's already running away. He slowly turns back with a nervous, yet somehow still smug, look on his face.

"You didn't come to my party."

He shifts his eyes, but she follows and steps into his view.

"Rory-"

"You didn't come to my party, you told me you would come if I threw a party! You said that you wanted to come."

"But Doula-"

"No! You didn't come to my party. And you said we would talk and we haven't! Why am I being punished for something out of my control?!"

His somewhat cocky demeanor weakens at that.

"I'm not trying to punish you," he swears, "I've been wanting to talk to you but not at a party, Rory."

She petulantly stomps her foot.

"I only invited you to the party, Jess! You're the only person I invited. Because I wanted to talk!"

He weakens more, face etched with contrition.

"Well that doesn't sound like much of a party, does it?" he mumbles. He gives her a look over, "And why did you dress up as a…pea pod? If it wasn't really a party?"

She grunts angrily, leaning forward to invade his personal space with her brewing indignation and accusatory finger.

"You didn't tell me you wanted to talk to me! You didn't reply at all. You left the freaking read receipts on, but you didn't respond. Also, you are a social pariah for using read receipts!"

"That's exactly why I use them. Don't want to talk to people."

The exasperation whirling inside her escalates, mixing with a sudden bout of nausea. She gets that metallic taste in her mouth and bends forward, one hand on her stomach and the other on her knee.

"Rory. What's wrong?"

His voice is soft with care, the kind that she's been waiting for him to show her since that night. The kind of care that he's always had for her, that unconditional support that she was starting to fear he had put conditions on. She feels his hand rest on her shoulder. After a few labored breaths, the taste goes away.

"Rory?" he squeezes her shoulder and tries to bend enough to meet her eyes, "Are you okay?"

The words send one last surge of irritation through her, because she's had to go a whole week alone with this knowledge, and she at least wanted to tell him in her own way. With a disgruntled frown, she presses her hands to his chest and pushes him; he staggers back only slightly, and it seems to pique his curiosity more than anything. She stomps a foot and informs him in a sharp whisper through gritted teeth,

"I'm pregnant, you asshole!"

He freezes in shock, hands in his pockets and jaw unhinged. Only his eyes move, and they do so in a rapidly repetitive gaze that shifts up and down the length of her body. She deflates, crossing her arms over her chest self-consciously as he continues to compute the facts.

Suddenly he moves, blinking hard and holding a hand out in her direction. His mouth seems to twist upward which she fixates on with intrigue. The mouth moves with an unexpected laugh, and she shifts her stare back to his eyes.

"This is how you were going to tell me you're pregnant?!"

He points to her pea pod costume; she looks down and then looks up at him. The absurdity of it all heaves a crack in the seriousness of the situation; their faces break at the same time, and soon they're both howling with laughter.

"Yes, two peas in a pod!" she manages to spit out between laughs. He folds over, the force of laughter causing him to need to suck in oxygen. Tears fall from her eyes, but as they settle down, she can't delineate if they are solely from the amusing moment. Jess stands up straight. He eyes her before taking a couple steps closer to her. She blinks until her vision clears, and she's met with that soft intensity that can gut her in the best way.

"I was trying to make light of a heavy situation."

He holds her steady with his eye contact.

"For whose sake? You know that I live for the heavy. I always have."

She sighs, an argument about how he's been avoiding their heavy stuff lately dies in her throat as she gazes into his tender hazels. Because she knows he cares, and she knows that the reasons he hesitated, the reasons he temporarily distanced himself are in fact reasonable; that's why it really bothered her, because she did understand. She gulps, swallowing that truth down. Her gaze shoots to the sleeves of his jacket. She half-heartedly nods towards them.

"And now you've got the arms to carry it too, huh?"

His features twitch. He steps a little closer, close enough that he's peering down to meet her eyes.

"I want to hear more about your hopeless attraction to me, but we need to sit in the heavy for a minute, Rory."

She flashes a short-lived smile. She responds steadfastly,

"I want to have the baby."

He nods.

"Do you, Jess?"

"The decision is yours-"

"I know that," she abruptly interrupts, squaring him with a look, "but do you want it too?"

He's blank for a moment in the face of that question, but as the corners of his lips lift in a soft smile, the hope in her heart spikes.

"I couldn't tell you exactly why," he starts in that low, deep mumble he uses when he's being most genuine, "because it's not something that's come up before, even in my more serious relationships, but the answer is…very much, yes."

She brightens, inhaling a long, calming breath through her nose as the butterflies in her stomach quadruple. She pointedly asks,

"Are you in a serious relationship?"

His eyes go to her stomach and then back to hers, smile sweet and sincere.

"I am now. Deeply serious."

She takes a trembling breath; he slowly reaches out and takes her hands in his.

"We have to fall in love with each other again, fast. I love my mom, but writing these first few chapters of my book has made me realize that I don't want to follow in her footsteps. I want a partner, I want someone who wants to be a dad-"

"Rory," he stops her, applying affectionate pressure to her hands. His eyes flit between hers, "all of that is a non-issue for me."

She calms and whispers, "okay. Good."

"Are you scared?"

"I'm terrified."

"Do you trust me to do this with you?"

"Honestly, I trust you more than I trust myself right now," she looks away and confesses, "you have so much more figured out than I do."

"We'll work on that. But good," he squeezes her hands again. They lock in a promising stare for a silent minute. He looks over her again more closely.

"Shouldn't it be one pea?" he meets her eyes, "Or…is it twins?"

"It's one baby, as far as I know," she laughs quietly. She removes one of her hands from his to place near her stomach, "I have the first ultrasound scheduled in a couple of weeks."

He steps up then to wrap his arms around her.

"Where, and what time do we need to be there?"

She smiles wide. Her eyes fill with tears because this is the love and embracement she's been dreaming about. Certainly since the pregnancy tests and bloodwork came back positive, but even before that; after that beautiful night and morning they shared, she's had her heart set on their ultimate reunion. She believed in them; she believed in him, and even though he didn't show up to that party, he's showing up now. The existential anxieties of the last week fade away, a feeling of tranquil validation trickles through her in its place. It feels like giving herself over to absolute pleasure, finally able to relax in the knowledge that it hasn't all been wishful thinking.

She feels soft lips press against her damp cheek. He mumbles across her skin,

"Are you crying because you're happy or because you're scared?"

She loops her arms around him, crushing the peas on her costume to get closer.

"I'm crying because I finally know what's next."

With another kiss to her cheek he pulls back, soft gaze sweeping all over her face - hint of a smirk evident in his slightly smug features.

"A book and a baby on the way, your future sure has gotten bright in the last month. And didn't someone tell you that it would all get better?"

She playfully sticks her tongue out at him, and they share a laugh. But her eyes go doe-eyed as she softly implores,

"Our future. Right?"

He casts a consuming look of sincerity over her; he bows his head, and whispers a dulcifying promise between parted lips:

"Right. Our future. It's looking mighty bright."