Summary: AU. "You could never be a rebound." Rory/Jess. Philadelphia. Summer 2006.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Note: I honestly can't believe I'm getting myself into another multi-chapter "Gilmore Girls" fic after I finally finished "Before Sunrise," but here it is. Spoilers through "The Real Paul Anka."

I'd Rather Be in Philadelphia

She makes it official in the minutes before he leaves on his trip, his voyage into the land of irresponsibility and displays of manly stupidity. She uses phrases like "I can't do this anymore," and "I don't think I can forgive you." Then she kisses him on the cheek and bids him farewell. "Have a nice time," she says. "Stay safe." And "I'll move my stuff out while you're away."

--

She goes down late to get the mail. She's been busy packing, wiping away a few stray tears and talking to her mother on the phone. Lorelai is sympathetic, but distracted, Lane is working, Paris is studying. She doesn't have anyone else to call.

She finds the postcard tucked between the water bill and a Land's End catalogue. She drops the mail on the table to examine it, runs her finger over his name in the top left hand corner. Pride surges in her chest, joy, and it only takes her moments to decide. Then she's slipping off her shoes and pulling her favorite summer dress from the closet. It's warm outside, the warmest day yet, and she feels beautiful.

The drive doesn't take too long, which is maybe because she's ignoring several traffic laws and maybe because she feels so light inside. The postcard is sitting on the dashboard in front of the passenger seat, stirring slightly in the light breeze of cracked windows and mid-April sunshine. There's a smile building slowly in her chest. It's pushing at her heart and lungs as it fights its way up her throat and she gives in to it as she takes exit four off the turnpike. When she finds a parking spot right in front of his building she thinks it's probably a sign. Something good is happening.

--

The air inside Truncheon Books is cool and welcoming. Her eyes adjust slowly from the brightness of the street and when she spots him he's standing in the corner talking to Luke. The sense of familiarity is overwhelming and she takes a deep breath.

He notices her after a minute or so and she watches the corners of his lips turn up in a small smile. She crosses the room slowly, maintaining eye contact. She can feel her blood rushing up, pumping through her heart at an unnatural rate. Her face feels warm and flushed.

She greets Luke first, with a big smile. He looks surprised to see her, his eyes flashing between the two of them like he's waiting for some sort of shock, some implosion of the universe. He relaxes. Jess seems calm, happy even. "Rory," he says. "Good to see you."

When they're joined by an awkward and frizzy haired tween that could only be April, he stumbles his way through introductions. "She's actually the daughter of the woman I'm with. My fiancée. Lorelai. You met her that one time - it's kind of complicated," and she seems friendly, if a little odd. There's an uncomfortable silence and then Jess darts off to get something. His hand brushes hers (she's not sure she even felt it, save the ghost of a feeling that remains when he's gone) as he passes, darting up and down the stairs in a fraction of a second. She recognizes the small paperback in his hand and she smiles when he pulls Luke aside.

April is very well-read, she learns, as they stumble through a halting conversation while she watches Luke's back, Jess's face. When they hug she tries to repress a grin. Then Luke is leading April away and they're alone.

"You came," he says, but he doesn't sound all that surprised. She tries to remember the last e-mail she sent him, talk of the paper and classes, mostly.

"You did invite me."

"But I wasn't sure you'd come."

She nods and her hair slips past her ears to hide her face. She can feel a blush rising in her cheeks.

"I'm glad you came," he says.

"Me too."

--

He's busy playing host, most of the night, so she wanders around the place, her eyes hungry, taking in everything. She absorbs context, wades through it, pieces together the person he's become. She tries to plot out conversations in her head, stories to tell him, anecdotes, like Paris with her note-cards and neuroses. When he finally catches up, a little out of breath and exhilarated by his own success, she forgets them all. "Hi."

"Hi."

Conversation comes easily. They get through pleasantries fast, touching on Lorelai, on Luke, on Lane and Zach and Paris and Yale and does she have everything sorted out now? She nods, confident. "Yes. Everything is very sorted." He smiles and makes a joke about the DAR. She laughs.

Most of the crowd has left now, just his friends in the corner, debating with the god-awful poet and a couple hangers-on. Teenagers dressed like twenty-somethings trying to fake sophistication. He grabs a couple of stools and they sit down to talk—really talk—and laugh—really laugh—and she realizes she forgot he could be like this. Laid-back, happy. The poet leaves, Jess's friends not far behind (they pause, momentarily. "Hey, we're hitting that bar we're not calling Cedar Bar Redux. You coming?" but he shakes his head, "no"). She thinks about Finn, Colin, Robert. Logan. Wonders if they've landed, yet, if they're doing something stupid, yet. She thinks, probably.

Then they're alone.

"You look good," he says. "Very…editorial."

"Editorial?" She laughs. "I don't know about that."

"So what's it like? Editor of the Yale Daily News. That's got to feel good."

She nods. "It does. I don't get to write as much as I'd like. I'm mostly assigning and motivating. Hand-holding and re-writing."

"Yeah, and you love it. Every minute of it. Come on, tell me you don't."

She doesn't say anything, just smiles and tilts her head and then he's leaning forward, his hands on her knees, her hips, her waist. His lips on hers. She falls into the kiss like she's seventeen again, losing herself to the same lust that used to confuse her, consume her. It feels new and familiar at the same time, simultaneously scary and reassuring. She's the first to pull back, her hands on his shoulders, fingers dancing on his collarbone, their faces only inches apart.

"So apparently that still works," he says, his voice low, a little scratched, the same as when they were teenagers, and she laughs. Her head feels heavy and her skin feels hot. He takes her wrists in his hands, slides their palms together, laces their fingers.

"I'm so proud of you, Jess," she says. "You're really doing something with your life. It's amazing." He looks like he's blushing, she can't quite tell in the low light of the shop. "It really is."

"And what about you?" he says. "You're back at Yale, still on track to graduate with the class of 2007, right? I'd say that's an accomplishment."

She ducks her head. "Yeah." He nudges her knee with his fist and she looks up again. His eyes are dark and burning. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Me neither."

And then he's kissing her again. His hands grip her hips, his fingers warm and strong as they find purchase on the soft cotton of her dress and he pulls her towards him, brings his hands up to trace her jaw, her shoulders. His tongue glides across her bottom lip, her teeth, and she moans somewhere deep in her chest. She leans forward, grips his arms and pulls him up with her, presses her body against his, his body against a shelf. She wraps herself around his neck. She'd forgotten the way they fit together, the ease that came with touching him. When she was young it was a method of discovery, now she knows the steps, the rules. He catches her lip in his teeth and she forgets them.

She pulls back, struggles to take in air. His lips trace the skin behind her ear. "Rory?" he says between kisses.

She tries to say "mmhmm," but his tongue catches her pulse point and it comes out as a slow moan.

"When you say everything's sorted…that's everything, right? You're not still dating that—"

She cuts him off. "I broke up with him." She smiles, still breathing heavily. "This morning. He cheated, not this morning, he cheated a few months ago, but I broke up with him this morning. I tried to forgive him, but…" she shrugs. "Things weren't right. I didn't love him like I thought I did."

He nods, takes her face in his hands. "I don't want to be just a rebound, Rory," he says. "I can't do that."

She's never seen this look on his face before, this calm sincerity. It had always been urgent before, rushed. He was the jump first, think later sort of guy. Now he's so grown up.

"You could never be a rebound."

--

The apartment upstairs is a mess. Clothes, dishes and books litter every surface. A hallway to the left leads to three untidy bedrooms and a bathroom. To the right is a small kitchenette. The common area is home to a couch, a TV and more bookshelves than she's ever seen outside a Barnes and Noble. "Still reading, then," she says. He laughs.

"I've never seen you…happy."

"I figured it was time I tried something new."

"Had enough of Mr. Jess 'I Hate the World' Mariano?"

"Something like that."

He leads her over to the couch and pulls her down next to him. "So, catch me up. What have you been up to besides school and the paper…and dumping smug, rich assholes?"

"Not much. School keeps me pretty busy."

"No more felonies, I assume."

"Nope, and I've finished my community service, too. Mom made me promise I'd never steal a boat again…and then she threw me a party."

"Sounds like Lorelai."

"Indeed."

They talk till it's late, talk about everything and talk about nothing. He tells her about the book he's writing, all short stories, and she listens and comments and laughs. "There's one about Kirk," he says. "And one about you."

His roommates stumble in a little past one, tipsy but standing upright. "Who's the girl, Jess?" one of them asks, then disappears down the hallway before he can answer. Her head feels heavy when she lays it on his shoulder and wraps her fingers around his. "Tired?" he asks, and she nods. He stands, pulling her up with him, and leads her down the hall.