Title: Keyless Entry
Characters/Pairings: Rory/Jess
Rating: R
Word Count: approx 5400 for this chapter
Warnings: teen sex; WIP
Acknowledgment: Thanks/blame to finnigan_geist for beta'ing, hand holding, and encouraging the damnable idea in the first place.
Summary: What if Rory and Jess had sex in "Keg! Max!"? What if that didn't actually solve any problems?

Rory lay back under Jess's kisses, scooting up the bed as she went. She could feel his weight settle on top of her and her hands went to cup his jaw; his hands went to her belt.

She could hear the jingle of her key – the one her mother had affixed to her belt, telling her she couldn't lose it that way – as Jess's fingers hooked into the leather. Rory shivered, pushing at Jess's shoulders.

"Jess, wait."

Kisses came hot and needy against her neck. Jess pressed his face to her shoulder, backing away slightly to just breathe. His hands were still at her belt, toying with the distance between it and her shirt's hem. A shudder against her that Rory put her hands out to calm, slipping her hands down Jess's back, and then his fingers traveled upwards, under her shirt.

Rory sighed, shifting against him, glad to be back in familiar territory.

"I missed you down there," Rory whispered against his lips. She could almost make out his eyes.

Jess didn't reply, shaking his head and kissing her again, hard. She arched underneath him. He pressed her back down, hips sliding against hers – enough for her to feel how hard he was. His hand was on her breast, under her shirt, thumb circling around her nipple. Rory closed her eyes against the sensation, panting out harshly.

"I want you," Jess mumbled, pushing his forehead against hers. She could feel him, the tension in his back as he restrained himself, the sweat on brow transferred to hers. He was so tense. So miserable.

Here? a part of her wanted to shout. Now?

Hand drifting between her thighs, Jess pressed up and in against the seam of her jeans. Rory moaned, caught off guard by the breathy sound coming from her own throat.

"Jess," she said again, unsure of her own meaning.

Jess kissed her, hands making short work of her belt before moving to remove her shirt. Her hands, her hands needed to be doing something. He couldn't do all the work. That wasn't fair. She applied them to his shirt, stripping it off quickly so he could press her bare chest against hiss.

Rory shivered at the warm contact, the strangeness. Jess cupped his hands around her backside, lifting her up just enough for her to tug her jeans down. Jess followed the length of her legs, moving down the bed to pull them entirely off.

Breathing hard, left only in her thin cotton briefs and bra, Rory opened her eyes in the dimness. She stared down her body, looking at Jess. His solemn expression.

She grimaced, throwing her head back, squeezing her eyes shut. That wasn't what he was supposed to look like. Not right now.

Rory heard a rustle of clothing, and presumed he was naked. She heard a rip of foil. At least he's safe, she thought, half-hysterical.

His weight did not settle on her – next to her, warmth of his arm against the twitchy, sudden coldness of her own. She traced careful fingers on his shoulder, pausing to steady herself before sliding her hand down the length of his arm. Taking his hand in hers, squeezing just a moment and then placing it across her waist. She turned her head, meeting him in a kiss, while their fingers worked her panties off together.

And then he moved. Not soft. Not gentle.

Not harsh.

She didn't know the word. She didn't know it. She needed an entirely new vocabulary here.

Jess, between her legs, one hand steadying himself against the bed. She opened her eyes, looking up into his unreadable expression. Her hand clutched at his back, feeling every muscle stand out.

He thrust into her and she could not help the pained, strangled gasp she let out. Muscles in her stomach fluttered and she tried not to flinch away from Jess. She tried to breathe through the pain, gradually opening her eyes.

"Rory," Jess said, eyes open and expression pained above her. "I... I'm..."

He couldn't say it. Rory swallowed hard. She could feel a million things rising up in her. None of them was regret.

"Don't be."

Jess slowly shook his head. She could feel him quivering under her hands. He winced from her touch, turning his face away.

"What are we doing?"

Oh, sure, now you ask. Rory glared up at him, holding fast when he tried to withdraw.

"It hurt," she started, licking her lips. "We knew it would. But that, it doesn't..."

Rory blew out an angry breath, frustrated with herself. She wrapped a leg around his waist, pulling him – him, all of him – into her. She let out an unsteady breath. "It doesn't mean I don't want you."

Laughing a little, Jess slid his hand down to her leg, disentangling it from around him.

"You don't know what you're saying. We're at a party. In some guy's mom's bedroom."

He backed away, slipping from her. With a snort of self-disgust, he looked away, glancing over the edge of the bed to look for his clothes.

"No," Rory said suddenly, surprised by her own boldness.

Jess raised a sarcastic eyebrow at her: I'm pretty sure this is actually some guy's mom's bedroom. So not her point.

Rory tugged on his arm, pulling until he gave under the pressure, laying back on the bed.

"Stay," she said pointedly. She stared at him, eyes taking in his entire body before settling on his face, and his sarcastic expression. He looked one minute away from rolling his eyes and that just ticked her off.

"I want you," she repeated, and there it was. The eye roll. Rory frowned, hitting him on the chest with her fingernails. Jess jumped at the stinging blow, eyes going wide.

Crawling over to him, she straddled him. Rory. Straddling. These are words that do not occur together in nature, she thought to herself.

Rory bit her lip, feeling ridiculous. No, not ridiculous. The other thing. Sexy.

"Um, Rory?" Jess said. She could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, feel his pulse under her hand. Especially the hand, uh, yeah that hand. The one carefully touching latex, aware of and yet somehow not disgusted by the idea that the slickness of it was due to her, hand wrapped around him and awkwardly trying to guide him in once more. "Rory?"

"Yeah?" she said, tongue sticking out as she tried again. Jess thrust up to help this time, and she groaned – a good groan, God, so good – at the feeling of him sliding into her.

"Are you sure about this?"

Rory giggled a little, relieved to know the answer here: "Yes. I think... yeah, I actually am."

"But, um," she said, rocking very gently against him. She grabbed the hands skating up to her breasts again, steering them back to her hips, "I could use some help here."

"Okay," Jess breathed.

He flexed his hips upward and Rory's breath hitched in her throat. She braced her hands on his chest, licking her lips before meeting that motion with a flex or her own. One of Jess's hands drifted from her hip, curving to fit her thigh, thumb edging inward. Rory's eyes went wide, realizing his goal.

She heard a low chuckle.

"What? You thought I'd let this be bad, Rory?"

She had, totally had. She'd even listed that as one of her "cons" – first time equals bad. It was a fairly compelling reason for lifelong chastity, in addition to the catalogue of mental and physical side effects. So, yes, she hadn't been thinking any sort of good.

Not that she had any real conception of good or how to get there or her and Jess in a scenario where sex added up to good. That was a more sophisticated calculus than they taught at Chilton.

Jess slid his other hand up to her waist, urging her to bend. She did, clumsily meeting him in a kiss.

"Stop thinking," he said.

And she did.

***

Jess had pulled on his boxers, jeans, and shirt. He was done. Rory, for some reason, took immeasurably longer.

Jess lounged back on the bed, enjoying the show.

"I could help you with that," he said, eyebrow lifted at her shrugging, awkward attempt to secure her bra behind her back.

"I," she huffed out, "have already experienced your kind of help with clothes tonight, Jess, and I don't think it would be very productive."

"Your loss."

Rory shivered visibly at the idea. Jess could see a shaded half of her face in the dresser mirror; her cheeks were darkly flushed. Fingers skimming along the rumpled line of the chintzy sheets, he allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk. In the course of their travels, his fingers – avoiding the pitfalls of certain wet patches – struck upon a small, metallic object. Her key.

Jess picked it up, thumb grazing over the cut metal teeth. He considered giving it back to her, just as Rory turned, ostensibly dressed. Instead, he pocketed it.

"How do I look?" she asked. She pushed her hair behind her ear, eyes shifty and nervous, smile tugging at her lips. Her shirt was askew from too many nervous tugs, her hair tangled and only barely tamed. There was a mark, rising visible and red, on her neck in the perfect, crooked shape of his mouth.

Jess shrugged, biting his tongue to spare the room the cheese springing to mind. He was not that guy.

"I mean, can you tell? Do you think they can tell? When I walk out there, what are they going to think? Are they going to know? Not that I don't want them to know, you know. Because I'm not ashamed. I just don't want to be tomorrow's headline in the Stars Hollow Gazette because then there are mobs, and fire, and pitchforks, and I kind of like you and don't want you to die, Jess," Rory said, wild gestures accompanying her ever more rapid speech.

Standing slowly, Jess slipped over to her side. He smoothed his hands down her arms, quieting her with a look.

"I can tell," he said, dipping his head to kiss her swiftly.

"I know you can tell," she mumbled, leaning into his shoulder. "I can tell, too."

"Ready to go down?"

Rory nodded and then shook her head frantically. She backed away from him, pulling on her shirt and summoning up borrowed bravado to affect an unconvincing, coy pose.

"How do I look?"

Jess bit his lip, feeling a very male swell of pride as he looked her over. Freshly fucked, he didn't say.

"Like a tramp," he said with a smirk.

"Your tramp," Rory said, reaching out a hand to drag him over to her side. She waited for a long time, her hand tensing and untensing in Jess's as she attempted to work up the nerve to exit the room. Jess stood by her side, forcing a casual air he did not feel, unwilling to admit how little he wanted to venture back out there himself.

Eventually, eyes on the bed, she asked, "Don't you think we should do something about," her voice dipped low, quiet with embarrassment, as she considered and discarded words suffused with now secret meaning, "the room?"

"Like what? Teach Kyle a very important lesson about the consequences of leaving bedroom doors unlocked at keggers?" Jess asked. He nudged Rory with hip, pronouncing with relish, "Because I think we already have, Ror."

"Shouldn't we at least make the bed?"

Jess turned to her, staring at silently her through the shadows.

"Um, yeah. Good point," she admitted.

Rory shuffled her feet. Over their breathing, Jess could just make out strains of the top forty so-called music that had replaced Lane's band. There was the sound of muffled, distant laughter, a few offended shouts, and the general clatter of a party still in full swing. There was no chance of waiting this one out.

Decision made, Jess pulled lightly on Rory's hand. And then harder when she didn't budge.

The door gave easily under his hand, light from the hallway washing stark and bright over the entire room. He chanced a glance back at Rory, watching her blink and squint, feeling the tight coil of self-loathing he had been fighting all evening ease just slightly, just for a moment, at the sight.

A smile broke out on her face.

"No pitchforks," she said happily.

"No pitchforks," he agreed, pulling her fully into the light, "Come on."

Skipping a step, she bounced up on her toes, kissing him on the cheek before laughing and pulling on his hand. Like he had been the hesitant one all along. She dragged him half way down the hall before her steps slowed, his quickened, and they synchronized.

He slipped his hand from hers as they turned a corner, descending the stairs. Rory aimed a startled, questioning look at him – quelled only when he instead wrapped his arm around her waist. She relaxed into it, smiling with what Jess thought was clearly post-coital bliss.

Jess half turned, ready to tell her just what a good look that was for her and how much he'd like to apply for a job as her personal stylist, specializing in that – pared down appropriately in syllables and verbiage – when he felt a large, heavy hand fall onto his shoulder.

Motherfuck! Jess thought, feeling the wrench of his shoulder popping painfully out of joint as Dean swung him around, punching him unskillfully the jaw. Jess heard his jaw creak under the blow; he also heard the pop of Dean's knuckles, his barely restrained hiss of pain.

Learn to throw a punch, bag boy.

Together, they stumbled down the stairs. The chatter of the party hushed instantly, people clearing out of the way to make a careful, perniciously interested circle of on lookers.

"Fight!" someone cheered. Jess regretted not being in any position to punch the redundant, blithering idiot out right then and there.

"Jess!" Rory cried out from the landing. Jess snapped his head up, craning to see her, but his vision was blocked by Dean's scowling face. "Dean! Stop it!"

"I'm not fighting you, Dean," Jess said. He circled away from the larger boy, not stupid enough to turn his back, hands still unclenched.

"Oh yeah? Well, you should. Because I'm fighting you," Dean said. He reared back, leveling another punch. Jess ducked out of the way, dodging by millimeters. "I can't believe you."

"What?" Jess laughed out. "You think you're the good guy here? You think you're defending her honor?"

Curious, callous whispers demarcated the fight ring: "What's happening?" "Who are they?" "I don't know... Isn't that Rory Gilmore up there?" "What's going on?"

Then a much louder voice of pleased, titillated realization: "Someone got laid."

Jess's attention, and everyone else's, flicked up to Rory on the stairs, taking in her silent mortification.

For half a second, Jess wished Dean had done this earlier in the night. That he had done it earlier, when his muscled were wrapped so tightly around his bones in anger that he felt them splintering apart within him. When he wanted nothing more than to split his knuckles on someone's face, prove to the world and Stars Hollow how much he deserved their scorn.

But not now. Not with Rory watching. Not right after they'd....

Dean. That son of a bitch had to ruin everything.

Eyes narrowing, Jess launched himself at the other boy – and then he had another wish for starting this fight earlier in the night. Before Rory fucked him through the mattress and turned his muscles to jelly.

Fucking ow.

Settling for grappling, Jess worked his fingers into Dean's shirt, holding fast as the taller boy – much taller, Jesus, what were they feeding him – slammed him into a wall. And then an armoire.

Distantly, he thought he heard Kyle shout, "Not the Hummels!"

Jess wished profoundly that he and Rory had broken in a few more beds. Just to spite Kyle.

"Asshole," he gritted out, sweat dripping into his eyes. His hair, already mussed and less than styled from earlier, stuck to his forehead and he swiped at it in annoyance.

"Same to you," Dean growled back, shoving Jess hard into the front door, breaking its hinges. Jess fell through to the pavement. Panting, he looked up warily at Dean.

Lights flashed blue and red, painting Dean's righteous, smug smirk. It didn't quite fade, and Jess swore softly to himself. Of course not. Nonetheless, Jess had never been more grateful for the police, or the forced idyllic nature of Stars Hollow.

Eyes locked with Dean, lip curling in response to the smug, confident smile on Dean's face, Jess was distantly aware of boots hitting the ground. Police and party goers co-mingled on the lawn; droning notices of dispersal submerged beneath the high note of teenage hysteria. It was possible, Jess reflected, that keggers didn't fly in Maybury.

Two calloused sets of hands took Jess by the arms, hauling him up. Once on his feet, he turned defensively, shrugging them off and warding them away with raised hands. The officers offered conciliatory, bland looks.

"You okay, kid?" one asked. The other, clearly stupider partner reached out a hand, almost touching the bruise blooming on Jess's jaw before taking in the hostile glare leveled at him and thinking better of it.

Great, just what Jess needed. It would have been better to be the center of another of Stars Hollow's witch hunt – he was sure he'd have come up with a rolicking good story for why Dean was justified in sucker punching him, enough to provoke gasps and "gee, willikers" all around. Being pitied as the victim, however, was totally not on. The thought alone made anger roil in his stomach.

He leveled a fierce glare at the cops, who met it with chuckles and placidly raised hands. They backed off, going to secure the area and roust other teens from the yard.

"Jess!"

Hair streaming out behind her, gangly body performing an action straining the definition of "running," Rory appeared in the doorway behind Dean. Her eyes were wide and liquid with sympathy as she made her way to Jess's side.

"Hey," he said quietly, glad when the eyes on her registered and she slowed, coming to a stop a few paces from her. He didn't want her any closer.

Reading his expression, Rory nodded shortly, the motion stiff. There was still a slight flush on her cheeks, warming her face with a gentle glow that off set the blue of her eyes. Her hands plunged into her pockets, posture shy and uncertain; Jess helplessly mimicked the stance.

"So," he started, shoulders beginning to ache with tension, "I should go."

"Jess, the police will want to talk with you!"

Said police were luckily occupied with Kyle, although they kept darting looks over toward the door and Dean. Jess wasn't really up for Dean's contrite act tonight.

"Exactly," Jess said, shrugging a shoulder back to emphasize the idea of away.

"Jess!" Rory protested. She stepped closer, the feel of her hand on his arm almost enough to freeze him in to the spot, but then she pulled away in distraction at the sound of retching. "Lane?"

"Go, look after you friend," Jess urged. Rory shot him a frustrated look, as if to say Since when do you care about Lane?

Since now.

Jess hunched deeper into his jacket, jaw throbbing and back tingling with the sensation of Rory's burning, disappointed gaze as he walked away from the flood of red and blue light.

***

Lorelai was not the kind of mother who worried. She was cool. She was the cool mom. She let her daughter go out with boys, trusting in her daughter's very good judgment and in the very good head atop her shoulders. She didn't obsess, or toss and turned at night at the thought of her daughter unsupervised, out in the world. She most definitely didn't breathe into a bag when she didn't know where her daughter was.

Those were all things that would make Lorelai very uncool and it was important she lie to herself about just how cool she was. She really didn't know what she would do without that lie.

It would probably be a fair approximation of what she'd done so far tonight, though.

She'd begun by trying to reassure herself that she shouldn't be afraid of a party. It was a known factor, after all. She'd been to just the same kind of parties as a teenager. Margarita in hand, she'd popped in a Bananarama CD, prepared to do a little distracting reminiscence.

And then she actually did reminisce, and remembered exactly what she'd been up to as a teenager, and that none of her fears were of the unknown. Oh no, they were very very much of the known. Margarita duly poured out, Lorelai vowed to be wholesome and innocent all evening in hopes that it would traverse the psychic bond she didn't have with her daughter and influence Rory's behavior.

In that spirit, she grabbed a book off of Rory's shelf – a very Rory like one, she thought – and plopped down on her daughter's bed, intent on reading.

And fell asleep. Harassed by dreams of butterflies and kegs of beer and Chilton skirts hiked high by groping boys, Lorelai shuddered awake. She threw The Metamorphosis across the room in disgust, telling herself she'd just buy Rory a new copy when she asked.

Which led her to here and now. Her secret, guiltiest of guilty pleasures: Jazzercise.

She was sweating it out in her Juicy velour track suit – because never let it be said that Lorelai Gilmore did not commit to an image – when she heard a distant knock. She scrambled for the remote, frowning and cocking her head as she listened.

"Two bits," she called back cautiously.

"That's not how it works," came Rory's muffled complaint.

Lorelai grinned to herself. Her progeny! Alive and victoriously emergent from the party! Most likely in one piece!

She scooted her booty over to the door, flinging it open with grandiose style while mentally preparing repartee.

"Oh. Uh, hi, Lane," she said, deflating instantly at the sight greeting her on the stoop.

Rory's face was drawn and tired, hair and clothes askew in an indefinably familiar way. She bore up the dead weight of her best friend, supporting Lane with an arm around the shoulder and a much more awkward one around the waist. Lane, hair drooping into her face, looked a mix of queasy and delighted.

"Hi, Lorelai!" Lane crooned.

"Oh God," Lorelai said, eyes widening. She stepped back rapidly, ushering the girls in. Poking her head out the door, she looked around hurriedly for Mrs. Kim. Marginally relieved at her apparent absence, Lorelai drew herself back inside and locked the door. They were probably safe. Unless Mrs. Kim was a ninja. Horrifying, and yet possible, Lorelai thought.

"Who let you drink?" she asked Lane.

"I let me drink! Today, I declared my independence!"

"Uh huh, sweetie." She turned to Rory. "You let her drink?"

Rory stared back at Lorelai, unblinking.

"What was that?"

"That was a shrug. I was shrugging. You just can't tell because Lane is oddly heavy."

Gesturing to Rory to give over her burden, Lorelai snorted, "Sweets, I think it's more because you are oddly frail and unmuscular."

"Mean."

"Yep," Lorelai said. She started walking Lane to the kitchen, calling back to an uncertain Rory, "Run upstairs and grab the aspirin from the medicine cabinet, would you?"

She heard the wonderful sound of little feet pounding up the wooden staircase. She guided Lane to sit before brushing the hair from her face, studying her carefully. She looked well enough. Knowing Lane's somewhat hyperactive constitution and restricted life style, it probably hadn't take more than a single beer to knock her flat.

"How are you feeling, hon?"

"Great!" Lane exclaimed, before tracking back, voice somewhat less enthused, with a note of wonder in it, "But spinny."

Just then, Rory entered the room, sidling in and casting confused looks at the frozen Jazzercise instructor on the television screen. She handed Lorelai the aspirin bottle, and Lorelai promptly shook out two pills, and then frowned. Glancing again at Lane, she put one pill back and gave the other to Lane.

"Trust me," she said, going to the sink to fill a glass of water for her.

"Um, mom?" Rory asked. "Were you exercising?"

Lorelai winced. She handed the water to Lane, watching as she gulped the whole glass nearly in one go. She took it back to fill it again.

"Mom!"

"Okay!" Lorelai said, turning to Rory. "I admit it. I was exercising, feeling the burn, getting the gain and the pain! Your whole life is a lie!"

"Um," Rory said slowly. Lorelai got the sense Rory was not entirely up for bantering. "Isn't it your life that's a lie?"

"Oh, sweetie, no. My life is an omission of truth, a long series of carefully planned secret work outs deep in the night. Yours is a lie because you think you can eat and eat, and you'll never get fat! But your day will come."

Rory frowned at her and Lorelai struggled for a second wind, wondering why her daughter wasn't into this. Come on, perfect mocking material here!

With a sigh, she gave up.

"So how was the party?" she probed, taking another serious look at her daughter. Yes, all limbs still attached. So why the pensive?

A horrible thought occurred to her.

"Why did you knock? Why didn't you just use your key?"

"Oh, um," Rory blushed, looking away. She pushed her hair behind her ear, revealing a vivid red mark on her neck, before looking up hesitantly. "Because Jess took it?"

"Jess took your key?" Lorelai repeated in stupefaction. "Tell me that isn't a euphemism, babe."

"It's not a euphemism." There was long, pregnant pause – one where Lorelai cursed the adjectival centers of her brain. Rory's eyes widened in realization. "Oh God. Oh God, it is a euphemism! You euphemismed me!"

"What? Hey, now, I think we've clearly established that whoever was doing the euphemisming," Lorelai said, stumbling over the ridiculous word, "it was Jess."

"No, Mom! It was you! You put my key on my belt, rife with symbolism."

"Because you didn't need to take it off! Ever!" Lorelai was faintly aware that her voice was becoming hysterical. No, strike that, she was becoming hysterical. But hysteria seemed like a pretty reasonable response at this juncture.

She was also faintly aware of Lane asleep and drooling on her table. Better that than awake for the drama, she supposed.

"Hello, bathroom," Rory said. At which point Lorelai blinked. She had completely lost the plot.

"Wait. You did it in the bathroom?"

"What?"

"What?"

Rory glared at Lorelai, angry breaths heaving in and out as she tried to parse their last exchange. Lorelai wanted to scream, to smash something, to Jazzercise her butt off. She settled for straightening her shoulders and attempting a calm head. Cool mom, remember?

"Okay. From the top, sweetie. Jess took your key."

Rory pursed her lips, looking at Lorelai steadily.

"He did. We did. And you said you would be supportive. So, I guess I'm done here."

Something in Lorelai snapped at her tone. Furious, she pulled Rory away from Lane, grabbing her by both arms. She stared down into her daughter's face, the frightening blankness of it. She could feel how upset Rory was by the tension in her arms – she didn't know if she hoped it was from the events of the party, or their argument now. She honestly couldn't say which would hurt her more.

"No, we are not done," she declared. "You had sex with Jess!"

"I know. I was there," Rory said, voice dipping into her sullen teenage best. Not exactly comparable with Lorelai's sullen teenage best – a pale shade of it even – but the intent was like a slap in the face.

"At a party! That is nothing like you, Rory! Can't you see that? You are not the girl who abandons her best friend to have sex upstairs."

"So, are we talking about Lane now, or you?"

Tears stung Lorelai's eyes. She really couldn't say, at that point, but yes. Yes, she did feel abandoned.

"Just, honey, please tell me he didn't pressure you. Tell me everything is fine."

Rory tilted her head, raising a sarcastic eyebrow.

"Jess is a terrible boyfriend and her forced me and everything you ever said about him is completely true," she sing songed, shaking off Lorelai's hands. "That's what you want to hear, right?"

Lorelai stood gaping, helpless anger swirling in her stomach. She wanted to pull her hair out and scream – and at the same time, she knew she was doing everything exactly wrong. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she closed her mouth, swallowing back emotion.

Rory stepped over to Lane, placing an arm around her to wake her gently. She nudged the glass of water back into her friend's hand, eyes averted from her mother.

"I should probably get Lane home soon," Lorelai said after a long while. She was proud of how steady her tone was.

"You ready to go, Lane?" Rory asked, tone gentle and light, as if she'd never heard her mother speak. Lane nodded sleepily. Without looking at each other, Rory and Lorelai levered her up. They walked Lane to the door. Rory opened it, while Lorelai bore Lane out.

Rory followed them onto the porch, leaning up to hug her friend carefully.

"Drive safe," she commanded, face cold in the dim moonlight, before disappearing back inside. The locks clicked loudly in the night.

It's starting, Lorelai thought with dread. She's shutting me out. She'd thought she had so much more time, that she'd beaten the odds, that her bond with Rory was just so strong that nothing could come between them.

And she was wrong.

Lane stirred toward the end of the drive, just as Lorelai turned onto Mrs. Kim's street.

"I didn't, Mama!" Lane shouted, waking with a jerk. Lorelai slanted a look over at her, hands still at ten and two. Dread had settled firmly in her belly during the drive, but she tried to spare some concern and curiosity for Lane's drama. She'd been in this position all too often herself.

"Didn't what, hon?"

"Um, get drunk at a party that I didn't have a gig at?" Lane said. Memory deadened her features, her bright eyes flickering with fear, and then she said in a rush, "And I didn't call my mom and tell her that and that I'm in love with Dave and oh God."

Yep, sounded about right for this night.

Lorelai shook her head slowly, forcing a smile.

"Don't worry. She'll get over it." She patted Lane's hand. "You'll be fine."

Lane laughed unhappily and unconvincingly.

"Pretending is fun!"

It sure was. Lorelai thought to herself later, mounting the steps to her house. She had pretended for a long time that she was okay with Jess, pretended that she was okay with the possibility of Rory taking the next step with him.

She stopped cold, staring at the yellow sticky note affixed to her door. Her fingers smoothed over its curling edges as she read the fine, neatly spaced writing. There was a single point of pressure above the first stroke of the first letter, a bleeding blue dot that spoke of many halting attempts to write.

Lorelai sighed, removing the note from the door. Its single word: "Hey."

She crept quietly into the house, achingly aware of the chill developing between herself and Rory. When she reached Rory's room, she saw her daughter tucked into bed like a child, hair fanning across her pillow, breaths deep and easy. Her heart clenched. Carefully, she made her way over and place the sticky note on the book that had slipped from Rory's fingers – she had somehow retrieved "The Metamorphosis" from where Lorelai had flung it.

Lorelai supposed she could pretend just a little longer.