AN: Hello, me again. Sorry the updates are sporadic, they happen when I'm avoiding other work. Hope you enjoy, this one's rather long.

Friday

He's actually waking up in the middle of the night over this thing. He's actually...well, the word isn't nervous, because like hell is that going to happen. He doesn't remember the last time he felt nervous. Actually, that's a lie. He remembers exactly when it was, and how it forced him into shaky, jumpy movements, and the desperate need to get a girl a soda so he wasn't standing there like an idiot.

It's going to go badly. And just as he's starting to get secure in how they are together, the way they fit quite nicely, how she'll tease and flirt, how he'll scowl and kiss her, and everything will be alright...it's a shame it has to end, really.

He hears Luke snoring from across the room, and decides it's time to get out. He's had years of practice getting stealthily into and out of rooms. Lorelai probably thinks it's burglary. Rory thinks it's girls' houses. It's actually just years of avoiding Liz, perfectly timing his escape with her drunken excitement over her latest squeeze, or knowing exactly when she doesn't want him around.

He pulls on a sweatshirt, creeps downstairs, unlocks and re-locks the door, and makes it all the way to the bridge before he realises he hasn't brought a book. He very much does not want to sit and just stare at the light reflecting on the water. He remembers the last time he did that, too. It also involved shaky, jumpy movements, and the desperate need to leave this little town, so that girl didn't get hurt. Well, anymore than she already had.

Considering how much he tests her, forces her into doing things, tries to get her to loosen up, the thing he's scared of most is hurting her. No, a little voice at the back of his mind whispers, that's not true. The thing you're most scared of is her thinking you're a loser, of seeing what everyone else sees, of seeing the disappointment in her eyes.

He thinks back to all those times Liz looked at him in despair, after he cut his hand trying to open a tin of spaghettios, after a kind-looking policewoman brought him home, after finding him at the bus station when he was ten, intent on finding his dad.

He supposes he and Lizzy deserve each other, really. At least when you're used to it, the disappointment isn't so bad. And now Rory. Rory who looks at him like he's brilliant, like she can't believe that someone like him ended up in Stars Hollow, that he came back for her. His own personal pom pom brigade, waving the banner, so sure he can do anything.

Well, he knows one thing he can't do. He can't sit in a massive house in Hartford, across from a woman who is blackmailing her daughter and granddaughter to spend time with her, and eat a nice meal. He just can't. And he said he would. For the first time in his life, Jess Mariano thinks, someone actually made him do something he didn't want to.

Sure, he told Luke he was pissed to end up in Stars Hollow, and he is, but the friends he left weren't real friends, and getting away from Lizzy is like breathing. Breathing quietly. Luke may be in bed by nine, and only really care about baseball scores, annoying Talyor, and Lorelai Gilmore, but it's quiet. There's no screaming, no moving from place to place. Luke will never leave.

Jess wishes he had a cigarette, just for something to do. It looks less like loitering that way. He wanders when he started giving a damn about what stuff looks like. The bridge creeks, and he's ashamed to say his heart jumps to his throat and he inhales sharply in shock. He's been out of the city too long.

'It's late,' she says, and sits down next to him, automatically linking her fingers with his.

'It is. Why are you up?'

'Felt bad,' She sighs and leans into him. 'I hate when Grandma does this.'

'What?'

'Takes over my life like this. And I always fall for it. I don't fight it. Mom fights it.'

'You ever tried fighting?'

She considers for a minute, and knows there must be one instance, multiple instances, but they all fall to the back of her mind, because she knows, every time, she calls Lorelai to come rescue her, after she's already said yes. That way, Lorelai stays the bad daughter, and she remains the good granddaughter. They like to play their little roles.

She closes her eyes briefly, resting her head on his shoulder. He wonders if she saw him walking, if she ran out suddenly. Her pajama bottoms have smiling unicorns on, and she's wearing a Harvard Jumper. He wonders if the universe is playing a massive joke on him, if they could be any less compatible.

'She always wins,' She says to herself, and then opens her eyes suddenly, 'I'm glad you don't always let me win.'

He raises an eyebrow at her, 'It doesn't feel like that at the moment.'

'Well, then I'm glad you fight me on stuff.'

'Trust me, as long as you continue to force me to do stuff I don't want to do, I will always fight you on it.'

Her smile starts off innocent, but she presses her face into his neck, and the tone of her voice drops as she almost breathes the words, 'But I always provide encouragement.' She bites his neck gently, and he almost thinks he's imagined it. His arm tightens around her.

'Bribing me, you mean? Yes, you're pretty good at that.'

He kisses her briefly, unsure of what she's offering, and what trap he's walked into now.

They sit in silence for a while, him wondering what he's meant to say, her hoping she can find a way to get out of dinner tomorrow.

'You know I'm going to screw this up, right?' He says seriously, looking at out the water. In the distance he can see a brief sliver of white, and wonders if there are ducks still swimming about in the dark.

'Meeting Grandma, you mean?'

'Amongst other things.' He pulls her closer, gripping tighter, eager to show her he doesn't want to screw it up, it's just his coding, genetic or upbringing, whatever. He's destined to ruin this thing, they better not get too comfortable pretending.

'There's no way meeting Grandma can go right. The only reason she liked Dean was because Grandpa hated him so much, she had to pick a different side.'

'Do we have to mention the Big Friendly Giant, right now? I don't make a good first impression. I don't make a good impression in general.'

'Because you're bad, from the wrong side of the tracks, a menace to society...' She sticks her tongue out at him.

'Fine, laugh if you wanna, but even if I tried my very hardest, which I'm not saying I will, by the way, she is never, in a million years, going to like me.'

'Why?'

He rubs his face with one hand, and tries not to laugh at her. 'Rory, be serious.'

'I am, why wouldn't she like you?'

She's got that determined look that he usually finds quite endearing when she's focusing on getting Luke to give her the last piece of pie, or hunting down a page in a book that he's just quoted from. But right now he hates it, because it's going to be the moment where she realises he's just worthless. That look of disappointment that he's known for inspiring is about to grace her delicate features in a moment.

'I have no direction, I have no money, I am not high society, I don't do everything you want. I am pretty pissed off at being summoned to her mansion because she decides she wants to know everything about your life. And lastly, simply because she didn't pick me.'

He really wishes he had a cigarette, and doesn't look at her face for fear of what he'll see. He's a coward, he knows it.

'That is ridiculous,' Rory's voice is louder than it should be, and he's part relieved, part irritated she's about to embark on her 'Go Team Jess' speech.

'Of course I know she's not going to like you, Jess. Why do you think I feel so guilty for making you go to this thing? She's going to be rude, condescending, and manipulative. She's going to try and make me break up with you. She's going to possibly suggest a whole bunch of disgustingly upper class boys with rich parents who work in banking. But that's not the point!'

He thinks one of them has lost their mind, and he's pretty sure it's her.

'What's the point?' He asks.

'Her not liking you has nothing to do with you, idiot! When I asked why she wouldn't like you, I expected you to reply with "because she's a snobby bitch' or something, not with a list of reasons you suck!'

He really doesn't have anything to say to this, partly because if he hadn't been so honest, he would have just called her Grandma a bitch, and the whole thing a waste of time. But he thought she wanted honesty, truth, intimacy, all that stuff.

'I like you,' she strokes his face, and he has trouble looking at her, all that affection in her eyes, 'You're different from everything else, everyone else.'

His mouth automatically twitches up at this, but he covers it with a smirk, 'that's because you live in Stars Hollow. The sane people stand out here.'

She rolls her eyes, and realises the 'sharing' part of this conversation is over. They could start up one of their make-out sessions that will make her breathless and desperate, and not really sure what her body wants, but she'll have trouble sleeping, and she knows she should get back soon. Instead, they just move as close as they can to each other, intertwined, connected. Warm.

'I was thinking about all the stupid things I've done when Grandma got involved,' she pauses, 'You know I went to a coming out ball? No gay jokes please,' she regards him seriously, and he shrugs, admits defeat. 'I traipsed around in a white ball gown and stupid heels and gloves and there was a fan dance, and it was one of the most stupid things I've ever done. I don't know if you were in town then.' She frowns, trying to place the time, the month, the event to whether it was before or during that time when just looking at him made her skin tingle, her stomach itch. To her, most things seem to fall into 'pre-Jess' or 'during-Jess'. Pre-Jess stuff always seems so much more innocent, childish.

'I was here. I saw you, in the fluffy white dress.' He won't tell her she looked beautiful. She did, but he prefers her in jeans. Or better, pyjamas with unicorns on.

'And you didn't mock me?' She nudges him, acting aghast.

'No...not to your face anyway,' he smirks. She pouts. They kiss.

'I was thinking, if I'd been with you then, I probably wouldn't have done something so stupid, let myself be talked into it, because you wouldn't have been.'

'You never know,' he sounds sadder than he means to.

'You'd be my escort to a society event where you had to wear a tux?' She scoffs, and he doesn't know if he's hurt or relieved.

'Well, I've got to keep you guessing, don't I? Can't let you get bored.' This girl can talk me into anything, he thinks, and I can't bear disappoint her. That look of stunned pleasure is when she's most beautiful, he loves to put that look on her face. And that usually comes from him caving in to something. He would have fought, he would have reasoned, but he would have been there. Probably with his shirt unbuttoned and the fingers of his gloves cut off. But he would have been there if she wanted him.

She grins and snuggles closer, as if that's even possible at that point. 'I don't want you in a tux. They don't have back pockets. Where would you put your book?'

They sit silently and look out at the water, content that things are going to be okay. Her grandmother will hate him, he will hate her grandmother. Rory will not listen to either of them. Things will go on as before. Jess watches as a swan glides across the water in the darkness, serene and simplistic. Swans are calming, they're symbolic of what? Royalty? Rebirth? Purity? Do they mate for life?

'Pretty,' Rory says drowsily, entranced by the way the bird swishes back and forth, barely rippling the water.

'Yeah,' Jess is surprised. A bird's a bird. But he thinks this could be a good omen. Be graceful, Mariano, for once in your life. Be calm and collected in the face of great strain. Show a gentle strength, instead of going in kicking and punching. Be like a swan, non-violent, non-aggressive.

He helps Rory up and walks her home, depositing her safely through her window, before walking back to Luke's and sleeping soundly, comforted by images of white feathers, and suits with specially created book compartments.

It isn't until days later, after everything's gone to hell in a hand basket, and he's ruined a perfectly good ladle, that he remembers the meaning of the phrase 'Swan Song'.