Pairing: Mentions of Rory/Dean, Rory/Tristan and Rory/Jess. This is however, at its heart, a Rory/Dave story. If you don't like UC shipping I suggest you use that handy dandy back button at the top of your screen.

Rating: PG-13. I think.

Spoilers: To the end of season 3.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters. They are the property of Amy Sherman-Palladino, Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Warner Brothers. No infringement is intended.

Authors Notes: People. Why does nothing work out as planned? I meant to do a one shot Rory/Dave piece. It did not work out that way. It morphed and mutated into something more. My muse hates me. Special thanks to those who have been so nice and patient with me and my writing. And to Tinuviel Henneth, for bringing Rory/Dave to the world.

By The Book

Part One: Ghosts of Boyfriends Past

Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

Teenagers, warring families, star-crossed lovers, etc. Ask anyone and they can tell you the story. You would think that, considering all the hype, Romeo and Juliet would be the best of Shakespeare's plays. Of the tragedies, at the very least. Except it really isn't. Or so thought Rory Gilmore as she lay sprawled across the couch in her living room, attempting to finish Act One, though her mind insisted on wandering to places she shouldn't. As a graduation present her Grandparents had given her the complete works of William Shakespeare and she was currently on Romeo and Juliet having already finished Othello and a A Midsummer Night's Dream.

It was late August and she was restless. She had returned from a Europe two weeks ago. After seeing the best of Europe, museums, monuments, boutiques (her mother had insisted) in Paris and Ghent, Amsterdam and Berlin, Vienna and Florence… well Al's Pancake World seemed a bit mundane.

She loved her town, she really did. But having spent her entire life there, never until recently venturing far from the East Coast, was it any wonder that she missed what she had only just had a taste of?

It didn't help that almost everyone that could possibly keep her entertained was gone. Her mother was busy, settling things and the Independence Inn and making arrangements for The Dragonfly. She was busy but also very, very happy, and so Rory was happy for her. It wasn't everyday someone was able to realize a dream they'd harbored for as long as Lorelai and Sookie had wanted an inn of their own.

Jess was gone. California, Luke had said. She hadn't heard from him herself. Didn't know if he liked it or if he was happier there. Not that she cared.

Paris was traveling with her mother. Rory had gotten a postcard from Montreal, of all places, three days ago. Paris seemed almost… relaxed. Being free of Chilton obviously agreed with her.

As for Lane, she was in Korea again. Mrs. Kim, undoubtedly hoping that some time there would curb some of her daughter's recent rebellion and make her forget about the drums and unsuitable boys, had again sent off Lane to Korea. Rory had promised to hang out with Dave, and she suspected Lane had forced Dave to make a similar promise. In light of recent events it was best not to think about that.

Dean was planning his wedding, a concept that, even after a fairly long period of time, still boggled Rory's mind. It just seemed like Dean was far too young. Much like Juliet. What does someone Juliet's age (thirteen, fourteen?) know about love? At seventeen years and ten months, positively worldly in comparison, Rory wasn't sure that she knew anything about love. She had only kissed four boys (and still referred to them as 'boys,' 'men' seemed wrong). Dean she had loved, Tristan she didn't even know, Jess she could have loved and Dave… well that just made her a very bad person. The worst kind of person. The kind of person Dante would have sent to the iced over layer of Hell.

There was really very little to do and so she read. Or tried to, at least. But boredom (obviously) wasn't the only thing causing her distraction. No. There was the incident that shall not be named. It had happened two days ago. She was desperate not to think about it. Thinking about it made her think about other things and there really was such a thing as too much thinking. It gave her a headache and she had already taken more Advil than was technically healthy. And really, all this reading about lips and kissing was only encouraging her.

Her mother had pointed out (in that sensible way she had in dealing with her daughter's crisis's of the heart, though never her own), after Rory confessed (slightly melodramatically) to her own inherent evilness, that she was hardly in need of an exorcism.

"Rory, sweetie," she had begun, an arm wrapped around her daughter's shoulder in comfort, "it was a simple mistake. You're human just like the rest of us. It's good for you to remember that. We were getting a little freaked out by how perfect you are."

And then Rory had smiled a little through the tears that she didn't mean to cry.

Lorelai had smiled back and continued, "Besides, that makes Dave, what? Number four. You're hardly Hester Prynne."

Her mother was right, in a way. Four was a tiny little number. Countable on one hand leaving the thumb free. It had to be below average. Not that Rory had, really, any idea of what constituted "average." She wasn't one to read Seventeen or other teen garbage that insulted her intelligence. And her few female friends weren't good baselines for comparison.

She knew Paris was at two. Tristan, her childhood crush. And Jamie, the (Princeton) man she was in love with.

There were Louise and Madeline. Rory had never actually spoken with either of them on the subject but were she to do the math she would put both of them over 50. It was the only sport they played, after all.

And Lane. Lane had three. Henry, the perfect Korean boy who had broken her heart, even though what they could have had never really had a chance to begin. And Dave. And Jung Chu. But Lane wished she could write that last one off.

Do the math you will get an average of approximately 26. Rory was good at math. And she knew that with such a wide range of numbers averages were useless.

Rory herself had four. Last night she was unable to sleep and had cataloged things that came in 4's. It had been more difficult than she had originally anticipated. Threes and fives were easy. Perhaps it was her muddled brain but she had come up with The Beatles, directions, and the elements according to the copy of A Beginner's Guide to Astrology Lorelai had picked up at the airport.

Due, in all likelihood, to the fact that it was 4 am and Rory hadn't slept at all she realized that though she had been kissed 4 boys each was as different from the others as was humanly possible. (Variety really is the spice of life, her mother's voice said inside her head).

First there had been Dean. Sweet, cute, baseball playing Dean. Dean was safe. The ideal first boyfriend. He had kissed her for the first time in the market, lips soft, undemanding, body at a safe distance. It had been a full three weeks after that until he'd kissed her again. Another month before they're tongues got involved. He'd gone to that dance at Chilton, even though he didn't really want to. In a full two years he'd never pushed her. He built her a car. Whenever he'd kissed her, his hands had gently cupped her face or rested on her back. They'd never wandered.

He was the earth element in her little romantic quartet. Nurturing (he was getting married at the age of 18) and stabilizing (he'd always be there for her. Even now after they'd broken up). If she were to pick up the phone right now he would be at her house in five minutes. And if she were to tell him about Dave he'd listen and he wouldn't judge her. She was lucky.

The second boy she'd kissed had been Tristan. Tristan DuGrey. Her tormentor. He had been sad that night. Vulnerable. So different from the cocky swaggering boy she knew him as. She had liked him more in those brief minutes than she had ever before.

It had been a rebound thing. Dean had hurt her. Summer, beautiful, heartless, Summer, had hurt him. That confused her. She didn't think it was possible for him to hurt. That kiss was brief but it was obvious that he had known what he was doing. His teeth had nipped her bottom lip ever so gently, his tongue gliding across it. Rory had pulled away as soon as she was able. Good thing too. That kiss, which was barely long enough to be called that, had affected her. It made her think of Dean and how protected she felt with him. So she cried.

Still, the memory of that kiss had kept her up at night once, or twice, or more. She had wondered what would have happened had she not pulled away. Had she not chosen safety over the unknown. No one knew that, though. Even her mother. Still she wondered. After careful consideration, laying in bed, thinking about him (though she hadn't in awhile) Rory had decided he was air. Air was a masculine element. Its nature was challenging. And Tristan had been nothing if not a challenge. It was elusive. You couldn't really see it and she knows she never really saw Tristan clearly. The real Tristan may have been the spoiled bastard that called her Mary. He may have been the boy who sat on that piano bench.

Maybe it was better that she didn't know. Both ways he was gone and she'd be disappointed.

And then there was Jess. Jess, Rory knew, had always known, was fire. Fire, as Jeff Probst has drilled into the heads of all T.V owning humans, is essential to life. Yet it always has the capacity to destroy something else. Rory had kissed him first. In a way that she had never kissed anyone before. She had grabbed him, shocked him, and with her lips and teeth and tongue and body had tried to show him everything she had never been able to say with words. That act destroyed her relationship with Dean. Jess had tasted vaguely of cigarette smoke and something unnamable. It was, surprisingly, not an unpleasant combination.

Nothing with Jess was simple and easy. It was intense. He was a difficult person. He delighted in challenging her. Her mother disliked him. Lane disliked him. The vast majority of Stars Hollow (all of them, actually, except Luke) disliked him. She didn't care.

He didn't like to talk, to justify his actions. He didn't compromise. He was antagonistic and anti social. But still she did not care. Because sometimes, just by the way he looked at her, he could make her forget how to breathe. She felt beautiful and fascinating. When he kissed her she lost control of herself. For the first time in her life she forgot to think. All that had mattered was what she could feel. Jess liked her quirks and book-wormish tendencies in all. He didn't judge her. Didn't expect her to be perfect because he himself was far from it.

Rory didn't love Jess, but she could have. Had he stayed, had he let her in once in awhile, she would have fallen. It would have happened in an instant and she would have been powerless to stop it. It would have been hard and fast and possibly forever. She argued with herself over whether this was a good thing or not. Before Jess she would never have lied to her mother's face. Lies by omission yes, but that night, the night he showed up with Distillers tickets, was a first. But she thinks that being with Jess made her stronger. She thinks that she's more confident, that she knows her own mind now and that if push comes to shove she won't need Lorelai to hold her up. Jess was essential for her growth. But who knows. Had he stayed he may have destroyed her. Maybe he knew what he was doing when he left. Maybe he was trying to save her.

That left water. And Dave.