Title: Losing Left and Right, Finding In Between

Summary: Never in a million years did he expect to find her on his doorstep. Her, of all people. And truth be told, she never expected that it would be him she was running to.

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. Credit for that mess goes to AS-P and The WB.

Notes: First and foremost - THANK YOU to all my amazing reviewers. You're support is the only thing that can get me to write this one anymore (because it hates me!). I am still so in awe of how much response this story gets, even though I am a horrible person for not updating it often enough.

Again, sorry this took so long! I'm currently trying to rotate about four stories, and for some reason, this one never wants to be written! Remember, it hates me! But I planted myself in my computer chair today, determined to get this done. So, here she is. I hope it was worth the wait. :) For Kat; thanks for the beta and the banners!

Casting Call! Rory's co-workers:

Dexter: David Krumholtz (Charlie on Numb3rs)

Remy: Nora Zehetner (formerly Laynie on Everwood)

Joe: Beau Bridges

Chapter Ten: The Culinary Art of Pizza Making

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She had a game plan. Rory Gilmore needed a job and Rory Gilmore was going to get one, come hell or high water. This was a rough city, and she needed to be rough to fit in. She would be confident, she would be blunt, she would be demanding. She deserves this, damn it.

She brushed her teeth with vigor that morning in anticipation of the day ahead of her. As if a bright and beautiful smile would ensure her success.

Jess stole glances at her from the doorway, keeping quiet so she wouldn't see him. She had just gotten out of the shower, a thin towel the only fabric covering her thin frame. Water droplets ran from her neck to her back, meeting at the concave of her shoulders and sliding even farther downward. She turned slightly and he could see her face, tinted pink from the hot steam. She smiled to herself and he knew that he'd be caught.

"See something you like?" she asked, opening the medicine cabinet and putting away the toothpaste. He smirked, stepping into the bathroom as she continued going about her morning ritual. Acting completely oblivious him, save the grin that kept growing.

He leaned in close to her (she smelled like peach shampoo) and nipped at her earlobe. "Maybe."

She felt her pulse quicken at the feel of his hot breath on her cool skin. He started a trail of burning kisses down her neck to her collarbone making her moan reluctantly. So much for ignoring him.

"Why don't we get back in there?" he suggested, gesturing to the shower before capturing her bottom lip between his teeth.

She couldn't steady her breath well enough to speak. Shaking gasps wracked her body as she resisted the urge to rake her fingers through his hair, to thread them through his belt loops, to pull him even closer.

"I...can't," she managed to croaked, not at all convincingly.

He ignored her and began to pull the towel away from her body, slowly, letting it fall noiselessly to the tile floor. His hands found her breasts and she melted into his body, kissing back with just as much force, just as much want. Need. Passion. Lust.

They didn't stay in the bathroom, instead moving across the hallway into their bedroom. Navigating the space, although only a short distance, proved to be difficult as Jess refused to let his skin leave hers. The tumbled aimlessly, thankfully hitting the bed and not the floor in a moment of sheer luck.

(Her brain went fuzzy and the world went white.)

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It was unbearably hot in Stars Hollow; too hot to do anything, let alone be outdoors. But that was where Dean found himself, working construction on what could be a scorcher to break the record books, or so Taylor was spouting.

Fact, or ploy to convince more people to visit his Soda Shoppe? It's hard to say.

Lindsay didn't come by to bring him lunch anymore. He had been brown-bagging it for a few weeks now, trading Pork Rinds for Barbeque Pringles with his coworkers. He didn't feel compelled to complain, though. He was just relieved that she hadn't left him (yet).They weren't speaking, and if he wasn't sleeping on the couch, she was, but for all intents and purposes, they were still married. They could work through it. Dean was confident that they would get past this whole ordeal, that they would be happy. If only...

Lorelai was already crossing the street on her way to Luke's when she spotted Dean working with the crew on the latest addition to the Soda Shoppe; a window into the diner (an 'addition' that Luke was still fighting, to no avail). Not able to turn around without making an ass of herself and not able to stay gaping in the street without getting hit by a car, she continued to her destination, picking up her pace ever-so-slightly as to avoid a confrontation.

Too late.

"Lorelai, wait a minute," he called. And before she could pretend that she didn't hear him, there he was, standing right in front of her.

"This is Stars Hollow; small town, small sidewalks. You're blocking my way," she declared, eyes narrowing. She was not in the mood for this. Not on the hottest of all the hot days. Not when she needed an iced coffee. Now.

"I heard that you got a letter from her." His voice was noticeably lower, as if the whole town didn't know what had happened between him and her daughter. As if it were still a secret only she was privy to.

She groaned, frustrated. "So?"

His eyes darted back and forth like a sneaky raccoon (a sneaky, dirty raccoon) before he leaned in closer, asking, "So, is she coming home?"

"No, Dean. She chose Jess over you. Again," she spat. "Why don't you just go home to your wife."

With that, she bypassed him and rounded the corner, leaving the man standing in a dumbfounded state. The thought of Rory being gone and out of his reach - permanently - had been one that he chose not to address. But with the reality of her departure staring him in the face almost one month later, he decided that maybe it would be beneficial to take Lorelai's advice.

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Because of Jess's unstoppable libido, she left the house an hour later than she had originally planned and he was late to work. Again. (That had been happening a lot since Rory moved to New York. Not that either party was complaining.)

The sun itself, already high in the New York sky, was blocked from her view but its effects were visibly taking its toll on the urbanites. Hand-held fans were buzzing all around her, and she momentarily cursed herself for not thinking to get one herself. It was then that she made a mental note to keep her eyes peeled for a coffee shop and it was then that she saw it.

The most beautiful "Help Wanted" sign in the most beautiful window of the most beautiful pizza parlor.

To Rory, whom had been desperately searching for work, it was beautiful. In actuality, the sign consisted of green magic marker on a piece of brown cardboard. It was in the relatively clean window of a relatively clean establishment with a worn wooden sign above the door reading, Joe's. But to Rory, it was beautiful.

(And air conditioned.)

A girl with dark hair and a pierced nose stood behind the counter, aimlessly flipping through a Cosmo and smacking her gum in a very unladylike way. She looked dangerous in that New Yorker sort of way; she looked as if she could kill you with one seething look. But Rory was not to be intimidated.

"Hi," she began, successfully getting the girl's attention. "I saw you had a Help Wanted sign in the window."

Looking back at her magazine, the potential killer resumed her disinterested pose. "Yeah, so?

Dropping her sweet smile, Rory put on an aire of indifference to match the woman's. "Well, I'd like to apply for the job."

A guy with dark curly hair appeared then, taking over the conversation. "Do you have any experience in the culinary art of pizza making?"

"Excuse me?" Rory stuttered, caught off-guard.

He continued, "Pizza making is an art form. One needs quick hands, nimble phalanges-"

This got the girl's interest, and she practically threw down her magazine. "Shut the hell up, Dexter. You talk like you're perpetually-stoned."

"I am an artist," Dexter argued.

This didn't convince her. "Right, and pepperoni is your muse."

"I don't appreciate your hurtful tone, Remy."

"Well, I don't exactly appreciate your asinine musings, Dexter."

A third voice was thrown into the mix as an older man yelled from the back, "Would you two can it!"

Like petulant four year olds, they fought back, their argument not so easily remedied.

"Remy is trying to extinguish the very essence of my existence," Dexter whined.

"More like your flare for the dramatic," she countered.

Rory took a step back from the counter, just in case the disagreement turned physical. Feeling slightly out of place, she toyed with the idea of just leaving, slipping out quietly to let them continue their irritation of one another. But her determination flared again, and she stayed put, watching intently as an rotund man of about 40 came out from the kitchen.

He waved a spoon thick with sauce as he spoke, sending marinara all over the counter. "You two are going to drive me to an early grave if you don't shut up, I swear to god!"

Dexter's face fell and his voice took on the tone of an innocent child. "You shouldn't swear in front of the customers, Joe."

Shaking his head, Joe pleaded, "Two minutes of silence. Please."

Remy grinned wildly, meeting his eyes. "That early grave thing; is that a promise?"

Ignoring her, he made his way back to the ovens, waving his hand and yelling, "Two minutes."

Once out of sight, the two behind the counter began again. "You're such a killjoy," Dexter started.

"At least I don't gargle with bong water."

"What happened to make you so bitter? You can talk to me, Remy."

She retorted with a choice finger gesture and an, "Oh, shove it."

Fed up, Joe stalked angrily back into the parlor. "I said two minutes. Is that really too much to ask for?"

The two looked away, masking their disgust with one another. Taking advantage of the momentary silence, Rory spoke up. "Excuse me."

Noticing a fourth party for the first time, Joe eyed her curiously. "Yeah?"

"Oh, she wants the job," Remy supplied with a sneer.

"Here?" he asked, eyes wide, voice incredulous.

Finally, she was recognized. Going over her game plan in her head once more (bits and pieces had been lost, seeing as how she was distracted while in the midst of her brainstorming, but the bones were still there), her expression turned to one of determination. "Yes," she answered confidently, taking a step closer to the counter.

Shaking his head, Joe spoke slower, as if to make sure she understood him clearly. "You want to work here?"

"Yes," Rory repeated, not wavering.

Knowing she had just witnessed the previous exchange, he stood unconvinced. "No, you want to work here?"

"It's as good a place as any," she assured him (and herself).

"You're sure?"

She was thoroughly confused now. Was this some sort of oral test? To see how desperate she was? Or how devoted she would be? Still unsure, she repeated "Yes" once more.

"Wow. Okay," he paused thoughtfully for a moment. "Total chaos. All the time. I mean, that sign's been up for months, and no one's lasted longer than a day."

"That's reassuring." She smiled tightly, rethinking her offer. As unsure as he was making her feel, she needed a job. Soon. Now. (Yesterday, even.)

"Wow. Here, huh. Okay, but don't say I didn't warn ya," Joe nodded.

"Wait, that's it?" Rory looked at him, waiting for the "Just kidding!" The "Gotcha!" The "You crazy girl! You'll never make it in this world!"

He didn't say any of those things. He left her with an "You can start tomorrow." A "Good luck." A "Get here by about 10; these lazy turds are never on time."

And that was it.

After weeks of searching, of fruitless interviews, of coming home empty handed once more...it all seemed too easy.

She left the pizza parlor (on blocks away from their apartment!) in a daze, whether it be heat-induced or not she wasn't sure.

It was official; she had roots.

This was real.

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Instead of taking a couple extra hours of overtime as he normally would have, Dean went home early that night, a bouquet of flowers in toe, to spend the evening with his wife. He didn't expect her to jump into his arms with glee, forgiving him for all his misdoings (not yet, anyway), but he figured it was a start and hoped that the gesture wouldn't be lost on her completely.

However, Lindsay's gaze never left the television set. A noncommittal grunt acknowledged his presence; she didn't give a damn about the flowers.

He was in the kitchen (flowers on the counter) making a sandwich when she spoke ten minutes later.

"I think we should go to counseling."

Dean looked up, partially surprised that there was, in fact, another person present. "What?" he asked, not sure he'd heard her correctly.

She turned off the TV and moved into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. Examing the counter top, she addressed him. "I talked to my mom about it, and she thinks it's a good idea."

His grip on the ketchup bottle tightened and his head shot up. "God, you told her?"

"I didn't have to. The entire town knows you cheated on me," she argued. "She came to me and asked what I was going to do."

Sandwich forgotten, he gave his full attention to his wife for the first time in months, and for all the wrong reasons. "Do you think I wanted this to happen?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" she laughed. "'Cause it couldn't of happened if you weren't at least remotely interested, if you know what I mean."

Sighing, he looked away, then back at her, voice laced with...something. Something sounding like regret. "Can't you...find it in your heart to forgive me?"

She chuckled to herself. I don't think I have a heart.

Instead of saying that out loud, however, she shook her head and shrugged simply. "I'm going to bed."

And she did.

Leaving him alone under the naked light of the 60 watt bulb, rethinking whether or not this relationship was actually worth saving.

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Two hours, and Luke still hadn't been able to get a word in edgewise. Lorelai began ranting as soon as she got to the apartment. She continued all through dinner. They were now sitting on his couch finishing of their beers as she went on, finally losing steam and generally repeating the same thought, only phrased slightly differently each time she said it.

"I hate Dean," she sighed. "I hate having to see him, I hate that he talks to me. I hate that I hate him, because Dean was always so good," she concluded, burying her face into Luke's shoulder.

Luke searched for the right words to comfort her, only coming up with, "He'll...calm down."

"Listen to me! I've been a raving bitch all night and I ruined our date," she gasped.

"No, it's alright-"

"No, it's not!" she cut him off. "Why didn't you tell me to shut up?"

"I figured letting you go would be safer," he revealed honestly.

Smiling, she kissed him quickly. "Smart man."

He shifted uncomfortably, looking at his beer bottle as he asked, "If you were mad at me...I mean, you'd tell me, right?"

Laughing, Lorelai looked at him as if he'd just spoken a different language. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"I did give her the address, I-"

Knowing immediately what he meant, she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "She would've gone regardless."

"Maybe not," he realized. "Maybe I should've talked her out of it. Or called you; you could've talked her out of it."

Looking down, she began peeling the label of the bottle, busying her hands. "She just needed to go, Luke. I just wish she'd call me."

"Why don't you just call her?" he suggested, wanting desperately to help. "You have her cell phone number."

"She left her cell phone here," she said sadly.

"Oh." His face fell, his master plan falling through. "Well," he hesitated, "I, um, I have the phone number. If you'd want to use it."

Tilting her head to look at him, she put on her best British accent. "How'd you get that, Sherlock?"

"Jess gave it to me."

The somewhat light-and-cheery disposition of the room faded, his words hitting her like a punch in the gut. Standing, she set down her half-empty bottle of beer to dissuade her from chucking it at the wall.

"You've talked to Jess?" she stated, getting a feel for the words herself.

"A little bit. I mean, a few times." Pausing, he looked up at her. "Yeah." he replied guiltily.

"When?" she was able to get out.

"A while ago. He called to give me the new number." Receiving no acknowledgement from Lorelai, he continued with his explanation. "We'd been talking...before all this happened, we'd been talking. He was just following through with our deal. I mean, I made him promise to keep me up to speed about where he was. You know, in case I needed a kidney or something..." he trailed off, getting no response from her. She was facing the door now, facing away from him. It worried him; the thought that she could snap at any given moment and he wouldn't see it coming. "Lorelai?" he tried.

A choked sob escaped her lips and Luke jumped up, taking her into his arms and she broke down against him. "It's not fair!" she managed to get out between heaving breaths. "He's calling you." (gasp) "She's not calling me." (gasp) "I just want her to..."

She slid to the floor in a crumpled mess before she could finish her thought.

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Notes: Wow, I was busy this weekend! Chapter 19 of How to Survive, a one-shot that smacked me out of nowhere, and this. I must say, I am quite proud of myself. :P I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter; it didn't work like I wanted it to...I hope I didn't disappoint any of you too much! Let me know in a review. ;) Thanks for sticking with me, friends.