A/N: As always, thanks so much to gracie55—this whole story has been made so much better by her critiques and suggestions. This is all dedicated to Jen—in the ongoing debate about who has the most potential, may this story put Jess firmly in the lead!

I'm part way through a sequel, called "And When She Was Good," which is already in progress at BWR, and I'll be posting the first chapter or two here within a few days. Stay tuned!

Epilogue

Jess pulls away from the diner and out of Stars Hollow, cranking the music and tapping his fingers against the wheel. He can't believe it's been so long since he's been in town, and while he won't go so far as to say that he's actually missed it, he will admit that spending the evening at the diner with Luke hasn't been the worst thing.

"Spending the evening with Luke." It makes it sound like they had been doing some serious bonding, when in reality, they had barely exchanged more than fifteen minutes' worth of conversation in the three hours that Jess had been there. Instead, Jess had walked in and had immediately gone behind the counter, donning an apron and manning the grill, slipping back into the familiar rhythm with ease.

Luke hadn't asked any questions, and Jess hadn't offered any explanations, beyond, "I'm on the road for a couple of weeks—for business—, and it's been a while since I had a good meal."

Jess passes the sign. "Thank You for Visiting Stars Hollow." Ah, the possibilities for vandalism—it takes him back to his youth. As if those days are so long gone. It's tempting, but he doesn't have any spray paint in the car. Besides, he's not coming to Stars Hollow for the same reasons anymore. These days, he breezes in and out, visiting Luke and, occasionally, Liz and TJ, but even that doesn't happen often. Instead, when he was in New York, they'd usually meet halfway for dinner, and since moving, he hasn't seen any of them at all.

This time, it just happened to work out with his book. He's been canvassing every small town, every independent bookstore, and the Black, White, and Read is on his list. Andrew had been one of the few that he had actually gotten along with when he lived in Stars Hollow, anyways, and it had been too long since he'd seen Luke, so it all works out.

It was a Wednesday night, Jess' last night in New York, and he was sitting in Cedar, the small, dark bar on University Place, just below Union Square, that had become his home away from home over the past eight months. That night, he was there alone, laptop open in front of him, two notebooks colourful with post-it notes spread over the table, nursing the same beer and plate of fries that had been there for the past two hours. He knew that a bar wasn't usually the laptop scene, but at 9:00 on a weeknight, it was actually just quiet enough to concentrate and just loud enough to give him a kind of cocoon, enfolding him in the noise, keeping him from distractions.

He looks in the rearview mirror, the tops of the boxes of books slightly blocking his view. When the books came, he pulled out a copy and read all the way through it, even though he knew exactly what it would say. He told himself that it was because he wanted to check the editing, but a part of him just needed to see the finished product to believe that it was real. You would think that the agonizing work of writing a book would be proof enough, but Jess is too used to fighting for something with no results. It's not the fight he has trouble believing; it's the result.

It was finally finished. Two months into his one-year publishing certificate, he had let himself be talked into coming out for a beer with some of the guys in his "The Industry of Publishing: How to Start, Sustain, and Build a Small Press" class, and somehow, three hours later, he had told them about the novel he was writing. One of the guys had told him about the small, experimental press his friends were starting in Philly, and Jess had been talked into sending them a draft. The manuscript had gone off the following week, and now, eight months later—eight months of late nights, juggling work, class, and writing; edited drafts and proposed changes of the novel being sent back and forth on a weekly basis; almost-weekly emails between Jess and the guys in Philly—Jess was getting ready to follow it. The final draft of the book, sent only a few weeks earlier, had included a job offer, and New York didn't have as much to offer anymore, so Jess had accepted.

The screen went dark for a moment before the screensaver popped up, pulling Jess back to the dim bar, back to his final challenge. The dedication. The last words the publishers needed before it could go to print.

The highway between Stars Hollow and Hartford is fairly familiar, although the billboards have changed and a few of the landmarks have disappeared since the last time he drove this road. The music keeps him alert, and his mind is racing, wondering what's going to be awaiting him when he pulls into the driveway. He tries to prepare himself for anything, but there's just no way to know what to expect.

He had waited until Luke had closed up the diner and was cleaning up to ask about Rory. "I tried calling her old cell number, but it was disconnected."

"Jess…" Luke's tone had been wary.

"No, it's nothing like that. I just have something for her."

"Well, why don't you just leave it with me, and Lorelai can give…" Luke's voice had trailed off, and Jess had seen a shadow cross his eyes before he sighed and turned another chair onto the table. Jess had just waited—pushing wouldn't get him anything, he knew. Finally, Luke had spoken, without turning to face Jess. "She's living in Hartford right now—staying in her grandparents' pool house."

Jess had let the comment slide and checked his watch instead. 10:07. If he left right away, he'd be there well before 11:00. "Do you know whether she has class in the morning? Is it too late for me to stop by now?"

Luke had finally stopped putting the chairs up and had turned to face Jess, his eyes pained. "Jess…" he said again, his voice begging reconsideration, but Jess had held his gaze, refusing to back down. "Things are… complicated right now. Rory's having a hard time, I guess, and she hasn't talked to Lorelai in months."

And all the reasons for the strain that Jess had been seeing on Luke's face had fallen into place. Even now, half an hour later, reaching the Hartford city limits and winding his way through the darkened residential streets, Jess can't imagine what would bring things to this point. He does realize, though, that this has got to be hard on all of them, and clearly, Luke is bearing much of the burden, even if the women don't realize it.

He follows the directions scribbled on the napkin that Luke gave him on his way out of the diner and pulls into the circular driveway, driving around to the pool house. Both it and the main house are dark, though, and he doesn't see Rory's car—at least, the last car he remembers her driving—in the driveway, but he walks up to the pool house door anyways and knocks. No answer. He peers in through a window, but there's no movement, only stacks of boxes. She's either still out or already asleep, but Jess is guessing that she's still out, so he'll wait. He's got nothing better to do.

While he waits, he pulls one copy of the book out of a box and tucks it into his bag. It's a gift—one sacrificed copy that won't make it into a bookstore—and for the first time, it's pristine. The spine hasn't been broken, his handwriting doesn't mark up the margins, no pages have been dog-eared or bookmarked. For once, he doesn't have to put himself into it, because it's all him. For her, he knows that he'll be alive on every page, and she'll see more of who he's become than she ever did in the comments or the books that they shared before.

The book itself had just flowed, a story hidden deep inside that demanded to be written. Was it work? Absolutely. Was it hard work? The hardest work that Jess had ever set himself to. And yet, it was there, and it had refused to be given up on.

The dedication was what he was ready to scrap the whole thing over. How could he sum it all up in a few words? How could he wrap the book, and everything it represented, into a neat little package and tie it up with a bow made of words, ready to be given to only one person?

He had tried over and over, deleting the words almost as soon as they hit the screen.

"To Liz, for turning around at the same time I did." Stretched the truth of their relationship a little too much. They were getting better, but they definitely weren't there yet.

"To Luke, for everything." Way too generic. Too clichéd.

"To Liz, for giving me life." Too sappy and sentimental. Too far back, and, by now, almost overshadowed.

"To Jimmy, for getting 'dad' out of my system." Too depressing, and not worth the words.

"To Stars Hollow, for…" There weren't even words.

"To the snowman, Pierpont, and the corpse on the sidewalk, for being a release from small-town boredom."

"To the swan, for good first impressions."

"To Shane, for the employee discount on hair products."

Somehow, writing down the ridiculous had helped get it out of his system, stopped him from taking himself so seriously, and let him focus.

"To Luke, for kicking my ass, pushing me into the lake, and still giving me a roof over my head at the end of the day."

That was closer, but it wasn't there yet. Truth be told, Luke's ass-kickings hadn't accomplished anything until he had a reason to let them, and finally, Jess had the clarity and perspective to see the impact that Rory's presence had on his life all those years ago. It didn't matter what they were now, or what they would ever become—it would always be her influence that had pushed him, and that was a greater gift than he could thank her for.

Headlight beams swing across the yard, blinding Jess momentarily, and when the spots fade from his vision, he checks his watch. 12:36. The car turns the other way around the circular driveway, ending up on the other side of the gate from where he's parked. He opens his door, picks up his messenger bag and slings it over his shoulder, and walks as quietly as possible to the gate, remaining in the shadows cast by the carefully shaped foliage.

The driver kills the engine, and the car sits, lifeless, for a moment before the door opens and she steps out, somehow the same, and yet even from this distance, he can see the difference in her face—the fatigue, the strain, the loneliness. Especially the loneliness. She's still Rory, though, and he's happier to see her than he thought he would be. Maybe he missed her? Or maybe he just wants her to see the new Jess—the better, more mature version of himself.

He sighed, drained the last few swallows of his beer, and poised his fingers over the keyboard.

"To Luke, for never losing sight of who I could be, and to Rory," he typed, "for being the reason I needed. For more than either of you know, and more than I will ever admit, thank you."

He stared at the sentences for a long time before deciding that he wasn't going to change them—wasn't going to think about them any more—and emailed them off to his editor, snapped the laptop shut, and stuffed it into his bag. Slinging the bag over the shoulder, he left some bills on the table and called out over his shoulder to the bartender as he left Cedar. "'Night, Kyle."

"'Night, Jess. See you later."

Rory shuts the car door and turns towards the house, and as she turns towards him, Jess steps out of the shadows and slips through the gate towards her.

It's his turn.