A/N: This idea came to mind after watching the final episode of season 4 (the episode that had Lit fans around the world screaming and cursing at Rory). This sort of picks up where that left off; in case you couldn't guess this is clearly AU.

Standard disclaimers apply. Including the title, which is a lyric (actually it's a line from the poem) from the song "Nights in White Satin" by The Moody Blues.

Look Back and Lament

She doesn't understand how she could've been okay with this. It seemed so perfect at the time: Dean, her first boyfriend, the sweetest, kindest boyfriend anyone could've asked for, was still in love with her after everything…he was the person to have her first time with. Right? Right?

Apparently not. She's learning this the hard way and she can't seem to get it through her mind: her stupidity, her lapse in judgment…Rory Gilmore doesn't associate with those things! She's an intelligent young woman with high expectations and standings.

But now all she can hear is her mother's words repeating over and over: You're the other woman.

It has such negative connotations. The other woman. She's read a countless number of books that involved other women and she used to hate them and the husbands they acted with. How could she forget that?

How did she do this? How could she?

She tries to erase the night by throwing out her bed sheets. They're torn off with angry tears and haste but the room is still tarnished. So she spends the rest of the night hell-bent on rearranging her room until the sun creeps up beyond the horizon. But when she stands by the doorway, her breath rattling in her chest, it's still feels wrong.

How could she allow this to happen in her bedroom? This room was her childhood sanctuary! Years of studying, reading, doing homework, secret phone calls…

But now she can't stand to be here anymore.

So she leaves.

She doesn't know where she's going; she only left the house with her purse clasped in her hands and her jacket on her back. She's still wearing that goddamn dress he took off of her.

His whisper of love as he slid it off her skin haunts her every step.

When she looks back on it, she wonders how she could've gotten roped into it: his convictions…and his lies. That wasn't the Rory she knew. Who is this new Rory?

She doesn't want to know.

No one is up yet, given that it's barely morning. But she knows that a bus will be coming along soon, in about fifteen minutes or so. So she sits on the bench and waits.

It's a long ride to New York City, but she doesn't mind. She just stares out the window, trying not to think about anything. Her mind is blank as she watches the trees become farther and fewer between and the houses become more packed together and taller until eventually all she sees are apartments and skyscrapers.

She closes her eyes when the bus comes to its final stop. It's almost like…

She stands up and walks down the isle. That isn't what she wants to think about right now.

It takes her a lot less time to get to where she wants to go. There are certain things that are engraved in her mind, like cornstarch is on isle three in Doose's, Stars Hollow and Yale have twenty-two-point-eight miles between them…and the location of Washington Square Park in New York City.

And there's the bench where she found him two years ago. In the grand scheme of things, that isn't a long time, but it feels like it happened a lifetime ago. It was a completely different time when her biggest regret was missing her mother's graduation. While that is still a top regret…at least she had something to make up for it. She remembers amazing hot dogs, crazy subways, a quirky record store, and…

But there's nothing positive about this recently acquired regret.

She plops herself on the bench and just watches. She watches the runners, and she knows they're the intense ones because they're wearing clothes made specifically for running. There are also the dog owners and the artist that's stationed a couple hundred yards away, but she can tell he's getting frustrated because the sun is disappearing behind massive clouds.

Of course the day has to mirror her mood.

She brings her purse onto her lap and searches through it. There's a Chapstick in there (vanilla moisturizer), a few receipts (most of them from bookstores and coffee shops), and a pocket version of Wuthering Heights.

She pulls that out and begins reading. After a while, she starts to feel at peace. At least for now.

But when Heathcliff leaves, she stops reading; she hates drawing parallels between the books that she grew up on and her only relationship that based itself on those books. So she closes it and stuffs it back in her purse.

And when she looks up, she sees Jess Mariano standing a respectable distance in front of her.

She closes her eyes, feeling as if she's been photographed with the flash on; even after you blink your eyes, you still see blotchy colors everywhere. It takes a few moments to get rid of them.

But when she does open her eyes (and closes them and opens them again), he's still there.

Finally coming to the conclusion that she isn't dreaming, the first absolutely illogical thought that comes into her head is: How can he wear that leather jacket in this season? Or does he not stay warm enough in the winter?

But then Logical Rory kicks in and she remembers the last time they'd seen each other.

Come with me.

At this point, she thinks she should have.

Silence still hangs between them and it's full of awkwardness from the last time they'd seen each other. But it's also filled with the bitterness they both feel for their inability to just be there when they need it most. And, of course, there's the tension that she doesn't think will ever go away.

He continues not to say one word, and she can't bring herself to say anything either; she remembers the last time this has happened, except she was approaching him on the bench, looking for something she could never seem to find except whenever she was with him.

She supposes this is the same thing, except she beat him to it. Maybe that means she's more desperate for escape this time around.

She's overcome with the strong desire to hold his hand, but his are stuffed in his leather jacket and she doubts that he would want to touch her after what she did to him in her dorm; his dark eyes filled with hurt and defeat disturbed her, and continued to even when she was looking up into Dean's green, lust-filled ones.

"I've passed by the park a few times, wondering whether or not I should talk to you. I first saw you a few hours ago and I figured you just wanted to be alone so…I left to go to work…and I had to walk by a few times to deliver messages…" He takes a breath since no one can run on like a Gilmore. "And now I'm done for the day…so here I am."

He's clearly nervous, and he just rambled. A quirk of hers just became a quirk of his for a brief moment in time. She wonders what that means.

"I can go, if you want." He points behind him and he takes a step back, as if he's trying to prove that he'll stick by his word. Kind of ironic and extremely unexpected.

"No, it's fine, I'm encroaching on your territory anyway," she says with a dismissive hand gesture, not really looking at him. Her heart is palpitating like it always does around him, and she doesn't want him to know that he still has some sort of effect on her.

She can feel his too-perceptive eyes watching her.

"You don't look good," he states.

She smiles the tiniest bit. "I don't feel good."

Whom was she fooling? He'll always be able to read her like one of his books; everything that he says to her is like one of his intelligent margin notes.

He walks over and takes a seat beside her, making sure that there's a generous amount of space between them. She's temporarily grateful.

"I did something really, really stupid," she finds herself admitting with a cracking voice.

"I find that hard to imagine. Did you get arrested?"

"No, but I wish I did."

"Huh."

She lets him think for a few minutes.

"You didn't run off with a seemingly charming youth and disgrace your family, did you?"

She turns her head to look at him. "Really? A Jane Austen reference?"

He shrugs. "I never said I hated her."

She looks back down at her feet. "No. But…you're kind of getting warm."

The silence is tense and she knows that he's not comfortable. "Rory…I don't know if I want to know."

"No…you probably don't. You'd actually find it…funny. In a non-funny way. If that makes sense."

She's dying to tell him; she needs someone else to know. But it's not just that – she needs to hear another perspective on what she's done. An outside perspective.

But he's not really an outside perspective, is he? He's emotionally involved.

I love you.

A fresh wave of hurt fills her heart and tears roll down her cheeks. He sounded so vulnerable and sincere and…

She chokes on her own tears. "I'm so sorry. So sorry."

She's not sure what she's apologizing for. Not being there for him? Not being more understanding? Not saying anything in the small window of time before he drove away? Not agreeing to run off with him?

You know we're supposed to be together.

"It should've been you," she manages to say in between her sobs.

She hears him sigh and clear his throat. He's thinking. "What happened?" he asks, not unkindly, but strangely unemotional. He's trying to remain detached, but he's not sure how long that's going to last.

Her sobs subside, and now she doesn't know whether she's dying inside from all this pain, or if she's just numb.

"I…gave it all to the wrong person."

"What…" And then she practically hears the light bulb turning on in his mind.

After a few moments of silence, he begins chuckling, but she just can't look at him because she knows he's far from being amused. "That is just…classic, isn't it? Did you two immediately meet after he left his wife? Celebrate with a good shag?"

"Stop it." She can't blame him from responding harshly, but his words are cutting her.

"I bet Lorelai just welcomed him with open arms. She always did like him."

"That's not how it went!" she finds herself screeching, hoping it would shut him up; she can't take it anymore. While Lorelai's words after the deed shook her…this is worse. A lot worse.

People around them stop and stare at them for a moment, but then start going about their day when they realize that they're just having a spat. As soon as she's sure no one is paying attention anymore, she adds in a quiet voice, "I wish that was how it went."

She hears him shift in his seat, which means that he's probably feeling a bit guilty. It's kind of funny; everyone assumes that Jess has no conscience whatsoever, but he really does, and it shows once you're in tune with his miniscule signs.

"I…I bought his lies. He said things weren't working with Lindsay…and that he loved me and I just…believed him. I accepted all his words without a second thought. But…but he's not leaving her – I called him and she answered." She's so full of self-loathing that she wants to scream. "Why did I do that? Why?"

He takes a deep breath, and it reminds her of that night on the bridge when he confirmed having feelings for her. "Because he never gave you a reason not to trust him."

And then she starts crying and she can't stop. It's so embarrassing. But she doesn't care; she never had to care in front of Jess, who accepted every facet of her being. She wants to touch him, just hold his hand, and maybe she'll get through this.

So she does – she places her left hand on his right hand and squeezes tightly as she continues to cry.

But Jess is so tense that his muscles are vibrating. He doesn't know what to do; he doesn't know what's right and he doesn't know what he's okay with doing. Comforting people has never been a strong point of his, and yet he feels the instinct to wrap an arm around her shoulders and bring her close. But he knows that if he does that, it's going to kill him.

Even the soft skin of her hand on top of his is slowly sucking the life out of him.

His hands curl into tight fists on his thighs as he thinks of something to say, even though he knows he will never end up saying anything. He wants her to understand his inner turmoil, but she's not going to today, not when her perfect little world is closing in around her.

He looks over at her and he's devastated by how beautiful she looks. It's really not fair. He wonders if this torture will ever end, but he has a feeling that this is just the beginning.

"I just want to forget that it ever happened."

He's so close to smirking. Of course she would like to forget. He wishes he could forget a lot of his mistakes, or go back in time and fix them, as the old saying goes. But the fact of the matter is…

"That's not going to happen, Rory. You're always going to remember it. This…regret that you're feeling now is going to stay with you until you die."

She abruptly stops crying and looks at him. Of course he would say something borderline insensitive; she can't really blame him (she seems to be giving him a lot of reprieves – is she trying to it make up to him?), but she's still hurt.

"You know it's true, don't give me that look," he says, and she's momentarily taken aback. He still remembers all her facial expressions.

She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffles. "So then how the hell am I supposed to move on?" she demands roughly before choking back another sob.

He smiles ironically. "Take your own words into consideration: you just have to let it go. And I don't mean forget or ignore that it happened. I mean…" he sighs, "You have to accept that it did happen and move on with your life as best you can."

"And does that work for you?"

"It's beginning to."

She's silent for a few minutes as she tries to digest his words. And he tries to digest hers, especially the ones she had said before her confession: It should have been you.

I think I may have loved you, but I just need to let it go. That will no longer be replayed in his mind; he's found a new phrase to take away his ability to fall asleep at night.

"You'll be okay. I'm the king of screwing up…so you can trust me on this. This…whole thing will be nothing more than a memory. You'll eventually get over it."

She doesn't know whether she should remove her hand from his (though she knows she doesn't want to). "I don't know," she can only say. She really wants to believe him, but he's never been one to really trust, not if you want to risk being crushed. Or abandoned.

"I guess I haven't really given you enough reason to trust me…but maybe that's why you should? Since it seems everything's going…topsy-turvy with you."

She laughs a little for the first time in almost twenty-four hours. "You just made a Disney reference."

"It may reference a Disney movie, but it's also an indirect reference to a classic novel." But he's not so embarrassed – he did make her laugh and he supposes that's a hell of a lot better than making her cry, which he knows he's pretty good at doing.

"Your literary references, and I'm being generous with The Hunchback of Notre Dame one, are not up to their usual par."

"Sorry, you caught me off guard. If I knew I was going to be seeing you today, I would've studied up to make sure everything was fresh and up to your high standards," he responds sarcastically and it kind of feels like he never left Stars Hollow.

She sniffles and loosens her grip on his hand, but keeps it there; the electricity between them is still there (she always found that such an annoying cliché in all her books, but when she first met Jess, she finally got it).

"You'll be okay," he says.

She remembers Lorelai telling her about her talk with Luke and Liz saying that Jess was going to be okay; that she had a feeling (Lorelai consequently rolled her eyes at this while Rory took on a thoughtful expression). Does he have that feeling about her? And could she trust it?

He stands up and looks down at her (yet only physically; she always felt that Jess treated her like his equal) and asks, "Hungry?" but it's said in a way as if he knows she is.

She feels cold from the lack of contact with him; when they dated, he always touched her in some way, as if he was afraid that she would disappear. How ironic it all was.

"No." She pulls her short hair behind her ear. "I feel sick."

He nods (he understands because he's this close to throwing up too) and he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

"Jess?"

His eyes, which had drifted to a spot past her shoulders, travel back to meet hers.

"You're not the king of screw-ups." She holds him with his eyes because she wants him to believe it so badly.

His eyes meet hers and he tries his best to hold back his emotions. He really wants to believe her, but he has over nineteen years of evidence that show otherwise. "Rory you have to go back," he finds himself saying, and it's the hardest thing he's ever said.

She's floored that he would say that. Wasn't he the one begging her to leave everything behind him? Why the sudden change?

But he looks away and she can't try and decipher the emotions in his eyes. And she's not sure she wants to. Sometimes he feels so deeply that she can't handle it; it scares her.

Tears spring to her eyes; she's overwhelmed, which shouldn't be new to her, but it is every time she's with him. She's still waiting to find what she's looking for in this city and she knows that Jess somehow has it, or at least has the ability to lead her there.

It's then he gives her the slightest nod (she hopes it's not just her imagination) and begins to walk away.

She jumps off the bench and falls into step with him.

They lapse into a comfortable silence. One of the things she loves most about their relationship is that they don't always have to speak. She remembers while they were dating, she asked him how they could go for so long without talking to each other, and he responded with a line from a Keats poem of all things: Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.

She has no idea where he's escorting her (but isn't that always the case?) and she doesn't really care as long as this contentment she feels now doesn't disappear.

He walks with her to a shady block of the city and he steps a little closer to her, a silent protector or guardian. And she walks a little closer to him, feeling a little nervous when she sees a homeless man muttering strange things under his breath.

"He's harmless. He comes by here all the time," he whispers in her ear.

She nods, but she doesn't relax, especially since having his lips so close to her body still does inexplicable things to her. How can he still have the ability to stimulate her mind and body?

He grabs the sleeve of her jacket gently, signaling her to slow down. "This is it," he mutters, going up the stoop.

She takes a moment to let this sink in; this is where Jess lives, sleeps. Once upon a time he lived and slept in a nice place…how could he want this? But she never did know what he wanted.

Except you, she finds herself saying as she finally walks up the steps. She knew that he wanted her, and that was all that really mattered.

He lives on the eighth floor at the end of the hall, room F. The door sticks to the frame so he has to throw a little weight onto it as they enter the room, which is a complete mess with mattresses and clothes strewn everywhere. She tries hard to hold back her distaste and absolute horror. As silly as it is, she almost wants to bring him back to Stars Hollow so he won't have to live in such disgusting conditions.

He's watching her for a reaction, and instead she finds herself asking, "If…if I said…instead…would we have…?" Why can't she form sentences anymore?

He shakes his head as he shuts the door behind her. "No. I would've moved out. We would've stayed in a motel until I found another place," he answers quietly.

She nods. "Okay." She looks around the room, hoping to find his mattress, and the one by the moldy corner has stacks of books around it, and she knows it's his. She weakly gestures toward it. "That's yours."

"Yeah."

She bites her bottom lip and finally notices a refrigerator. He follows her gaze and smirks a little. "There's nothing in there except beer and soda." Then his eyes light up in amusement at the last word. "You want a soda?"

She smiles, remembering. "It's okay." Looking down at her feet and grimacing at the dirty carpet, she thinks about how odd this is. Did he really just reference something that happened during their relationship? She's sort of surprised that he remembers, but then again he has the memory of an elephant.

"Since I split the rent and everything with a couple other guys we try and live cheap…so we limit ourselves to five minute showers. I know it's not great…but you can take my shower time today."

She almost feels like crying at his generosity, how offering someone a shower is even an act of altruistic kindness in this situation. "We can split it," she offers in a faint voice.

"Just take it Gilmore. I'll bang on the door when you have a minute left."

She gives the room another glance around and this time she notices the other door that must lead to the bathroom. Nodding, she heads toward it (it takes her a while to weave through the mattresses and scattered items). But before she goes in, Jess taps her once on the shoulder and hands her a towel, clothes, soap, and shampoo. "New towel and the smallest clothes I have. Use as little shampoo as possible – I'm running out."

With a puzzled expression, she takes it. She thinks about questioning him about the clothes, but she decides against it and just gives him a grateful smile before walking inside and shutting the door.

The water pressure sucks, but she doesn't really care. She uses the bar of soap on almost every inch of skin Dean touched and when she rinses, she pretends she's washing away what happened the night before.

When she squirts out his shampoo, she only takes the smallest amount possible, about the size of a dime. Before lathering it into her hair, she smells it and it's purely Jess; tears fall down her face again and she tries to keep her sobs quiet as she massages the shampoo in her hair.

Three bangs on the door. One minute.

She rinses out her hair and shuts off the water. He didn't lie about the towel – it feels so fluffy that it has to be recently bought. She feels guilty for being not only being inconvenient, but for mooching off him. And what has she done for him?

She contemplates getting back into her dress, but it looks so dirty in a pile on the molding tile that she decidedly slips on his pair of dark pants and his old Metallica t-shirt. The pants are baggy so she holds them up with her hand until she can get a belt from him. And the shirt smells of his aftershave and cigarettes, reminding her of all the times he held her close and she would breath deep, enveloping herself in this scent.

Before she goes out of the bathroom to meet him, she searches through her purse and finds a few singles, a twenty, and two tens. She stuffs a ten and the singles inside one of the front pockets. She really wants to just leave all her money with him, but she does need a way back home. And as painful as it is to think about leaving at the moment, she's still being logical. Or maybe this is the first sign of Logical Rory returning – is Jess bringing her back?

The corner of his mouth quirks up a little when she steps out, but inside he's exploding with pain and rawness. She looks so perfect and it's just so messed up that it's not meant to be.

"Do you have a belt?" she asks.

His hands move to the front of his pants where his belt buckle is, already removing it.

"Oh no, you don't have to –" she starts, but trails off, shamefully aroused at the sight of him unbuckling his belt – why is that suddenly so attractive? This is the first moment where she realizes that she's not so naïve and innocent anymore.

He pulls his black belt out of the loops and his pants drop a few inches down to his hips; he's lost weight. He hands her the belt and she tries to thank him, but just finds herself at a loss for words.

Instead she grasps it with shaky hands and it takes her a good minute to get the belt through her borrowed pants. When she's finished he jerks his head towards the door. "There's a Laundromat a few blocks away."

When he turns around to lead her out, she loops her arm through his leather-clad one and holds on tightly; it's almost like a thank you, but it's more for her own comfort. He doesn't try and snake out of her grasp, nor does he bend his arm in reciprocation; he just accepts it as they leave his room together.

This feels like a dream: walking through the city with Rory, the side of her body glued to his, wearing his clothes. But it's kind of nightmarish how this even came to be, so he just feels fatigued.

And Rory feels like she's in an alternate universe, deviating from the twisted path her life is taking so she can pull herself together, gather her wits and look at what a disaster her life is becoming.

How did this all start? Was it when he asked her to come away with him? Or maybe when he quietly confessed his love? But maybe it started before that…maybe it started when he called her on her graduation and all she did was lie.

Because the truth of the matter was that she didn't think she loved him – she knew she did. And she did pine, even though she said she wouldn't. But it was a quiet pining that she only allowed herself to recognize in the darkness of night when the silence overwhelmed her.

"You feel any better?" he asks.

She pauses and then nods slowly. "Yeah, a little. Cleaner, really."

He nods as well. "That works."

"Thank you."

"No problem."

They're silent the rest of the way to the Laundromat, which ends up being relatively empty. He leaves her standing in front of the doorway to get the detergent and she considers going up and paying for it herself, stopping him, but she just sighs tiredly and finds a vacant washing machine.

He joins her after a moment holding a few quarters and a cup of detergent. They wordlessly open the door, pour the detergent inside with the dress and dump the quarters in the machine before watching it whirl round and round.

They stand and stare for a few minutes before Rory plops herself onto the ground, lifting her knees to her chin. Jess gazes at her amusedly.

"Do you know how many people have been in here?"

She shrugs. "I don't care."

He sighs a little before sitting down with her.

"They should really invest in some chairs, or even an uncomfortable wooden bench," she continues.

"This place is pretty cheap."

"Still."

They lapse into silence and Rory wants to fill it with something, anything. Something…happy, she thinks.

"Did you hear that Luke and my mom are…kind of together?"

He smiles, and it's genuine. "Yeah, I heard that."

"How?" she asks, flabbergasted.

He shrugs. "Luke and I are keeping in touch now."

This time she smiles. "That's good."

Silence again. Think of something else to say, Gilmore! That was always the problem between you two anyway.

"So how was…staying with your dad in California?"

He sighs. "Rory…you know me. You don't have to force a conversation."

Her face falls a little. "But I want to know, I'm not trying to be polite or anything."

"Because being polite all the time is so not Rory Gilmore," he retorts with a hint of sarcasm. But then is face is serious again. "Really…we can just sit here and not talk."

She bites her bottom lip, unsure. Even though she liked back then that they didn't have to talk all the time…it was the reason why they failed.

"Next time I'll tell you about it," he finds himself saying rather vaguely.

"Next time?"

He lets out a shaky breath and she knows he's about to admit something personal; she's beginning to read him a little better now. "There'll be a better time when we can talk."

She nods, finally understanding. They could talk about everything later; that's something to look forward to.

While Rory is changing in the bathroom at the bus terminal, Jess's phone vibrates in his back pocket.

He sighs. He'll never get used to having a cell phone, but there are only three people that ever call him anyway, and that's his boss, his mother, and Luke.

Out of all of them, he much prefers Luke, because he doesn't yell in his ear (his boss) nor does he babble on about crap that he couldn't care less about (Liz).

He opens his phone and says, "Mariano."

"Jess. Hey. It's Luke."

Jess rolls his eyes. Of course it's him, no one else can awkwardly greet him like that. "Hi."

"I just realized that I missed your birthday this year, and I was wondering what you wanted."

Jess raises his eyebrows. "You don't have to, it's fine, really."

"What do you want? I'm thinking cash, right? I could mail you a check or I could visit that hole again and give you cash."

Normally Jess would quip in and say his living arrangements are fine, and maybe vaguely add that they are temporary (he's thinking of traveling again), but now he's too burned out. "Check's fine."

"Did I just wake you up or something?"

"You're not the only one with a day job."

"Sorry, you just sound tired. A crack deal gone wrong last night?"

"Stop it." But he's smiling a little. "How's…your thing with Lorelai going?" It's kind of hard saying her name.

"Good…good. We kissed, last night."

"Why do I suddenly feel like I'm talking to a twelve-year-old girl?"

"You're lucky you're in New York," Luke growls threateningly on the other line. But then he suddenly sighs. "Shoot. I should probably go and help Lorelai."

"With what?" Jess finds himself asking.

Luke pauses, and Jess immediately realizes that it has to do with Rory. "I think Lorelai…and Rory got into a fight or something. Rory kind of…took off. Left her cell phone on her bed."

Jess looks across the room to where the bathrooms are and feels his chest constrict.

"Jess?"

It's getting really hard for him to breathe. Rory.

"Jess…she's not…there…is she?"

Jess closes his eyes and tries to ignore the acute pain in his heart, and he wonders how he can feel like this; is it to make up for all the numbing he's done in his life?

"She's okay," he manages to say.

"Oh, geez…Jess…"

He chews his bottom lip a little and smiles, but there's no happiness in it. In actuality, he's trying not to scream out. "It's not what you think." There's a hint of bitterness in there (he wishes it was so).

"What happened?"

Jess sighs and his breath shaky. "She…" He swallows, but his throat is so tight that it doesn't produce the desired effect.

And after a minute, he still can't speak. What the hell is wrong with him?

He sees her leaving the bathroom with his clothes in her hand, wearing that pink dress again.

"She'll be home soon," Jess mutters, hanging up his cell phone and trying so hard not to cry.

She changes out of his clothes and back into her now-clean dress; she doesn't feel as gross wearing it now, except she knows it's going straight to the trash as soon as she gets home.

When she hands him his clothes, he smiles a little at how she folded everything. He takes the folded shirt and hands it to her.

"Jess…I can't take this! This is your Metallica shirt!"

He shrugs. "You look better in it." It's true, and with that in mind, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to wear it again.

She smiles and brings the shirt close to her. "Thanks."

He nods. "We should find your bus."

They walk down the line of buses and while Rory is distracted, he sticks a hand into all the pockets of the jeans she was wearing, making sure she left nothing behind. He's surprised that his fingers find the crisp paper of dollar bills. Pulling them out, he looks to Rory to say that she left her money, but he finds her already staring at him, silently pleading.

Just take it.

He sighs. He never liked owing anyone anything, and he promised Luke a few weeks ago that he planned on paying back everything. But since it's Rory…

He'll just always make exceptions for her, won't he?

Clenching the bills in his fist, he says, "I haven't worn these in a while, I guess I forgot I left cash in them." He lies for her.

She smiles. "It's your lucky day, then."

Really? Is it? He doesn't feel that way – he feels like this is the most unfortunate day yet. It was bad enough being rejected by this girl not even a few weeks ago; seeing her like this completely randomly, almost as if it were fate, just makes him confused and hurt.

He's rather tired of hurting because of her.

They find her the right bus and for a moment he's feels like he's back in a happier time, and he knows she's experiencing the same thing.

Her face is full of nostalgia. "So this is it."

Jess smirks a little. "Could you not be so cliché?"

She blushes. "Yeah, that was a little cliché. Sorry."

He shrugs. "It's okay."

She takes a deep breath. "Okay, let's try that again. I would say it in French or something to spice it up, but I can't really bring myself to talk in a foreign language when I can barely think in English now."

He grins. "Don't you know, Gilmore? I still don't know a foreign language. Except I have picked up a few curses in Spanish."

"Of course."

"Besides, that would still be a cliché. French? Really?"

"Okay, do you have any bright ideas?"

He shifts his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet and back again. "Well, we could just be traditional."

"Traditional," she echoes, testing the word on her tongue. "That's classy," she says, nodding slowly.

"Because I'm so classy," he replies with sarcasm.

"You're a class-act," she says quietly, but with all seriousness. "Deep down, you are."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "You're being cliché again."

"Sorry." She clears her throat. "I'll just…get on the bus then."

He nods. But before she steps on, he says, "Wait." He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a paperback. For a moment he stares at the cover, clearly hesitant, but then she can suddenly read the "Fuck it" expression on his face as he hands it over to her.

She takes it and recognizes it as one of her own. "You know I had to buy another copy of this."

"Sorry…I didn't realize it was yours until I got to California."

She nods and brings the book close to her chest against his shirt, looking down at her feet. Her shoulders are hunched a little and he can't help but noticed she regressed from the last time he saw her; after starting to date him, she didn't do that.

Then she looks up at him and he looks back. "I wish it…didn't turn out this way."

He smirks but there's no amusement in it. "Yeah well…" and he trails off, but she understands exactly what he means.

"I don't deserve this at all." She squeezes the shirt and book tighter in her arms.

He shakes his head. "Probably not."

"Then…why? Why did you do all of this? When you saw me on that bench you could've just…"

"…walked away?" he fills in for her. He sighs. "Rory…" His eyes flicker downward before finding hers again. "I'm done with that," he states simply.

She forgot how intense his eyes could be, and it leaves her with weak knees, watery eyes, and an overly thick tongue. Now she doesn't want to go.

But he nods toward the bus, looking seventeen. "Go on."

She grins broadly and for a moment, she's stuck; she wants to hug him or something. Actually, she really wants to kiss him, but that doesn't seem appropriate. And he picks up on that too, so he takes a step back.

"I'll see you around," he says, and it sounds better than his goodbye from two years ago. Maybe he's finally figuring himself out, or just accepting who he really is.

She nods. She likes that phrase a lot more than "goodbye." This makes it much more open-ended, so fitting of their relationship.

"Yeah. See you."

And she goes on the bus, heading straight for a seat in the middle by the window. When she sits and looks out of it, he's staring at her. Last time, he said something, but this time, he doesn't open his mouth.

He tries to be emotionless, but he's sure his eyes are giving him away; he still loves her.

And she thinks she knows it. She places a hand on the window and smiles as the bus pulls out (she's thankful that the window is dirty so he won't be able to see the tears streaming down her face).

She watches until she can't see him anymore.

Looking down at the book, she opens it to the title page and there's a small paragraph with most of it crossed out.

So I was flipping through this and I realized it was yours. (This is crossed out, but legible). I'm sorry I left like I did but I had to. I had to find out…someplace else (crossed out). I just want…

She's not sure what to think of this.

And she's more than surprised to see a set of numbers written on the bottom. Usually his writing is more confident, but these numbers are light on the page.

It's his cell phone number?

She unzips her purse in a hurry before she realizes that she left her phone at home. Sighing, she throws her head back against the seat and stares out the window; it's a long ride back to Stars Hollow.

She's hesitant to get off the bus, but she figures she doesn't have to go home quite yet. The first place she sees and the only place she considers going to is Luke's so she practically runs from the bus stop to the diner.

It's relatively empty, and she's thankful for it.

Luke comes out of the storage room and nearly jumps in surprise when he sees Rory sitting by the counter, waiting patiently. She smiles.

"Hi Luke."

"Hi." He goes behind the counter and pulls out a cup for her before grabbing the coffee pot and pouring it until it's almost touching the brim.

"Thanks."

He nods, clearly looking awkward.

She stares at him questioningly. "Luke?" And then she realizes. "Oh…did you know…" She looks down at her coffee in embarrassment.

"…Lorelai doesn't know. I just called him a couple of hours ago…"

"Oh."

"How is he?"

Her eyes become teary and she inhales shakily, trying not to cry. "He's so thin."

Luke nods. "I know."

She sniffles. "Um…" She swallows to clear her throat. "Do you think I could borrow your phone? Upstairs?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Thanks."

She goes around the counter to the hidden stairway; this will be the first time since going out with Jess that she's been up here.

She doesn't bother to walk over to his side of the room to see if there are any of his items left strewn around, or if his aftershave still lingers on his blankets; she's ready to move beyond that and just accept things the way they are now.

She opens the book and dials the numbers slowly.

"Mariano."

"Hi." She wishes he could see the smile on her face at this moment.

But he can hear it in her voice, and that makes him smile. "Hi."

A/N: Again, this is just a oneshot and I have no plans to continue it. But I hope you all enjoyed it all the same :)

Please review!

MissGoalie