Chapter Text
Stars Hollow, CT
He’s late.
If there’s one thing Jess Mariano hates, even more than wearing a tie or reading Nietzsche, it’s being late. His black button-down is open at the neck and he left his German philosophy at home, but he was supposed to be there at 6 p.m. sharp; a quick glance at the clock on his phone tells him that it’s nearly a quarter after.
It’s cold outside but he left his leather jacket back at the house because someone told him that all the zippers made him look like an extra from Grease 2. He had scowled but agreed to leave it behind but now that he’s shivering on the doorstep he thinks that the jacket he’d wanted to bringing was the one with only four zippers and that Paris could have at least cast him in the original film. Grease 2? That’s just insulting. Although he and Rory had a very interesting discussion once in which she aggressively argued that Grease 2 is actually a brilliantly crafted film if you watch it and pretend it’s just a Grease parody. He wasn’t completely sold, but she had some pretty good points which she illustrated beautifully on poster board.
Someone coughs behind him and in the seconds it takes him to turn around he realizes that it’s now definitely a quarter after six and he hasn’t actually rung the bell yet.
“You’re late.”
Lorelai is jamming her car keys down into her clutch bag and giving him an almost-not-entirely-cold stare. She’s probably not surprised that he’s late, and their hosts won’t be either. They all think that Jess is consistently late because he can’t be bothered to make an effort to show up on time. And that’s not entirely true, I mean he doesn’t usually care enough to observe punctuality but when something important is happening - or when your two significant others deliver some imposingly creative threats - he can make an effort. And in those rare cases he puts in that effort, he really hates being late. He also hates making people think they’re right about him, Christ nothing pisses him off as much. He needs a cigarette.
He hasn’t answered Lorelai and that’s fine because she never expected a reply. Instead she stands on the doorstep next to him and straightens her floral wrap-dress before turning to him, the corner of her mouth turned up in a grin.
“Ready?”
Jess sighs. She rings the bell.
Brooklyn, NY, 2 months earlier
“- but you can’t deny that some of his stuff -“
“If I wanted to listen to the ramblings of a drunk horny misogynist, I’d open our apartment window at night, I don’t need to read Bukowski.”
“I think misogynist is a little strong.”
“Oh it’s absolutely not a little strong, the man is - wait, do you hear yelling?” Paris uses her hip to shuffle the paper grocery bags in her arms so she can get a better grasp on them, then she leans her ear towards the door. She and Jess exchange a look - someone is definitely yelling.
Jess fumbles in his pocket for the keys. “Angry yelling?”
Paris presses her ear closer. “Inconclusive.”
With a sigh Jess unlocks the top lock and jiggles the nob in the very specific way necessary to open their apartment door. Inside, Rory is hopping around on one bare foot while she yells into the phone. Jess realizes in that instant that what she’s yelling (and it’s definitely happy yelling) is a monologue from Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. He’s not going to ask why, but it does give him some context as to who she’s talking to.
He hangs the keys on the hook next to the fridge as Rory is saying “You think I’m licked? You all think I’m licked? Well I’m not licked! And I’m going to stay right here for this lost cause!” with bouts of laughter in between. Next to him Paris is slowly setting the bags on the counter; she catches his eye and sighs. “I’m incredibly turned on by this.”
Jess rolls his eyes. “You always get turned on when we watch Mr. Smith.” Privately, he thinks that she’s not wrong.
It’s at that moment that Rory turns just enough to notice them and he face lights up. “Whoops, gotta go mom, they’re back!” As she’s hanging up, Jess can hear Lorelai still talking on the other end. He thinks he hears the tail end of a Harvey quote but he’s not solid on that.
Rory hooks an arm around his neck. “Hey, babe you’re home!” She kisses his cheek but before he can squeeze her waist or reply, she’s moved on to Paris, giving her the same treatment.
“Don’t call me babe.” Paris says, as if by rote. She’s flushed and her right hand is digging into Rory’s lower back. Jess snorts. He leans forward to where Rory is still glued to Paris’ side and kisses her swiftly on her hairline before he moves on to start unloading groceries.
“Dare I ask why we walked in on you shouting Jimmy Stewart?”
Paris seems to have shaken herself out of it because she starts in on the other paper bag. Damn it, they forgot Rory’s cup o’ soup. Jess takes one look at her vibrating with excited and figures she probably won’t notice. Sure enough, she doesn’t spare the groceries a second glance as she hops up and down behind the island.
“Okay, remember the pieces I did for that one online journal a couple months back?”
Jess nods. “On the - what was it - something about organic food and gentrification?” He’d had to stop buying his favorite cereal from the Whole Foods a few blocks over.
“Yes! Okay, well the guy that edited my piece knows a guy who knows a guy” she pauses to open one of the bags of Doritos that Jess grudgingly picked up as per request “who knows a guy who works at the Times!”
She looks expectantly at the two of them. Jess and Paris’ eyes meet in the split second before she continues, as if they need clarification, “The New York Times.”
It’s not that Jess, and Paris as well he’s sure, isn’t ready to start hopping and reciting Jefferson Smith lines (he really has to know what that’s about), but they both know she’s not done.
“So this guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who knows my guy - he needs someone to write a story on Yale. And my guy who knows several guys let this guy know that I’m a Yale alum and. anyway, he wants me to write it!”
Jess is still navigating his way through that one but Paris is one step ahead. She walks around the island to Rory. “You’re going to write a piece for The Times?!”
Rory’s smile looks dangerously close to splitting her face in two as she nods and emphasizes, “The New York Times!”
Paris lets out a rarely-witnessed loud squeal of excitement and pulls Rory by the waist so she can kiss her. Jess can see that Rory’s knuckles are bone-white where she clutches at Paris’s waist. When they part, Paris pulls her in fully for a hug and meets Jess’s eyes over her shoulder.
“The New York Times!”
Whatever stupor Jess was in, he snaps out of it, warmed by a quick rush of intense pride. He rounds the other side of the island and wraps his arms around Rory’s back, encircling the two of them in a hug. He has a very brief nanosecond to think wryly ‘Jess Mariano in a group hug’ but it can’t bother him too much because Rory is writing a piece for the goddamn New York Times. The New York Times. He still doesn’t understand how this led to Jimmy Stewart references but he feels so happy he could burst.
Rory turns slightly in the hug-sandwich to meet Jess’s lips with her own but she can’t hold the kiss for too long because she’s already jumping up and down, her high ponytail whipping them both in the faces as she turns her head.
“I have to be in Hartford for a week to do the ground work, but I figure we can get Emmanuel to watch the shop for us,” she’s rambling but Jess doesn’t care because she’s radiant. He knows that Paris’s dopey affection expression mirrors her own and they all stand huddled together happily for a few minutes before Jess tunes back in just in time to hear, “- and it’s great because we can just stay at mom and Luke’s! We haven’t been back to Stars Hollow in so long -“
Paris and Jess’s eyes meet around Rory’s head and now he knows they’re sporting matching expressions. Great.