Work Text:
'The hardest thing to explain is the glaringly evident which everybody had decided not to see.' - Ayn Rand
1a.
“’The Subsect’.” Paris said shortly. Doubtfully. “By Jess Mari- Rory!”
Rory glanced up from where she had been shovelling a forkful of cake into her mouth. “What?” She asked around a clump of chocolate frosting. “It’s a good book!”
Paris’ eyes flickered in an eye roll so fast Rory marvelled that it didn’t hurt her snarky roommate. “It’s a short story rip off of Kerouac by a beatnik born in the wrong generation.”
“You haven’t even read it!” Rory protested, fork flying through the air in an arc of objection.
“I read the back of yours when you tried to lend it to me.” Paris tossed the book onto the small table that housed the previous three days worth of Hanukkah presents she had received from her roommate. She turned back with a withering look – a real withering look, not the one Rory claimed as hers – eyeing the chocolate concoction Rory was digging into with enthusiasm. “You know Hanukkah isn’t an excuse to eat cake for breakfast for eight days.”
Rory frowned. “I don’t need an excuse to eat cake for breakfast.”
“Silly me.” Paris deadpanned.
“Try the book?”
“Try a salad, Gilmore.”
2.
Luke sat with the book in his hands, staring so hard it seemed like he was going to burn a hole right through it with his gaze. His mouth was pushed down into a frown, eyebrows knitted together underneath his creased forehead.
The Gilmore girls wore matching expressions of expectation as they waited for his reaction.
“I think you broke him.” Lorelai whispered after a full minute of silence. When neither her daughter or fiancé responded, she slurped the coffee from her festive reindeer mug and huffed. “C’mon Danes, move it along a bit. The rest of us want to open our bells and whistles too, you know.”
Rory rolled her eyes at her mother, before glancing back slightly worriedly at her almost-father. “I wasn’t sure whether he’d have already given you a copy.” She admitted. “But then I remembered how little he thinks of himself and how much he thinks of you and figured he probably hadn’t.”
Luke remained silent, although he had begun to thumb through the pages curiously.
“My favourite bit is-“
“Shh.” Lorelai hushed her daughter gently, watching as her soon-to-be husband settled on the first page, eyes skimming the text as his expression morphed into wonder. “Be more River Song.”
“Right.” Rory laughed.
“Thanks.” Luke said suddenly. He raised the book to Rory and nodded at her. “I appreciate this.”
“You should call him after. Tell him what you think.”
Luke nodded slowly, drumming his fingers on the cover of the book. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I will.”
Lorelai looked between the two with dawning understanding. She reached under the tree to grab one of Rory’s gifts (wrapped in Winnie the Pooh paper because who cared that her daughter was in her final year of college?) and leaned in close as she handed it over.
“Giving him an excuse to talk to Jess more?” She hummed, as Rory pretended not to notice. “Good job. You know he’s been trying to find a reason to check in with him more often.”
Rory smiled blandly at her mom. “I don’t know what you mean. It’s a great book, that’s all.”
“Sure.” Lorelai conceded, although she refused to drop the knowing tone. “But if you’re giving Luke excuses, maybe you should find one or two for yourself as well.”
If Rory heard her, the only indication was the slight pause of her fingers before they dug into the wrapping paper and the spell ‘The Subsect’ had cast over the Gilmore house was broken.
3.
Rory curled in tighter, pulling her jacket over her knees as a quasi-blanket. Following the Obama tour was as exhausting as it was rewarding and the overnight buses were taking their toll on her spine. They did, however, give her an opportunity to catch up on her reading. The bus was idling as it collected the last of its passengers, so she pulled out a tattered novel from the bag tucked at her feet. She tilted her head until it leaned against the glass of the bus window, raising the book so it was in her line of sight, tired eyes tracing the words of Ayn Rand that she already knew practically by heart.
“Sorry, is this seat free?” A voice came from her left.
“Huh?” Rory whipped her head round in surprise. “Oh, sure, sure!” She pulled her bag from the empty seat so the woman could sit down.
“Thanks.” She smiled greatfully, dropping heavily into the seat. “It was between you and the guy from the Chicago Tribune who reeks of whiskey. I wouldn’t have given it to the state line before he fell asleep on my shoulder.”
Rory let out a small laugh. “I can’t promise not to snore, but all I’ve had to drink is about seven cups of coffee so you’re safe on the boozy journalist stereotype.”
“Thank God. I’m Maria. New Yorker.”
“Magazine or resident?”
“Both.”
“Rory. Just kind of… here.”
“Nice to meet you, Just-Kind-Of-Here Rory.” Maria gestured to her lap. “What’cha reading?” Rory held the paperback up, the flimsy cover wafting around before Maria took a hold of it so she could read the title. “’The Fountainhead’. Nice.”
“You like Ayn Rand?” Rory’s curiosity was piqued and she shifted to face Maria.
“I don’t dislike Ayn Rand.” She responded slyly. “Although you have just reminded me that I haven’t brought anything to read.”
“Oh!” Rory reached for her bag again, digging amongst the notepaper and folders to pull out a slim book. “I have this, if you want?”
Maria took the second edition copy of ‘The Subsect’ and casually glanced across the blurb. “Hmm. Sounds interesting. You sure I’m okay to borrow it for the ride?”
Rory nodded. “Actually, you can keep it. My proper copy is at home.” The original copy, first edition, hand delivered by the author, she added internally.
“Really? Thanks.” Maria smiled warmly, opening the book at the first page.
“No problem. You’ll love it.”
1b.
“Happy Hanukkah! Did you get my gift?”
“Yes. I already have a copy. You forced it onto me last year, remember?”
“But this one is signed by the author!”
“Oh, right, and that raises the value by what – three dollars?”
“Have you read it?”
“No.”
“Give it a tr- hello? Paris?”
4.
The Gilmores had retired to the sitting room for a drink after Richard’s birthday dinner. Luke looked entirely uncomfortable sat upright on the antique couch, a glass of scotch held stiffly in his hand as Emily made up glasses of wine for the ladies. He only relaxed slightly when Lorelai perched next to him, running a soothing hand down his arm.
“Just presents to go then we can skedaddle.” She promised under her breath, hiding her words from her parents in the guise of a smile. “Now, chill. You look like Leo Bloom pre meeting Max Bialystock. And post, actually.”
“Not helping.”
“Sorry.”
“Rory, why don’t you give your grandpa his present from you next?” Emily suggested, shooting her daughter a look while Rory was distracted rooting through her bag. Lorelai sobered, hiding her smirk in her wine glass as she took a long sip.
“Here you go, grandpa!” Rory finally located the neatly wrapped rectangle and stretched over from her seat to place it in Richard’s waiting hand.
“Ah ha!” He crows, jubilant on good food, wine and the presence of his granddaughter fresh from her first week at her new job at the New York Times. He turns the package over in his hands. “I wonder what it could be…” He continues with a wink to Rory.
“I call skateboard!” Lorelai announced to no one in particular and received varying expressions of disbelief from everyone in the room. “All right, all right…”
Richard smiled at Rory again, then neatly ripped off the wrapping paper. Squinting over the bridge of his glasses he read aloud: “The Subsect.” He flipped the book over with a curious expression. “Interesting. I’ve never heard of it, although Mariano does sound familiar…”
Emily’s eye twitched slightly.
“He’s an up and coming author in Philadelphia.” Rory spoke up quickly. “I think you’ll really like his work, grandpa.”
“Rory, grandpa doesn’t own any books by authors who are still alive. Are you sure you want to put that curse on Jess?” Lorelai smirked. “Not that I’m against it…” At Luke’s glare, she backtracked slightly. “I mean, I’m against it. Totally, completely against it. Take that book back right now-“
“Will you stop blathering on, Lorelai?” Richard sighed, although his tone was not as sharp as it would have once been. He directed his attention back to his granddaughter with a warm smile, one that was often reserved entirely for her. “Thank you, Rory. I’ll be sure to read it thoroughly.”
Rory smiled brightly. “Thank you, grandpa. Let me know what you think?”
“I’ll have a review ready for you by the weekend.”
5.
‘Small Publishers Across America’ by Jenny Fisher
‘When I first announced to my office here at the New York Times that I wanted to write a feature on independent book publishers and some of their recent (and most likely underrated) works, a lot of my colleagues had suggestions. I took recommendations made by everyone from my editor to the mail boy, but only a few really stuck with me after reading. Unsurprisingly, they mostly came from people in my department, although one was the proposal of a junior writer in the politics section – who knew?
Over the next four weeks, I’m going to uncover some of the unknown treasures in American literature. You might not know names like Carla Harrison and Jess Mariano now, but by the time the month is out, I can guarantee you’ll that their novels will be on your shelf...’
1c.
Hi Paris!
Rory wanted to send you a gift with a little help from your friends at the Kindle Store. The details are below:
1 x ‘The Subsect’ by Jess Mariano
Gift Message: Well, it’s that time of year again isn’t it? Happy Hanukkah! Love, Rory xx
Click on the link to download your e-book and send it to your Kindle or other compatible device now!
Dear Kindle Customer Services,
Kindly refrain from allowing Rory Gilmore from ever purchasing any ‘gifts’ for me again or I’ll sue you until you wish you’d never started this godforsaken company which allows evil bookworms the opportunity to force their terrible reading recommendations on unsuspecting civilians just trying to enjoy the Hanukkah season without hippy dippy literature being thrust at them on a yearly basis.
Best Wishes,
Paris Gellar
+
The bookshop down the block from her apartment was her favourite place in the city. Every time she walked into, she thanked every deity she knew that Maria had mentioned it to her over coffee when they were catching up in a break between writing for the respective New York publications.
Rory scoured the ‘M’ section, crouched down as she ran her finger along the bottom shelf. Marcus, Marfield, Mariano Markham- wait. She scanned back again.
‘Contingent’ by Jess Mariano. Rory reached for the hardback with greedy hands, opening it at random. She brought the pages to her face, breathing in deeply to catch the smell of fresh paper and ink. She could almost imagine a little bit of him too, cheap aftershave and clean deodorant and the slightest hint of cigarette smoke.
She frowned, pulling the book away from her. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath through her nose; the scent was still there. Frowning, she burrowed her face back in the book and sniffed deeply. It wasn’t lingering on the pages, it was actually-
“Everything okay there, Darth Vader?”
Rory shot up so fast she almost caught her head on the shelf above her. Just avoiding it, she gripped the book to her chest, staring with wide eyes at Jess Mariano himself. In the three years since she had seen him, since she had any contact with him despite passing messages through Luke on how he was doing, he had changed. In Philadelphia, he had seemed grown up and it appeared that he had continued to do so. His hair was a little longer, shaggy in the way that made her want to run her fingers through it tenderly (so that’s what Lane had meant all those years ago) but also grasp at it in a way that made her blush. Light stubble dusted his jaw, running up his cheeks and around his mouth which was twisted into a familiar smirk.
“Would you recommend that?” He nodded at the novel Rory was clutching at though it was her lifeline.
She blinked. “I… I don’t know. I haven’t read it, yet. It was only published a couple of days ago and I’ve been looking for it since.” She loosened her grip slightly, looking at the book so she didn’t have to look at him. “The first one is good. Although I wish he’d publish more than once every three years.” She glanced up at him through her eyelashes, hoping and not hoping he’d get the subtext of her comment.
Jess shrugged. “He’s no George R. R. Martin. Cut him some slack.”
Rory let out a breath. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Jess smiled at her. “I asked Luke for your address. I was actually heading up to see you, but I, uh…” He trailed off, glancing around.
“You were hiding out in the bookstore?”
Jess crinkled his nose, looking sheepish. His shoulders raised to his ears as his gaze met the floor. “I was hoping Mr Dewey would send me into a book so I could put it off.”
“Mr Dewey worked in a library, not a bookstore.” Rory pointed out matter-of-factly.
He let out a slightly incredulous snort of laughter. “Only you would remember that.”
“It’s a pretty important plot point.” Rory pressed her lips together against her smile, clutching the book to her chest. “So, why were you coming to see, then hiding from me – in the one place I’m probably in more often than my apartment, by the way?” She probed gently.
He raised his head, cocked slightly to one side, shoulders still hunched as he slid his hands into his pockets awkwardly. “So, this lady turns up one day, real nice, very professional, saying she wants to write some article about Truncheon and the work we’re doing and especially about this book we’d published. Apparently, someone on the staff with her at the New York Time recommended ‘The Subsect’ and she wanted to do an interview with the author.” He licked his lips, dark eyebrows lowering over darker eyes as he scrutinised Rory. “So, we think, wow, that’s crazy someone at the New York Times knows we exist! And we show her round, show her what we do, give her tickets to some poetry slams, a sneak peek of a manuscript we’re planning to publish soon, that kind of thing. I talk to her about my stupid book and the sequel that’s almost ready to go to print and what my inspiration was and me, being the idiot I am, obviously go on about how I couldn’t have done it without this amazing girl I used to know, how the first book was written with her belief in me and the second one was written from my heartbreak at thinking that it was all over after that night in Philly.”
Rory’s bottom lip trembled as his explanation developed into a rant. “Jess…”
He held up a hand to stop her, indicating he wasn’t finished. “We wrap up this interview and she goes ‘off the record, this girl you’re talking about, who is she?’ and of course I can’t keep my damned mouth shut and I go ‘Rory Gilmore’. Just say your name out loud for the first time in fucking years because finally I’d actually talked about it all. It was all out there and will soon be spread across the front page of the arts section of the New York fucking Times. And I panic, think I’ve shared too much with some reporter I barely know who is now going to spread the fact that I’m still in love with you three, four, five years down the line when she just smiles and nods. And you know what she says?”
Rory couldn’t speak. Her bottom lip was clamped so firmly between her teeth that she was drawing her blood. Minutely, she shook her head.
“She says ‘do you know, I thought you’d say that name’. And she brings out her copy of my book and there on the front is little note in your handwriting recommending she looks into it for her small publishers story.”
Rory let out a shaky breath as Jess’ anger that had raged so strongly a moment ago seemed to simmer with the end of his story. He had always been like that, so quick to moods, so engrossed with his thoughts that even if he wasn’t in the moment he was explaining he’d be able to recall the emotion to the point of recreating it.
A few people had looked over at them during his outburst, so he grabbed her elbow and led her away from the ‘M’ towards the ‘X’s and ‘Z’s which was more of a quiet corner with unusual foreign works.
“Why, Rory?” He asked softly. “Why did you give her my book?”
Her face crumpled slightly, fingers turning white as she gripped the hardback. “I give everyone your book.” She finally said.
Jess reared back slightly, obviously a bit confused. “You- what? Why?”
“Because it’s so… you.” She took a deep breath. “Because it’s the closest thing to you I have. I was so embarrassed after what happened in Philadelphia, even after I broke up with Logan, I couldn’t bring myself to find you after what I did. So, having your book meant there was a little part of you. I even-“ She cut herself off with a regretful laugh. “I’ve even bought it for myself a couple of times after the copy you gave me started to get worn. And then I gave one Maria - my friend on the Obama campaign – and she loved it, by the way. Oh, and so did my grandpa!” An amused smile danced at her lips. “You’re officially the first author on his ‘still alive’ bookshelf, so feel honoured.” She sighed. “I just wanted to share you with the people I thought were important to me, in the way that I should’ve when we were dating. I wanted people to know I was proud of you and I didn’t know how. I couldn’t bring myself to see you, I couldn’t introduce people to you or start a conversation between you so they realised your brilliance. So, I forced them to read you instead.”
Rory winced and looked at him imploringly. “Please say something.”
“Well.” Jess looked shocked, running a hand through that hair which made Rory, even in her emotional state, slightly flustered. “It sounds like you’ve the source of my revenue for the last three years.”
Rory choked on her laugh.
He licked his lips, before parting them in a hesitant smile. “You, uh, want me to buy that for you?” He indicated to the book still in her hands, his book, the sequel to the one she inspired from him.
“It’s okay.” She held it protectively, looking down at the cover. “I want to buy it.”
Jess nodded, stepping aside. “Can I buy you dinner then?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s the least I can do after yelling at you, since you’ve single-handedly kept me from starving through my book profits.”
Rory traced her finger across his name, then looked up at him and smiled. “I’d like that.”
+
Rory woke him up with a cup of coffee in bed, his shirt draped over her tiny frame as she settled on her knees next to him. Her smile was more blinding than the early morning sun that was peeking through a crack in her curtains. Blearily Jess accepted the coffee, mulling over the events of the last twenty four hours to try bring his mind up to speed.
She deposited the book she had tucked under her arm onto his chest. He barely registered that it was his, the heavy hardback pressed against his rapidly beating heart as she leaned in and brushed her lips over his, so chaste in comparison to the previous evening.
“I loved it.” She murmured. “Definitely would recommend.”
1.
“Hey, Paris!” Rory let herself into her former roommate’s apartment. “You here?”
“That key is for emergencies, Gilmore.” Paris scolded as she came into the foyer of her apartment, tucking her hair out from under her collar as she stormed about in her typical fashion.
“Is bringing your Hanukkah present not an emergency?” Rory asked innocently, stepping through and holding out a paper bag with her local bookstore’s logo printed colourfully on the side.
“Oh no.” Paris stalked towards her, ignoring the bag with a glare. “No you don’t, Rory. Not this time. I don’t want another copy of that stupid book.”
“It’s not-“
“I don’t care if it’s a children’s picture book version or a comic adaptation or a freaking zombie apocalypse rewrite!” Paris snapped, her finger jabbing inches away from Rory’s eyes.
“I think it’s a little violent to be a children’s picture book, don’t you?” She asked sensibly.
Paris looked like she wanted to cry with frustration. “Every year, Gilmore! Every freaking year, you force that book onto me. Including the one you oh so conveniently ‘left’ in our apartment when you moved out I have three copies. Three! Of one book! And an electronic version on my phone, Kindle and laptop.”
Rory opened her mouth, but Paris clamped both her hands over it, her eyes wild.
“And you know what the worst stinking part of the whole thing is?”
Guessing she wasn’t expected to speak with her mouth still covered, Rory shook her head solemnly.
“I read it.” Paris pulled away, her face contorted with shame. She indicated to the coffee table beside her where the book was sat on top of a stack of medical textbooks.
Rory’s face lit up. “You did? What did you think?”
“I liked it, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?” Paris snatched up the thin novel from the coffee table where it had been innocently resting and shook it violently at Rory. “The romance was sensitively dealt with, the parallels of the two classes was an interesting twist on an old theme and the ending, by God, the ending was a piece of art – the way it tied up the plot but allowed room for further development.”
“I’m so glad you liked it, Pa-“
“Liked it? Liked it! Are you insane? I loved it. The moment I finished I went back to the start and devoured it again. The scene where they sit by the lake? I photocopied so I could frame it. It’s on my desk at work!”
Rory blinked. “Wow, you really enjoyed it huh?”
“I’m obsessed!” Paris wailed. “Is that what you came here to hear, Rory? Huh?”
“Probably not, but I sure appreciate it.” A male voice said from the doorway.
Both women turned to find Jess leaning against the doorframe.
“You!” Paris raged, not at all thrown by the appearance of a man she hadn’t seen for years. She all but threw the slim book straight at him. He caught it against his chest in a smush of paper, looking startled yet bemused as she marched straight at him. “How dare you! You’re meant to be a Kerouac and instead you- you-“ She prodded him hard on the shoulder. “You’re an Austen!” She snarled.
“Thank you.” Jess declared, mock-seriously, hand over his heart. “I must say, I look great in a bonnet.”
“So, no, Rory!” Paris’ temper was aimed back at her former roommate, completely ignoring or possibly not even hearing Jess’ smart comment. “Do not give me that book again, I cannot handle a fifth version of it taking over my life, I’ve got exams to study for, I’m trying to be a doctor while balancing a mostly stable relationship and all I can think about is what the protagonist really meant when he said he loved her and whether they would have overcome it if their timing had only been better and-“
“Paris! Calm down! I’m not trying to give you the book again!” Rory called frantically.
Paris faltered, suddenly looking like the teenager who had come to Rory so many times as a nervous wreck because of boys or fashion or schoolwork. “You’re not?” She asked timidly.
Jess took the opportunity to slip past her, easily slotting himself against Rory’s side with an arm around her waist. She smiled up at him, then held out the bag to Paris.
“No. This is the sequel.”