Summary: Another post season 6 finale fic. Lorelai tries to repair the mess that she's made and both she and Luke need to decide if their's is a love worth fighting for. JavaJunkie, yay something new for me ;)
Disclaimer: I thought about saying that I'm so glad they're not mine now, but that would be a lie. The episode may have been hearbreaking but still makes for a good story. But they're not mine, so I'll admit to that at least.
Notes: So I had originally made up my mind not to write a post finale fic. I have my long fic going and another one that will be posted soon and there's so many post finale fics out there. But I just couldn't help it. I needed my catharsis and you guys seem to like these as your catharsis. And then I wasn't going to write it because I didn't have a unique angle. But as I was writing the next chapter of my other fic, I opened to a blank page and the first chapter of this just came out. All I kept seeing was Lorelai's face at the end, and it was haunting. It got to me. Lauren Graham, the things you do...
Anywho, please read and review! I can't promise that this will be updated as fast as my other fics, but I will do my best.
Reparations
It's the worst feeling in the world. Like waking up on the wrong side of the bed, stepping on glass and tearing gashes in your bare feet as you get up and then opening your bedroom door to find a big gaping hole where the world should be. It's like that. Only worse.
And that's what it feels like to her. That she had taken one day, exactly 24 hours to take her entire life, throw it in the trash, throw the trash can off a cliff and watch it float away in the ocean.
The worst part is that there was no turning back. There is no way to take it back, to undo what she had done. She just has to live with it. And it is unconceivable that it's going to be an easy process.
So there she lies. Her eyes finally open, not just to the morning light but to everything she has done and every wrong choice she has made. And she stares. Searching for a conclusion to all this. Something that would take the whole disaster and tie it up in a neat package with a nice purple bow. She needs to finally see some sense in the whole thing, because without clarity, there is no way she can keep things from getting worse.
Hitting rock bottom had always been a funny phrase to her. Strange how something that once made her giggle, now refers to her and her life. She might have thought that she hit it the day she found the bag from Anna on the counter, or after Lane's wedding when she made that horrible speech, but that wasn't it. Now is it. This is rock bottom. And if she can just look up, try to reach the rock just a little bit above her, she might be able to pull herself out. But if she doesn't reach it in time, the walls will close in and she will be lost forever.
Her eyes finally focus on something. The clock. It reads 10:05. And suddenly the world makes sense again. She can feel the cool air on her naked shoulder. She can feel the pressure of Christopher's arm around her. She can feel the hot breath from the sleeping man next to her on her back. And all she feels is dirty and ashamed. Yes, she feels dirty. Another word that used to make her giggle now refers to her. Because that's what she is. She is dirty.
And she knows she has to get out of there.
Slowly she tries to extricate herself from the bed. She carefully removes Christopher's arm from around her and watches as he snuggles in deeper into her pillow, like a little boy holding his blankie close so that he can sleep. There's a small smile of glee on his face as he dreams and she wonders what he's dreaming about. Could it be her? Could he be remembering last night? Or is it more? Is he imagining a future, a happy heaven with her and Rory skipping through fields with daisies in their hair? She shudders to guess.
Pressing her hands on the bed, she stands up, her legs still shaky from last night's events and the revolting memory she's left with. She runs her hands through her hair, feeling the knots and tangles. Her face is sticky from the tears she's cried and her eyes swollen from the anguish she felt deep inside. She allows her hands to travel down her body, imagining that the light caresses of her own fingers on her skin can cleanse her body and soul. They move down her neck as she remembers Christopher's lips against her throat, pulling, as if trying to draw her blood, draining her of life. Her hands run down over her breasts as and she can still remember Christopher's touch, his rough hands, his clumsy ministrations that only felt like she was being molded into what he dreamed she was. The tips of her fingers trace paths down over her flat stomach, the arches of her hips and deep with in, all she can feel is hurt, her stomach contracting, repulsed with the person it lives inside. And her hands pause. Because she knows if she lets them travel any lower, they'll reach parts that are now foreign to her, like entities that are not really hers, just another part of her body that no longer belongs to her.
Opening her eyes once again, she bends down and picks up her dress off the ground and pulls it over her head. The thin material feeling even more sheer, needing something closer to heavy armor to cloak her nakedness. But the dress will have to do until she gets home.
She picks up her black sweater, adding that to her ensemble and walks out of the bedroom. As she passes the bed, she focuses her eyes in front of her. Not wanting to see Christopher's form on the bed. Not wanting to witness the mussed sheets and rumpled covers that could only help her to fully grasp what she has done. Not wanting to let her mind ever revisit the dreadful events of the night before.
On the coffee table in the living room, she spies her keys and purse. As she picks them up off the table, her eyes wander the room. And she sees everything. The couch where he held her close while she cried and screamed and beat her hands against his chest. The empty bottle of Jack Daniels that had been emptied into her stomach and was now in the process of waging war on her liver. The blanket that had been wrapped around her as Christopher heat up some coffee in order to keep her from shaking and trembling but she had known the vibrations of her body weren't due to cold. And then she sees it. She lets out a sharp strangled cry, dropping her keys, as everything becomes clear. What she has done. That she had given herself to him in the hope that he would fill her, make her whole again, and take away the loneliness that was attempting to take over her life.
"Lor?" she hears Christopher call from behind her and she jumps, startled to realize that she's no longer the only one awake. She covers her mouth with her hand, trying to control the shudders that are vibrating through her body, so different they are from the ones from last night when her emotions were do to her loss. Today the sensations are only a reaction to her deep regret.
"I was just leaving," she manages to croak out. She can hear the rustle behind her, him moving forwards, towards her. And then she feels his hand on her shoulder and suddenly it's more than she can handle. She doubles over, her arms wrapping around her stomach as she's wracked with sobs.
"Lorelai…" he murmurs as his hand turns her body to face his, putting both hands on her shoulders, pulling her towards him.
"Nooo," she moans. Trying to get control she hiccups, only to sob harder. He tries to pull her in again. "Stop," she moans. Pulling away, her body revolting against the hands pulling her towards Christopher. She manages to wriggle out of his grasp. One of her hands covers her face as the other goes out in front of her, keeping Christopher where he is, away from her. "Don't."
"Lor, I know you're still upset about Luke. But that's why I'm here. I'm your friend. I'm here for you. I've always got your back," Christopher pleads. And suddenly her deep guilt is washed away only to be replaced by intense anger as she glares at Christopher.
"Are you freaking kidding me with that crap Christopher!" she screams. She watches as his smile is quickly wiped off his face and he tenses. "A friend doesn't do that. A friend doesn't take advantage of the situation. A friend wouldn't allow that. A friend wouldn't…" She shakes her head, tears still flowing freely down her cheeks but only feeling the white hatred pulsing through her body, disgust with herself for her actions and loathing for Christopher for allowing it.
"I… I didn't Lor. I mean, not alone. You begged me to. You asked me to."
"You should have said no. What kind of state was I in? I wasn't thinking clearly. I wasn't even thinking. That's why I wanted it. I didn't want to think anymore. I just wanted to feel. But we both had to know that I'd wake up in the morning disgusted with myself," she retorts. Christopher sighs with exasperation.
"I just did what you asked," Christopher explains numbly.
"And a friend would have realized that he should say no. A friend would realize that there was more than that night left in my lifetime and the effects from going through with it would be far worse than if he said no."
"So you're blaming me?" Christopher smiles in anger and amazement, slapping his hands against his side. "Of course you are. You're the same person who blamed me for your inability to commit to Max or any other guy. Now you're blaming me for keeping you from committing to Luke." She looks down at the ground, recalling Christopher's anger that day, his frustration for having everything that went wrong in her life being blamed on him. And she recalls the expression on Luke's face as she looked into his eyes when Christopher strode out the door. The look of disbelief that Christopher would have that reaction and pity for her that she was talked to that way.
"I'm not blaming you alone for this. But don't try to say you're my friend. Don't try to say you were only trying to comfort me, when you and I both know that there are consequences that go along with our actions," she responds.
"So I was just supposed to turn you down? Push you back out the door?" Christopher asks.
"If that's what was necessary. I made have been angry with you for the night, I may have yelled that I hated you, but, honey, that ain't nothing compared to what I'm feeling right now." She shakes her head at him, almost a smirk on her face and she picks up her keys off the ground. "I'm sorry Chris. I'm sorry I came. I'm sorry I believed you were my friend. I'm sorry things turned out this way. I'm sorry that I have to end this, end my relationship with the man who fathered my only child. But what I need, you can't give me. And if I try to maintain this, whatever it is, with you, I'll only be regretting that I ever thought you could be what I imagined."
"Lor…" Christopher mumbles softly.
"Goodbye Christopher. Have a good life. The door to Rory will always be open but the door to me is now and forever will be closed, locked and deadbolted." With that she turns and walks out the door, shutting it tightly behind her. Feeling the trembling returning, she takes a few deep breaths, knowing she's only just taken the first and possibly the easiest steps towards repairing the wreck she has made of her life. She knows she has grasped that first rock but there will be many more rocks to reach for before she finally pulls herself out of the hole.