Whisper of the World
Disclaimer: I don't own GG, which you all knew. I don't own any books, movies, or songs. Catcher in the Rye belongs to J.D. Salinger (and I recommend it!). The line of poetry belongs to Robert Burns, although I got it from Catcher in the Rye. And I'm positive you all know that I do not own New York. lol.
A/N: I've been writing more one-parters lately, I'm not really sure why... This is a little different from some stuff I've written before. I hope you like it though. It's pretty AU, I'm not entirely sure right now what the exact background to this fic is...but all you need to know for it is explained. And the 'episode' where Rory and Jess meet did happen, but other than that the show isn't much of a factor. Also: no offense to anyone who lives in NY! I've been there more than once and it was great; this is just from Rory's (and Jess', I guess) perspective of it, from their experiences there. I don't really know where this came from, I just started writing it…and the discussions in English class helped a little I guess! I'd love to hear what you think. ~Ari
This is dedicated to Elise, for the amazing TSF and all her one-parters (if you haven't read it, I recommend it). And for agreeing with me about so many things that my English teacher doesn't…like present tense and sentence fragments, lol. You're awesome!! And to Steph, for being a great beta! Thanks so much for reading this for me!!
********
She has spent her life innocent.
She would see couples kiss in the halls of Chilton, sneak past teachers breaking rules, occasionally skip class for unknown, insignificant reasons. She would pass them with disregard and the ever-so-subtle feeling that she was better; that she would be better than that.
That got her here.
What had happened?
Too much innocence. The desperate desire to exceed expectations. Her mother's. Her grandparents'. Stars Hollow's. And Jess', back when she had known him and he had known her. She hasn't seen him in practically forever, but she was not surprised and not too upset when he didn't come after her. He wouldn't want to come back here.
She'd heard the whisper of the world, behind her back, that no one else seemed to hear: that she should be doing better, better, better. That she was not living up to her potential; to what she could be, even though no one else thought this. Even though no one else seemed to think being perfect mattered. And then she had answered: shouted that she was not perfect, couldn't be, and would prove it.
After college, something inside her rebelled. She followed suit.
She moved to New York. Found an apartment. And during her time there, met and quickly broke up with several different guys. She can't quite remember specific things about most of them, even though there haven't been that many. It 's a few really. But weeks and months blend together in her mind...
It doesn't matter. None of it ever got serious, or even close to serious... She thinks she will always care too much for it to be. She has changed, but she is still Rory Gilmore, and that comes with parameters.
Now she is walking in circles around her apartment. Upset, disappointed, and feeling worthless. She has run away from her town, her life, her friends, and herself. And now she just feels lost. She is beginning to understand the looks Jess used to occasionally cast across the lake as they sat on the bridge together; the noncommittal answers he would give her when she saw him and asked what was wrong.
She can't be perfect.
That's never been possible.
She is tired of knowing that something is missing, however unwilling she has been to admit it.
She is not the kind of girl who can be happy sitting by herself in a hundred different coffee shops, living in a run-down apartment with a crappy job, and not knowing who her neighbors are. There is no one here who understands. No one here even knows her. She wishes she could go back and do it over. Wishes she had not answered that teasing, seductive whisper. She left Stars Hollow to fix a problem she didn't have. Insecurity led her to believe that she needed to prove she was not perfect. For most people, it makes them want to try harder and harder.
Well, she's Rory, and she's different. She was the one who wrote the paper while other people in her class painted their nails at Stars Hollow High. She was the one who always had to bring at least five books to Chilton, every day, and read at lunch instead of talking. She was the only one who saw Jess for who he really was, at first.
She misses everything, from the movie nights with Lorelai to Taylor and the "Rory curtain."
She wishes she had listened to Jess.
He was the last person she talked to, before she left. She'd left a note for Lorelai, and later called her. Lorelai hadn't understood; had tried to convince her to stay. She had been able to hear others' expectations for her, walk away, and end up happy. It hadn't worked, and Rory is not sure if Lorelai would even be glad to see her anymore. She'd run away from her, and from everyone, after all.
But Jess was the last Stars Hollow member she talked to, before she disappeared...
Even he had known she was making a mistake. She had probably been the only one who hadn't seen it, blinded by the "imperfection" that was all too obvious to her then...she'd wanted to find a place where she didn't have to worry; where things didn't matter so much. New York was a big place, and she was only one person in the middle of it all. She had been looking through the wrong lens. And now, as she pulls away and the real colors return to everything, she is stuck.
She isn't sure why she is just realizing this now. Maybe it's all the time she's had to think. She has been here for almost two years, but it's seemed longer. Maybe it's the TV show she was watching the other day or the book she was reading. Maybe it's the feeling of walking through the city, not recognizing anyone, and wishing she were going to Luke's for more cheese fries and coffee.
But she is not the kind of person who can just go back. She just needs a hand. She needs a reason.
Daniel has just left. Another guy she met in a coffee shop and started talking to. She let him take her home. She let him kiss her. But she knew then and knows now that it was not right, and she pulled away, again. It was the right thing to do. But she can't help thinking that she wishes she still had someone to hold her; eyes to meet hers and reassure her without needing to say anything.
Then she finds it.
*******
"Sorry," the guy says, behind her, stepping backwards and out of her way. She ducks away, moving to the other side of the bookshelf in the store.
"That's okay," she replies, tucking long dark hair behind her ear. She sees a flash of brown eyes as the guy looks up, and shivers. She could swear she knows those eyes.
"Rory?" he says sharply.
She turns. "Excuse me," she says awkwardly. She does not want to face anyone now. Who could know her here? She hasn't looked up nearly long enough to recognize him.
"Rory?" he repeats.
He shakes his head. He'd thought at first that it really was her. He hasn't heard from her or from Lorelai in over a year, and he knows she is in this city somewhere. It would fit...the voice, the bookstore, the everything. He was so sure, for a second there. He sighs slightly and shakes his head, pushing the thought away. He'd been hoping, that was all.
Bookstores did this sort of thing to him.
The thought won't leave his mind, and he realizes he is still standing there, and she is still beside him, uncomfortable and looking at the floor.
Again, he says: "Rory?"
She looks up, warily. It is him. But it can't be! Then she looks down again. "Jess..." she whispers.
He is too surprised to do anything he wants to do: yell at her for leaving, ask her if she's okay, hug her and buy her coffee and kiss her until neither of them can think at all. They both stay there, silent, for a few minutes. Then he touches her shoulder. "What are you doing here?" He isn't sure why he's being so calm or how he can be. It's partially instinctive. He knows her too well, and he does not want her to run away again. She would react to him yelling, all right.
"You know that," she says, a coldness in her voice he doesn't recognize, moving to leave.
He grabs her arm. "What are you doing? You can't run away again. That's me, not you. What happened?"
She shakes her head. "It's nothing. Nothing happened. I have to deal with it. I chose. I was wrong, you were right. Is that what you want to hear?"
Now he is shaking his head, feeling like he's gonna cry. She always does this to him, for some reason. Especially lately, if you could call it lately... He was the one who was screwed up; the city tough guy who takes life as it comes and doesn't expect anything to be good, ever. He swallows.
Isn't it ironic that the person who saved him is heading down a path far too close to the one she saved him from?
It couldn't get that bad, not for her. She is still Rory. She wouldn't really throw her life away, and knowing this at least is reassuring. But not enough. Things could easily be bad without being that bad.
Through their relationship--all the great times as well as the fights--he had gotten upset sometimes, but he hid it and he dealt with it. The night after she left, almost two years ago now, he'd cried for hours. Not that she knew that; nobody did. It would stay that way.
"No, Rory," he manages. "Not at all!"
"Right," she says. Then she stops. "What are you doing here?"
Now it is his turn to shrug. "I'm just here."
They are just standing there, both still shocked to see one another, making simple conversation. She hopes this is all it will be. She can't handle this. He's been in the back of her mind so much lately, even though she hasn't realized it. The books in windows of shops, the way Daniel walked away from her, reminding her of old fights with Jess--everything. There are so many things she wants to say right now and can't.
Damn him for showing up like this. She isn't ready; she doesn't know what she wants or what she should do. She hasn't known for too long.
"Huh. You didn't come before," she snaps, without thinking about what she is saying. She freezes. "Wait, Jess..." She didn't mean it to come out like that.
He looks away. "I didn't know." Then he looks back, and there is a slight flash of pain and almost of the old anger in his eyes. "Damn it, Rory, how was I supposed to know?"
Somehow, they do not need small talk, and they do not need to be "reunited" in any way. They are back in the old rhythm of arguments and debates, except before it wasn't serious, and now there is almost a new taste to it. A bitter one.
"I don't know!" she yells in reply, frustrated.
They both stop for a minute, getting control. And then Jess glances up. For once, it is up to him to help someone else. And he just wants to be able to do this; wants to dare to hope he can pull this off. He would do anything for Rory, right? Maybe he is the hand up she needs?
"Want to...uh...take a walk?" he asks, mentally crossing his fingers.
She sighs, wishing she had found another way to say what she'd said, hoping he had understood, even though she knows she can't expect him to. And nods. "Okay," she answers, straightening and stepping into the aisle between the shelves. He follows her. And they are on the street, walking side by side, almost together. The way they used to. She has missed walking really with someone, instead of just next to someone she happens to be talking to. It seems the same, but to her there is a definite difference.
She thinks that probably he will ask her if she wants to get coffee, and she thinks that she will say yes. But he doesn't. They keep walking, and it is quiet, too quiet, despite the rustle of people hurrying past them, the screeches of cars stopping, doors closing, and shouting from every direction. He remembers walking her home from school, meeting her at the bus, holding out a cup of coffee, putting his arm around her, and her resting her head on his shoulder. They would walk home quietly then, too, but that was a comfortable silence.
She puts her hands in her pockets, clenching them tightly. The tension is singing in the air between them, and if neither of them breaks it soon, she just might walk away. The thought is a startling one; two years ago, despite any tension, she would not have considered doing that to anyone.
Then he turns, and she breathes in relief that it won't be up to her.
He has been walking beside her for the last few minutes, wondering what to say. He wants to convince her to turn back. To forget the way she's been living for the last two years and come back to Stars Hollow and start over, in a way. But he knows she is Rory, and she is still stubborn. It is up to him and he doesn't know what to do…
He can't think of anything else. "So…how've you been?" he asks casually.
She is surprised for a moment, but then she relaxes. This is not just anyone who used to know her. This is Jess. "I've been…" she begins.
"Very detailed."
She glares at him for a moment in response; the kind of friendly glare she used to give him when he borrowed her books or voiced his opinions on Ayn Rand.
But she doesn't know what to say either. 'I've been good' or even 'I've been okay' would be a lie. It isn't that her life has been awful. And the bad parts in these past two years have been her fault.
He told her not to leave. That was exactly what he said. He said she shouldn't leave, that she didn't see how much she had going for her, and that nobody wanted her to go. He said he was the Holden Caulfield of Stars Hollow. He said she should stay more like Phoebe. He said please. But it didn't change her mind.
Something got to her, for some reason. She remembers that night: she'd told him—she'd yelled—that everyone thought she was perfect. That she wasn't and never would be. The same thing she'd said to herself a million times over. They'd both stood up, leaned forward…and then they were kissing.
She left.
She shakes her head, bringing herself back to reality.
"Rory?" Jess says quietly.
"Yeah? Sorry about that," she replies.
"You ever gonna tell me anything?" he asks, hiding his frustration. He stops.
God. She's missed him.
"Listen," he says at last. "Can you meet me somewhere tomorrow? You pick where, you show me or tell me where right now, and we'll both go home, and tomorrow we'll talk. You know, if "a body meet a body coming through the rye, then—"
She bites back a smile and names the author of the poem he's quoting. "Robert Burns." He nods. She looks away for a moment, and then back, meeting his deep brown eyes, fighting to stay in control. He's been right the whole time. She was strong enough to stick it out. She should not have run away. It was a stupid reason, and it makes no sense to her now… She will tell him. At least, she'll tell him he was right.
Knowing that he's lived in New York, that he walked around alone at three in the morning with a book, and that he hung out with people the old Rory would never want to know—it helps, in a strange way. That she's been close to all those things will surprise him, and scares her a little, now that she thinks about it. It's amazing how suddenly seeing one person for less than an hour can change her view on everything.
"Okay," she agrees. "You pick where." She expects him to acquiesce to this, but he doesn't.
"You pick," he insists.
"Coffee shop." She whips around and points to a café on the other side of the street, half a block back, and he nods in finality.
"Okay then."
They are still staring at each other.
"See you tomorrow," she says softly. For the third time, he nods. "You're different," she tells him, impulsively, with a slight smile. He returns it.
"I've grown up."
"In two years? Not very much time."
He smirks. "Well, what is much?"
*******
She is walking home, replaying her conversation with Jess in her mind, noticing the sunlight, the clouds, and the shadows the skyscrapers cast on the streets in a way she never has before. A piece of paper glints in the reflection of a window, and she runs forward to pick it up. It is yellowed and folded, and she can see the shadows of black print on the other side. Unfolding it, she reads it to herself. It is a paragraph from Catcher in the Rye:
"This fall I think you're riding for—it's a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man falling isn't permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement's designed for men who, at some time in their lives, were looking for something their own environment couldn't supply them with. Or they thought their own environment couldn't supply them with. So they gave up looking. They gave it up before they ever really even got started."
Something their environment couldn't supply them with, she thinks. Like perfection.
Funny the way things happen sometimes.
She thinks she will stop riding for the fall.
*******
The night has passed without nightmares, and without many bad ideas of staying locked in her apartment and never going out and meeting Jess. She steps outside, immediately hearing the rush of midmorning traffic and car horns, seeing the wall of taxis across the street, and nearly being blinded by the bright reflection of the sun off the mirror-coated building down the road.
Two years can get you used to New York, at least moderately, no matter how much of a small-town person you are. But no amount of time can make it home. She turns and walks slowly to the coffee shop, nervously.
Maybe yesterday was half a dream.
But it's not.
She slips unnoticed inside the door, and the only person who sees her is a dark-haired guy wearing jeans and a dark jacket, who gets up from his book when she comes in.
"Rory," he greets her.
She hesitates. "Hey Dodger."
And he can't help smiling. But his face grows serious after a minute. "Will you talk to me?" he inquires, drawing her toward a corner table. No one sees them; too wrapped up in their own meal or their own work.
She fixes her eyes on the dark cup of coffee that is already steaming, sitting there, waiting for her. She can imagine it saying 'Luke's' on the side, and she blinks fiercely. She won't cry.
Neither of them sit down. His dark eyes meet her blue ones; when she speaks the coldness that was in her voice yesterday is gone. He wonders why, and he can't help hoping he had something to do with it. It has only been one day, after all. But she is Rory Gilmore, and she is spontaneous as well as stubborn…
She moves closer; he leans forward. Their lips meet softly, and another quiet whisper begins, behind her back: anything can happen…anything can happen and it isn't too late.