A/N: Just a little piece that came into my mind. The title is from an episode of Gilmore Girls, and I wanted to do something with that title. And here's the result. I'm not sure what I think about it. Please review and let me know what you think about it.
Say Something
She shows up on the top of his staircase late at night. Leaning against the doorpost, she watches him work on his boat. Just watches him. The silence is sizzling with unspoken words, unspoken emotions. She's come here a lot lately, standing in the doorway, sometimes sitting down on the steps, watching him work away on his boat. Always in silence. She slips in silently and leaves just as silently. Sometimes he nods his head toward the workbench and she helps herself to some bourbon. Sometimes he doesn't do anything to acknowledge her presence at all. She comes and leaves like a shadow. Coming to get something, but she never knows how to get it, how to get through to him. She leaves without finding her answer. Leaves with her heart feeling a little heavier. Leaves before she can figure out why she came here in the first place.
He knows the exact moment she comes to his house. Feeling her presence and the tense silence she brings with her. Smells the wafting scent of her perfume. He feels her eyes on him, but she never says anything, never even says hello. Sometimes he doesn't even look at her, sometimes he does, his eyes giving her permission to grab something to drink.
He looks at her briefly, sees her throwing her coat over the banister, making her way down the stairs. Taking her seat on the last step. He goes back to his work, all the time aware of her eyes on his back. Despite that he only threw her fleeting glances, he knew she always wore the same expression – she always looked like she wanted to ask him something. She always left without having said a word.
She keeps watching him and he always looks the same – like there's something he wants to tell her. But he never does and though she knows he's a man of few words, she leaves before he's ready to talk to her. Sometimes she's not sure if she wants to hear it. Sometimes the curiosity is killing her. She's not sure what has happened to them, but she finds it hard to talk to him, afraid of expressing her feelings to him. Afraid of being vulnerable.
He looks at her again; her eyes are lowered to her lap, twisting her wrist in her hand. She looks like she's made of glass, he doesn't think he's ever seen her look so fragile before, like she's about to break. Sadness overwhelms him. It's not right. She shouldn't look like this. Shouldn't look like she's about to fall to pieces. She shouldn't be having that lonely tear running down her cheek.
"Say something."
She looks up at the sound of his voice, almost looking startled, like she had not expected him to speak. He looks a bit surprised himself for saying something. Ignoring that he said something, he turns back to the wood, shaping it with trembling hands. She is going to leave, he is sure of it. She is getting to her feet and he knows she is going to leave. She won't say anything and she will leave him wondering, again. As always.
She rises to her feet; her lip between her teeth, watching him stand with his back to her. Placing long, steady strokes on the wood. She knows it's just a façade he's putting up. Knows he let his control slip when he spoke to her just moments ago. It would be so easy to leave now, just leave all this behind and try to forget. But sometimes, the easiest way is not the right way.
She walks over to the workbench, finds no glass so she turns a jar upside down emptying it of its content. Taking the bottle and pours an inch or so in the jar. She twirls it around under her nose, inhaling the strong aroma before taking a long sip.
Her back to him, his back to her. He stares at the boat, knowing he'll call it Kelly but wondering if some day he'll build a boat and call her Jenny. If she'd want him to, he would. If she'd sail the world with him, he would.
She opens her mouth, but closes it just as suddenly. Words dying in her throat. She can't find the right words to explain why she keeps coming here. Putting her emotions into words is an ability that she lost years ago, when she decided to let no one get as close to her as he had. When she'd determined love was not going to stop her.
She shivers slightly when a hand covers hers from behind, warmth seeping from his chest that is pressed to her back. He gently takes the jar from her hand, his fingers brushing hers and she thinks her heart stops for a second. She can hear him breathing and feel his heartbeats and the scent of bourbon mixing with sawdust, always reminding her of a time lost long ago. But she closes her eyes, inhales his scent and wishes she was back in Paris, when things were less complicated. When she was different.
His warmth is gone, but the scent remains. She turns around and finds him standing by the boat, running a calloused hand over the wood. Clutching the jar of bourbon.
"Say something." He says again, and she finds herself staring into his ice blue eyes that send shivers up her spine.
She can't. She can't say anything but suddenly knows why she's here. Walking up to him, she takes the jar from his hand. Putting it down onto one of the vertical beams. Placing her hand lightly on his cheek, she maintains eye contact as she slowly reaches up for his lips. She kisses him slowly, opening her mouth to tell him the whole story.
She doesn't know how to say it, but she realizes that with the two of them, words are not necessary. Their relationship had never been about words. She speaks with a kiss and he replies the same way. The only way they know how to speak to each other about feelings. The only way they know how to speak to each other to avoid misunderstanding and arguments.
Letting the flawless dance of their bodies speak for them, a language they both know so well. He holds her tightly, and she knows he's not going to let her go again. She just knows. His kisses tell her everything she came here to find.
The End