Note: A tag to Bracebridge Dinner; slightly AU, I think
A Tale of Dorian and the Dodger
Tiredly, Richard walked downstairs. He hadn't planned on telling Emily about his retirement, not at dinner, not like this.
He was married for many years now and knew when his wife needed some time on her own. Therefore, he'd chosen not to go to their bedroom, but instead had grabbed the book he'd had in his suitcase and left for the entrance hall for there he'd seen some comfortable looking furniture when they'd arrived for the Bracebridge Dinner.
Hadn't the evening ended so terribly, he would be looking back to dinner much more fondly.
He couldn't help but feel proud.
His daughter – although he didn't always agree with her choices – most certainly knew what she was doing and she seemed to have a strange, but kind-hearted group of friends.
Having descended the staircase he walked towards the cosy-looking couch and sat down. He sighed when his feet were finally relieved of their weight. His knees ached a little.
'You are getting old, Richard Gilmore', he couldn't help but think.
When he picked up his book, he had to laugh shortly.
'And yet I prefer the fate of aging over this,' he thought when he looked at the cover of Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray.
For several minutes he read in silence before he stood up in order to get himself a glass of water or scotch, whatever he'd find first. As soon as he was upright, he stretched his arms unable to suppress a yawn. When he opened his eyes again, his heart nearly stopped beating for he looked straight into the face of a young man sitting on a comfy chair, not more than twelve feet away to his right.
Startled his hand rushed up to grab his chest: "Oh, my!" He exclaimed breathing heavily, "I am sorry, I've not seen you there."
"I didn't mean to startle you," was the calm answer. The boy's voice was rather deep and melodious especially if one considered his height, or lack thereof. The teenager hadn't sat close to him and Emily during dinner and therefore Richard hadn't truly paid attention, but he vaguely remembered a rather short, dark-haired young man.
He wondered how he could have possibly overlooked him for although the boy sat in a darker part of the room, he did sit near the light. The book he held in his hands indicated why this was the case. Richard was unable to read the title, though.
When he looked into the young man's face again, he realized he was being watched. He caught the piercing gaze and thereby recognized dark eyes albeit unable to tell their colour due to the lack of lights. No matter what colour they had, they were very intense and the boy's gaze made Richard feel as if he was being x-rayed.
He walked towards the still sitting young man who stood up the moment he took one step forward.
"Richard Gilmore," he said offering his hand which was hesitantly grasped by the younger man who most definitely did not prefer this form of greeting for he seemed tense and pulled his hand back quickly. He had slender but remarkably strong hands, hands that were obviously used to hard work.
"Jess Mariano… Sir," he added after a moment of silence, seemingly very uncomfortable with the situation. Richard decided to give the young man some space, stepped back and sat down on the couch again.
"Tell me," he started, unable to banish the curiosity from his voice, "when did you come here?"
"About half an hour before you came," was the very neutrally spoken answer.
"That is impossible," Richard replied, rather astonished, "I should have seen you."
"People only see what they expect to see…It's late and there are bedrooms, so you simply assumed there was nobody down here but yourself thus you overlooking me. Besides, you looked as if you preferred to be alone and I don't mind having silent company while reading."
"I see," was all the older man could think of saying. The words had been spoken in a very matter-of-fact tone and it was very hard to deduct the stranger's opinion, "shall we?"
"I'm sorry?"
"I don't mind having silent company while reading, either," Richard clarified his words causing the dark-haired teenager to smirk a little before he opened his book and continued reading.
The older man was a little bewildered, to be honest. Albeit not rarely surrounded by young man coming from good families whose education was excellent, he couldn't remember the last time he'd read a book while having silent company in form of a young man.
For half an hour they read in comfortable silence before Richard started to observe the young man more closely: He was short, about Logan Huntzberger's height, and of slim stature. Richard then started to compare him to the only other young man that had attended to dinner, his granddaughter's boyfriend: Dean was tall, muscular and strong, a real athlete while his gaze was soft and caring. He had been taken completely aback by the hostility Richard had shown towards him on Friday Night Dinner many months ago. This man before him – Jess – almost looked tiny in comparison, but his eyes seemed calculating and sharp.
Dean was like a dog while Jess reminded Richard of a cat.
He then took a glance at the book once again, but was unable to read the title.
"Oliver Twist," he suddenly heard the young man's voice causing him to startle yet again. He looked up only to be dissected by those dark eyes.
"Charles Dickens," Richard said impressed, "do you have to read it for school?" All he received was a derisive, short laughter.
"Heaven forbid if we read anything interesting for school. We've been discussing Shakespeare ever since this year started."
"William Shakespeare is one of the most important authors in English Literature, young man," Rory's grandfather replied disapprovingly.
At that Jess closed his book without looking at the page he'd been at: "That's what they tell you in your first class, a statement that will be repeated for the rest of your life until you actually start to believe it, the same mundane, meaningless way your teachers have come to believe it whose instructors were already confronted with the same mindless sentence." His piercing dark eyes glimmered, a testimony for their bearer's intelligence as well as passion.
"Such a statement can only be made if you give other authors the same amount of time and thought, but nobody does that, therefore you cannot compare Shakespeare which admittedly makes him unique, but the matter of importance cannot be discussed. Besides, tell me, how many books that were written within the past fifty years were actually inspired by Shakespeare's writing? I'm not talking about superficial references to Romeo and Juliet or Macbeth, I'm talking about his style, his narrative skill." There was silence for a moment before the young man continued, "Practically none and definitely nothing worth reading, because let's face it: Shakespeare is dead… has been for a very long time. The language he used has changed, developed and evolved. No matter how brilliant his pieces are… It's over:
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
Young son, it argues a distempered head
So soon to bid good morrow to they bed.
Let's face it: Had you greeted me like this I would either think you're crazy or would start to mock you mercilessly. He was good, great even, but the written word didn't stop with Shakespeare, otherwise the both of us would be reading junk."
"What tells you I'm not reading Shakespeare?" Richard smiled. He was impressed, he had to admit. The young man had a strong opinion and certainly knew how to express it.
"First of all, I can see the title. Second of all, it only makes sense to take along a book written in the 19th century to a dinner inspired by the 19th century, albeit in your case the book was released nearly at the end of that particular century." A smirk was formed by the young man causing Richard to smile in return.
"Judging by your former words I take it you've never tried to explain your sentiments to your teachers," Richard half asked, half stated. This caused the young man's demeanour to darken, for the split of a second his face displayed anger, then bitterness only to be followed by disillusionment. A moment later there was a mask of indifference in place.
"It's the same as in the insurance business, Mr Gilmore. Schools prefer drones. As soon as you step out of the line you not only are but remain an outcast. Not only because they don't let you back into the circle, but because by watching those inside, you don't have the slightest inclination of returning." Richard couldn't help but stare at the young man in front of him for despite Jess not being older than Rory, his eyes displayed wisdom and experience in a way they made the retired man feel as if he was talking to a contemporary instead of a teenage boy.
"I didn't know you overheard this part of the conversation at dinner."
"The shocked silence following your words was kind of hard to miss," was the cocky reply.
"I apologize," Richard said honestly, slightly ashamed of having caused a scene.
"Don't. At least not to me," there was a slight undertone in the boy's voice, but Richard was unable to identify its meaning.
"I'll apologize to my wife, of course," the older man said when he thought the undertone to be demanding.
Jess' eyebrows were lifted a little and his eyes glimmered mockingly revealing the boy's sarcastic nature once more, only this time it wasn't in form of a derisive dismissal of the school system but in form of a humorous gesture. Richard liked this form of humour because it always required some level of intelligence and because he himself had a sarcastic streak albeit never as strongly or openly as his daughter or this young man before him.
"I will," he repeated, shortly before revealing why he hesitated with his apology, "if only I knew what to say or how to make her feel better…"
Jess sat there silently his piercing gaze didn't avoid him for a beat.
"I don't know your wife as well as you do, or better I don't know her at all. Why haven't you told her?"
"Well, she… likes order, she's very organized and writes lists all the times," Richard said, unnoticed by him his voice grew softer when he spoke of Emily, "I completely threw over our financial plans for the future and I just couldn't see that look of disappointment on her face."
"You know what to do, then," the young man said and stood up, "I'll leave you to it." Without saying anything more, the slim figure walked away towards the staircase. His stride was silent and graceful making Richard realize that his cat reference wasn't this far off.
Otherwise the eldest male Gilmore was stunned. What did the young man mean by…? Of course, financial plans… He would make a list to know what losses would have to be considered for the future. A pen and piece of paper was already on the small table before him. Before he picked those up, he said: "Thank you, Jess."
He caught the young man's gaze who waved his hands dismissively, but his shoulder were hunched, obviously feeling uncomfortable with Richard's gratitude.
Therefore, he decided to change topic: "I must say that this was the most stimulating conversation concerning literature I've had in a very long time."
Jess only smirked in return: "I wish I could say the same, but unfortunately I've met your granddaughter."
Proudly, Richard straightened up before he started to laugh: "Well, I can accept that." His granddaughter was in a league of her own and he was glad that this young man saw it.
"But it was the best literary conversation I've had with an adult in many years," the dark-haired teenager amended, the smirk was still there, albeit not as evident as when it was first formed.
"Goodnight, Jess."
"Mr Gilmore," the boy nodded.
A little author's note: I am not quite sure how thoroughly Shakespeare is being discussed in the American School System… I used it as analogy for my experience in German literature class at school: We've discussed Goethe's "Die Leiden des jungen Werthers" ("The suffering of young Werther"? – I've no idea if there's an English title for it) for such a long time and though admittedly Goethe did write some excellent pieces... This book is simply painful to read.
Additionally you're being smothered by it causing all interest you've ever had in literature to disappear for a long time thus resulting in you not picking up a book written by Goethe or any other of the "important authors" ever again or at least not for many years after you finished school.
What kind of experiences have you had in literature class?
This story was written in honour of a potential friendship that was never mentioned in the show. For I cannot help but think that they would have gotten along, especially as long as Rory and Jess weren't seeing each other.
Please, tell me what you think!
Question: Does anybody want me to continue this in form of a multi-chapter fic (it would be shorter than Nobody cries for the Wicked; )?