A/N: Well, I just wanted to write something else but 'Breathe', and since I'm not starting a new story before it's finished, a one-shot had to do. And since it Christmas and I just listened to different songs from The Julekalender, I was in a serious Christmas mood.
Please tell me what you think of it.
Also, if you don't like Rory being OOC, you shouldn't read this.
Disclaimer: Yes, I own the plot. The characters, no.
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Our place:
It is early October.
The weather is cold. People are already dressed in thick jackets, scarf wrapped around their necks and gloves covering their hands. A thin layer of frost lays on the before green grass, now making it a beautiful blinding white. The trees have long ago lost their leaves, the few that haven't, has turned a mixture of red, yellow and brown.
Everything seems cold. Dead. So does she.
She shivers as the cold wind meets her bare skin. In only a pair of jeans and a thin sweater, she is freezing.
She debates on whether or not to go home, but decides against it.
At home, he waits.
She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her mouth. She can't help but think about him, only stops when a cold wind hits her face. The wind makes her nose and cheeks turn a soft red, almost making her look sweet and innocent.
She is anything but that.
Pulling out a cigarette, she holds it to her mouth and wraps her lips around it. She finds a lighter in her pocket and lit the cigarette. Taking a deep drag of it, she almost smiles.
It amazes her that the only thing, that can make her feel better, is such a small thing made of paper and tobacco.
She stays like that for about half an hour. It has become a sort of habit of hers. Whenever she feels frustrated or annoyed, or simply just wants to be alone, she goes here, takes a smoke and just enjoys the silence around her.
But this day, she isn't alone. She can feel eyes on her.
She turns around slowly and sees a dark-haired guy staring at her. His eyes are emerald, narrowed and indifferent. Maybe just a tiny bit curious.
He's lean, tall. Even with his dark pants and coat covering his body, she can tell he is muscular. His face, despite the fact that it's almost winter, is tanned; a golden brown. A hint of red's covering his cheeks, kind of like her. His hair is a bit long and a dark brown, messed up and curled at the ends. Almost like morning-hair. Or sex-hair. She can't really tell.
For one of the first times in a long time, she's surprised. Maybe even a bit intrigued. She hits it well, though.
They lock eyes for a second or two, before she looks away. She turns around again, only to hear him move toward her and stand beside her.
"Can I bom a smoke?"
His voice is harsh, yet nice. He has some sort of accent, but she can't place it.
She doesn't answer, she usually doesn't. Only finds a cigarette in her pocket and hands it to him wordlessly, receiving a small nod from him. He wraps his lips between it, as she holds her lighter to the end, lighting it.
"Sooo," he says hesitantly, after he takes a drag, and looks around at all the trees and bushes. "Come here often?"
She turns to him, looks him in the eye and shrugs. Casually, nonchalantly and indifferently. "Sometimes, yes," she answers and looks away again.
"Why?"
His bluntness should surprise her, or annoy her, yet it doesn't. Maybe for a few years ago, but not now. She has met many of his types.
"I like to be alone." She looks at him, lifting an eyebrow and sends him a silent message.
He gets it.
The end of his mouth starts to curl slightly. "Well, normally I would bugger off, after you very subtle message, but it just so happens, that I have nowhere to go."
He pouts and she finds it oddly cute, but her face stays unaffected.
"Sucks to be you then," she says as she takes a drag of her cigarette. She blows out the smoke, in small nicely shaped rings.
He whistles. "Impressive."
"Thank you."
Finally a smile spreads itself on his lips. It's goofy, but not an actual smirk or grin. Just amused and… sincere.
"I'm Finn," he says in a sweet voice. "Or Finnegan. But I prefer Finn."
He sticks his hand out and she looks at it for a while, before shaking hands with him. His hand, his skin, is rough against hers. His hold is tight, strong, hers is weak and without energy.
"Rory." She pauses and ads, "Or Lorelai. Depends on which side of the family you are." With a shrug, she lets go of his hand.
"I like Rory," he decides quickly as he nods his head once. "It's special."
Something between a bitter and a sincere smile comes to her lips. But as soon as it comes, it's gone.
"Special, you say?" She shakes her head. "Don't quite know if that's a complement or an insult."
"Definitely the first."
His voice is so sincere, that she can't help but turn to him. Maybe expecting to see a teasing sparkle in his eyes, or a bitter smile covering his lips. Something to tell her, that he's playing with her.
But his eyes, his face, his everything is serious and sincere.
"Why are you here?" she asked suddenly, her blue narrowed eyes staring intensely at him.
"Like I said, had nowhere else to go," he repeats. "And it's peaceful here. No one to annoy you or talk you ear off. Just you, silence and nature."
She blinks, surprised.
"I use to come here all the time before we moved back to Australia," he explains. "Trust me, if you knew my mother, father and siblings, you would understand why I need a quiet place."
"I do," she says. "Understand, that is."
"You've got siblings?" he asks her, taking the last drag of his cigarette before throwing it on the ground and crushes it with his food.
If possible, her mood becomes worse. "Nah. Just my dad."
Something much like a frown appears on his face. He obviously don't understand. "Your dad?"
"Yep," she answers casually, as she stands up. "My dad." With one glance down the watch on her wrist, she turns to him. "Well, maybe I'll see you later."
With that, she's gone.
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She does. See him again, that is.
Tree days after their first encounter, he's there again, leaning against her favourite tree. A smoke is already placed between two of his fingers, while his other hand in hidden in one of his pockets. A knowing smile is on his face, almost as if he knew she would come.
She's not sure if she should go home or not. But like always, she decides against it.
"You know," she replies as she walks over to him. "That is my tree."
He looks up, an all too innocent expression on his face. She can see a hint of a smirk, too.
"Really?" He looks around, before settling his eyes on her again. "I didn't know that trees could be owned. Well, I know they can, but I don't see your name on this one."
She rolls her eyes. "I always stand by that tree. Always."
"I understand that," he says as he nods his head seriously. "It's a damn good tree."
"That's my tree," she repeats, her voice turning annoyed.
"Hey, crazy idea! Why don't we share it?"
He pats the tree, as he finally cracks a smile. She's really annoyed and want to tell him to piss off, but before she knows what's happening, her legs is moving toward him.
"You did this to piss me off?" she asks, once she's standing beside him.
"Maybe," he answers. "Or maybe I find you interesting and want to talk to you."
"Why?"
He hands her a smoke and she takes it willingly and wordlessly.
"Why what?" he asks.
She rolls her blue eyes again and sighs. "Why do you want to know me? I already know, I'm don't exactly come off as a people-person," she tells him. "So, why?"
He shrugs. "You intrigue me."
"I intrigue you?"
"Very much," he nods.
She decides to let go of that subject and only nods her again, as if she understood.
"Australia, you said?" she suddenly asks. "You used to live in Australia?"
"I did. Beautiful, I tell you. The beaches full on white sand, the sun always big and red and the great people, always good for a laugh."
He smiles faintly to himself, looking much like he's lost in memory. After a few seconds, he snaps back.
"Not like you American people," he teases.
"How do you know I'm American?" she protest as she cross her arms over her chest, her nose in the air.
He smiles at her and shrugs. "Everything screams 'American'. Your clothes, your haircut, your voice, the way you are."
"You've only spoken to me twice, you can't possibly know how I am," she says.
"And yet I do."
He gives no more explanation, but just leaves it at that. She wants to ask him about it, but she won't. She can't possible care what he thinks of her.
"One day, I'm moving back," he announces.
"Really?"
"Yep. I do love American, but nothing beats Australia," he says truthfully. "Plus my family and friends are back there, I couldn't stand to be away from them for too long."
She doesn't hide the laugh, that leaves her mouth. Sadly, she would enjoy just that.
"You are a softie, huh?" she asks.
"I just love my family," he defends jokingly.
"Yeah…"
A silence fills them. It's not entirely awkward, but yet not too comfortable either.
She takes the time to really look at him. She's never noticed how grown up he really looks. His face is strong and defined, his brows thick and dark. His eyes somehow seem so full of wisdom and experience, like he knows all there is to know and have done all there is to done.
He looks so confident, so sure of himself. Not any self-doubt, not any insecurity.
She envies that. When she looks at herself in the mirror, she still sees that scared little girl.
His voice makes her snap back to reality.
"You've ever been there? Australia?"
She looks at him, still a little shocked. Finally, she shakes her head. "No. I've never been anywhere."
He laughs, and she likes that sound.
"Maybe one day I'll take you," he answers as he looks at her quickly and winks.
Despite herself, she can't help but want him to.
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She no longer comes there to be alone. She comes to see him. To see him smile, to hear him laugh. Just to be near him.
The fact that he makes her feel this way, that he is able to make her feel this way, scares her.
The fact that she knows this and comes anyway, terrifies her more than she would like to admit.
But this day, when she comes, he's not his usual self. She sees it immediately.
Instead of the usual smile, there's a frown on his face. His brows are furrowed, and his eyes are staying fixated on the ground. He's still smoking, but it's not his first. She can see the many cigarettes laying on the ground.
As she sits next to him on the cold grass, she feel him tense. Stiff. He doesn't say hallo, he doesn't even look at her.
She knows something is really wrong.
"Hey," she whispers, as she brings her hand up to caress his knee. "What's wrong?"
Maybe for the first time since she has met him, he doesn't answer her.
She tries again. "Finn. What is wrong?"
Finally he looks up at her. His eyes are cold, icy. "Nothing's wrong," he says as he shakes his head. "Everything is bloody fine."
She rolls her eyes. "Oh, it is? So why the hell are you acting all moody?"
"So you are the only one, that's allowed to be moody and feel sorry for yourself?" he snaps at her. When he sees her shocked expression, his own softens. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."
She bites her lip while she nods her head. "Of course you didn't," she agrees and looks away.
She hears him sigh and breathe deeply beside her.
"My family wants me to come back, Rory," he admits, his voice quiet. "Actually, they are demanding me to come back."
For a moment, she's sure her heart stopped beating. But like always, she stays unaffected.
"To Australia?" she asks, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah."
"Well…" she begins, avoiding his green eyes. "That's a good thing, right? You always said you wanted to go back one day."
He stays quiet for a minute or two, and she lets him. His fingers find her hand and he draws small circles on them.
The feeling is almost killing her. Even more is knowing that maybe he won't be able to do that forever.
"That was before I knew you," he finally answers.
She forces herself to look at him. His green eyes are filled with hurt and sorrow. She's afraid that if she doesn't look away, hers will match his.
"I don't want to go," he suddenly says.
She shakes her head. "Of course you do, Finn."
"I don't want to leave you here."
"I'll be fine," she says with a shrug.
And the fact, that she knows she's lying to him and herself, kills her.
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It's been days since he left. Weeks. Even months.
Actually, it's been one month, one week, two days and a couple of hours precisely.
But who's counting?
She has talked to him a couple of times, usually once every week. He's good, having fun. And it doesn't sounds like he miss her too much. If he even does at all.
But she's not bitter. She tells herself that as she sits by their usual tree and enjoys the view.
It's only been a couple of days, since the first snow of the year fell. Everything is a beautiful white. The trees, the bushes, the ground, everything is covered in snow. Together with the dark evening sky filled with blinking stars, it almost looks magical.
It pains her a little, that he can't be there to see it with her.
As if he had a six sense, her phone stars vibrating. She doesn't need to look at the screen, to know who it is.
"Hey Finn," she says as she answers her phone.
An automatic smile appears on her face, as they talk.
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Usually she loves to come here. It's her escape from the world and all the trouble in it. Here she can be free, she doesn't have a care in the world.
But tonight a weird feeling is filling her body. A mixture of sadness, loneliness and frustration.
And even after her third smoke, the feeling is still there. It won't go away.
It saddens her a little, if not a lot, that even on this great day, she's alone. Everyone else is with their family; eating great food, having fun, singing songs and dancing around the Christmas tree.
Not her. No. Her dad had go work. But at least she got a present.
She glances down at the bracelet on her wrist. 'Daddy's girl' is writing across the silver in small perfect letters.
Daddy's girl? Yeah right.
"You don't like it, love?"
Her breath gets caught in her throat, as she hears his voice. She's afraid to look up, afraid that she's just hearing things.
But when she does, he's there. Finn, standing right there in front of her with that familiar smile on his face.
She shakes her head, as a smile spreads itself on her lips. "It's fine," she answers in a somewhat bored voice. "I just don't like being bought."
He nods his head slowly. "I guess I shouldn't have bought this, then," he says as he holds up a red bag.
She narrowed her eyes and looks at the bag strangely. "You bought me a present?" she whispers.
He shrugs indifferently, but she knows him now. In a few seconds he will crack and smirk like crazy.
"I thought that since it was Christmas, I should get you a present," he tells her. "And it's also my 'It's good to see you again' and 'I'm sorry for leaving'- present."
The smile on her face widened. "Give it to me!" she demands as she holds out her hands, and he laughs.
"I'll take that as an 'I forgive you'," he jokes as he hands it to her.
"There is nothing to forgive." She looks him in the eye to show him that she's serious. "However, I would love to know what you are doing here. On Christmas Eve, nonetheless."
He sits next to her and wraps his arm around her waist, bringing her closer to him. "I guess," he starts, his voice gentle. "I guess I missed you. And I felt like you were the one I wanted to spend this day with."
He doesn't look at her, but she finds herself staring straight at him. His hair is a little longer, his face slightly more pale. But beside that, he looks just the same, she decides with a smile.
She gives him a reassuring smile before opening her present. It's wrapped in the most gorgeous paper, gold with small stars on it.
"I almost don't what to open it," she whispers to him as she stares at it.
"If I knew you would love the paper this much, I would have bought you a roll and not have bothered getting you a present," he teases.
She elbows him the side, making him shout out of fake pain.
"Come on, open it," he says excited.
She does as he says and unwraps it. It's a somewhat big box. When she looks up at him questioning, he just smiles back.
Finally she opened the box and pulls it out.
"You- you bought me…" she trails off, amazed by him.
He looks at the globe in her hands and then back up at her. "You told me you've never been anywhere," he explains. "I figured, in case someone should ask you, you could say you've seen the whole world."
In that moment, she decides that she loves him. She more than loves him.
Running her hands over her face, she sighs. "I don't know what to say."
"'Thank you' would work," Finn says.
She looks up at him with her blue big eyes. "Thank you."
His eyes meet hers. "You are welcome."
They stare at each other as if they haven't seen each other in years. Finally she pulls his face down to hers and their lips meet.
They haven't kiss before, yet as his lips move against hers, it feels like they have done nothing else their entire lives. His one hand cups the back of her head, while hers is caressing his cheeks, playing with his hair.
He's soft, gentle. Treasuring her, adoring her. She feels like she's made of glass, and he will forever make sure she won't break.
When they pull apart, they smile at each other.
"Merry Christmas," he whispers and lays a soft kiss on her lips.
And she knows, that this year, it really is.