A/N
Of all the many, many questionable moves made by TPTB, the exclusion of the bonfire scene from episode 7.05, The Big Stink, is probably the single most head-scratching to me. (And I am NOT just saying this because it's pretty much the only Luketime in the entire episode, and he's replaced by scene after scene of Lor/Chris shmoopieness. Cack.) The scene is wonderfully understated, it is beautifully shot, and it conveys so much with very few words. It's crucial to the story arc, as it shows us that Luke is now aware of, and devastated by, the L/C coupling. It is also pivotal because it has the town accepting April as one of their own, and becoming part of Stars Hollow life. Plus it shows the development of the Luke-April bond to something more like a real father-daughter. (Whatever your shark-jumping feelings about April, if she's there, might as well make it work, right?) And, finally, it's the townies together in the square-who can ever have too much of that?
Anyway, before you read this story, please, if you haven't already, watch the deleted bonfire scene it is based on. It's available on season 7 DVD sets, on YouTube and, if you really don't want to watch, you can just read the transcripts. But picture a very dark mood while you're reading.
Oh, and I sent Rory home. She was bugging me, all happy in the car with her mommy and daddy, and since she actually cannot be seen in the shot of the car as it drives by Luke, I say they dropped her off at home first. That's about as AU as I've ever been, or probably ever will be, so go with it. The rest, as usual, could conceivably fit into canon if you need it to.
Please remember, both the Ls are feeling very, very angry, hurt and betrayed at this point. I'm kind of attempting to reflect this in the writing, which is more intense than usual for me. This will be a two-shot, and the second half will hopefully be a bit more uplifting, but fair warning on this first part.
From the Frying Pan into the Fire
For a moment, she doesn't recognize him. His hat is different. Even in the dead of night, she can tell it is darker. Ominous. He's got his arm around April, who seems to be holding court in front of the large bonfire. She watches from the car window as the townspeople gather around the precocious girl, listening to her pontificate, the way they once did with her daughter. She feels aggravated, jealous. What bothers her more? That the town has come to know and love April as the new and improved Rory? Or that the town has come to know and love April, period?
"Pull over," she orders. "Stop the car."
"What?" Christopher stares at her, incredulous. "It stinks here. Let's just go back to your place."
"It stinks everywhere in this town, Chris."
"You said it, not me," he quips.
"I am going to that bonfire," she declares. This is her town. Hers. "And I am going with you, Chris." She bolts from the car. "Come on."
She walks quickly toward the action. Her anger is palpable now. Her eyes are narrowed and her gait is forceful. Painful memories flicker in time with the flame.
...I can't be in this relationship-it's too much…
...You're practically a cartoon character…
...So we're not getting married, big deal…
...I could care less, date whoever you want…
...You belong with someone like Christopher…
'You got it,' she seethes. She marches defiantly toward the crowd, holding Christopher's hand.
'Careful what you wish for, Buddy.'
He watches them approach from the corner of his eye, pretending to be focused on April's marshmallow stick. On the outside, he looks the cool, doting dad. But his internal heat is beginning to rival that of the fire. 'What the hell does she think she's doing?' he fumes to himself. 'Showing up here. With him.' He stares hard at the stick. It looks so flimsy. Saggy and feeble. But he sees it can survive the flame whereas a solid stick would be consumed. He steals a quick glance at Christopher. 'Is she actually dating him now? Well, you told her to, Putz. Threw her to the wolves.' He looks at her fleetingly. She stands tall and proud, holding her date's hand. 'No, you didn't throw her. She jumped. Face it, Dean was right. Emily was right. Hell, even TJ was right. She was slumming. Biding her time until she could run to him and crush you like a bug. She wants more than this, more than you, more than Stars Hollow. Always did.' He pulls a pocket knife from his jacket and begins to whittle needlessly at the end of April's stick. Shards of soft green wood flick onto the ground. 'But this is Stars Hollow,' he ponders. 'So what is she doing? Bringing him here. Taunting you. In front of the whole town. He doesn't belong here. They don't belong here.' This is his town. His. He stands up straight, and stares directly into the fire he created.
Before the new couple can quite make it to the main crowd, they are curtailed by Babette and Morey Dell, Stars Hollow Peacekeeping Squad.
"Hey, dollface," Babette smiles warily at her neighbor. "Oh, uh, hi, Christopher," she adds with a nervous glance at the pair's joined hands.
"Hey, what's the haps, Babette?" she asks lightly, hoping she sounds like her old self. It has been a while.
"Oh, well, you heard about the pickles-well, even if you didn't it would be hard to miss, am I right, gorgeous? Anyway, it's from a train all the way out by Woodbury, you know. At first, we thought maybe Kirk pulled another Kirk, like the Easter egg fiasco from," Babette looks up at her husband, "when was it, 2002, 2003, Morey?"
"Oh-four, Babs. Very uncool aroma."
"But that was nothing compared to this, let me tell ya," Babette continues to ramble. A mixture of general unease and Founder's Day punch make her forget her mission of harmony. "So we were making a fire to combat the stink, you know, like April over there suggested. God bless her, that adorable little brainiac. And it's going really well, don'tcha think it smells better, at least right here in the square? She's one smart cookie, that April, I'm telling ya." Morey nudges her discretely. As discretely as a six-foot-seven man can nudge his five-foot-zero wife. Babette starts over. "Oh, I mean, we were making a fire to combat the stink, 'cause it's kinda the same as lighting a match in the crapper, if you get what I mean. But we've all been out here a while and we've run out of firewood, so now we're just throwing stuff into the giant bin, 'cause it's fun."
"Crazy fun," Morey elaborates.
"And it's driving Taylor over there nutso," Babette continues. "Well, more nutso than usual, I mean. 'Course it didn't help when he came out with a Stars Hollow ordinance book and L-." She stops short and looks at Morey for approval before continuing, "Uh, someone grabbed it right out of his hands and tossed it in the fire. 'Course Kirk went in after it, the big suck up. Dumb goofball's off getting bandaged."
Morey nods solemnly just as Miss Patty appears at their side.
"Here, I knew I had more," Patty says, slightly winded. "These flyers were left over from my last recital. Kirk was supposed to print up two dozen, and he printed up two hundred. And here are the pants Kirk split open last month trying to prove he could still fit into his Friedrick Von Trapp costume from 5th grade." She calls across the open flame, "April, honey, I checked. They're pure cotton, not even a zipper, so they're okay to throw in." As she moves toward the bin with her stash, she finally notices who is beside her.
"Well, hello, dear. I'm so glad you came." Patty says. "Uh, these are those pants you said couldn't be mended, so I- Oh, hello Christopher. So glad to see you back in town," she says skeptically. She looks worriedly to Babette, who simply shrugs back. "Visiting your daughter?"
"Actually, I came for the contest." Christopher calls after Patty.
"Contest, honey?" Patty continues upon her return from the bin.
"Miss Patty or a great big fire-which is hotter?" he replies with a smarmy grin.
Patty is less guarded than her friend, more susceptible to Christopher's charms, such as they are. All of her trepidation falls away with the flirting. "And what did you determine, dear boy?"
"Make way, coming through." Gypsy brusquely interrupts on her way to the fire. "Here, Doose's bills. I don't know why I keep these," she grumbles. "No returns no matter what. Damn cheapskate, Taylor!" she calls out loudly in Taylor's direction. The Selectman stands over by a picnic table, flipping through the charred ordinance book to locate the anti-bonfire by-law. When he hears his name, he looks up, smiles and waves, and then goes back to his task. Gypsy throws the receipts in the bin one at a time, which seems to thrill the crowd. Each thin strip of toner-laden paper makes the flame spark and jump.
Gypsy finishes her turn and is summoned to the small gathering that has formed farther back.
"Hey, Gypsy, you've met Christopher, right? Chris, tell Gypsy about that cool red convertible. I mean, I could tell you it's cool and red, but Chris can tell you details about horses and Vs that would…oh, hey, Kirk! How's the hand? Let's see, poor baby. Wow, great bandaging job, Lulu. Mrs. Cassini, is that a new cardigan?" The small faction grows larger, drawn to the new Heather. Emily Gilmore would be proud of her daughter's networking.
He and April now stand alone at the fire. 'What is she doing now? Building an army? What, no ribbons this time?' he sneers to himself. Ed approaches, tosses in a candy bar wrapper. He nods to his old buddy and allows him to retreat without a word. He can rise above her childish tactics, but he can't seem to look away from the new-found clique. Or its de facto leader.
Back at the fire, April stops roasting. She glances up questioningly toward whatever seems to be distracting her father. She sees the answer, standing with some people she is acquainted with, and some she isn't. April raises her arm in a small greeting. It is a simple wave of recognition from a young girl to someone she once met, someone her Dad used to know. It is not angry; it holds no agenda.
But it stops its recipient cold.
'Oh Shit.' She drops Christopher's hand in order to return April's gesture, but stands frozen instead. 'Why did she do that? What is she up to, with that wave? Can a wave be genetic?' She tries to regroup. 'Come on, she's just a kid. Wave back.' But all she can do is stare.
If April is flummoxed by the lack of reciprocity, she doesn't show it. She looks back to the fire, then up at her father. "Dad, Taylor might, might," she winces, "have a tiny point, now that we're tossing random things in. I don't know about the marshmallow roasting now, with all the potential unknown carcinogens. It's not exactly the wisest thing when we were just burning wood, but now…" She notices he's only half listening, that his eyes are still focused on the woman across the fire. She tries to get his attention. "Dad?"
He hears her clearly, but pretends he doesn't. He wants to make sure everyone can hear her call him Dad. 'Say it again, April. Louder!' He's Dad now. 'That didn't take long. She could have waited.'
"DAD!"
'She could have waited, damn it! You waited for her. She never waits. She just jumps- says whatever the hell she wants, does whatever the hell she wants, whenever the hell she wants, everyone else be damned.' He stares hard at the crackling, cackling flames and reflects.
...I want the whole package…
...I don't want to wait…
...I planned our whole wedding. June 3rd, by the way…
...I asked you to marry me and you said yes…
...I'm tired of waiting, it's now or never…
He finally turns away from the fire, back to his daughter.
"Okay, so we'll stop with the marshmallows then. I think I've just about had my fill of s'moreos." He hopes to God she heard that too. Just in case, he adds at full volume, "Loved the s'moreos though, thanks, Sweetie."
"What's that Andrew?" someone in the horde inquires about his odd-looking stack of pressed cardboard.
"Book covers." Andrew explains, "When a book is damaged and I have to send it back, they make you rip the cover off. Kirk got a little overzealous last year when I had him doing inventory, and this is what's left over."
Christopher leans in and murmurs, "Okay, so, basically, Kirk is Star's Hollow's Gilligan."
She likes the idea of speaking softly back to Christopher. It makes for a good visual. She smiles, giggles too loudly, and whispers back. "Gilligan, Urkell, Skippy Handleman, Larry Mondello and Potsie Webber, with just a little Boo Radley thrown in for the literati. But he's all ours. Welcome to the Hollow, Babe." She deliberately caresses Christopher's arm as she speaks. Toys with his hair. Her body language implies that she is whispering something very different than a list of sitcom nerds. As she predicts, hopes, they are being watched. But she has miscalculated the effect of the PDA.
'Is that supposed to make you jealous?' He scoffs. He is still far too angry to miss her touch. The only physical contact he currently craves is with him, not her. His fist, Christopher's face. 'Man, hitting him felt good,' he remembers. 'To hell with her.'
She senses her performance is not going well. She tries to up the ante. More whispering. "We have to put something in the fire, Chris."
"Why?" Christopher asks suspiciously.
"Because," she states simply, "it's my turn." She moves closer to the fire. The rest of the throng follows. It seems the whole town is now surrounding the large bin. She leads Christopher toward the flame.
Christopher shrugs, but follows dutifully. "OK, so what do you want from me? Where's your purse?" He asks.
"I sent it home with Rory."
Rory. The word shoots across the flame, straight into his soul. His head jerks up in recollection.
...I don't want to set a date until things are right with Rory…
...Rory's back; we can get married now…
'Whatever she wants. Whenever she wants.' He clenches his jaw.
Once up at the fire, Christopher looks around, helpless. "Of all the times not to have that bag of crap with you," he jokes. Patty and Babette snicker. "Everyone knows your purse is legendary. It could keep this party going for hours." More giggles and nods of recognition. "OK, well," he continues, encouraged by the welcoming response, "unlike some people, I keep things pretty neat." Christopher pulls out his eelskin wallet.
He tries not to look toward the laughing crowd. His stomach turns at the thought of that weasel Christopher ingratiating himself to the town. His town. 'Christopher will never fit in here,' he tells himself. 'If she wants to be with him, let them both move away. This is your town. Yours.' He feels the bile rise in his throat. His jaw tightens further. His chest begins to heave. 'Stay calm,' he tells himself. 'For April.' He un-balls his fists and puts an arm around his daughter. He takes deep breaths to control himself, but the air feels thick and smoky.
Fortunately, before things escalate, Christopher himself breaks the tension. By being Christopher. "I myself don't have much to toss in," he drones. "I clean it out every few weeks, but here's a few bucks for fun."
There are a few seconds of stunned silence. Then all hell breaks loose.
"That guy threw in real money!" one of the Banyan Boys shrieks.
"I can get it out!" Kirk lunges toward the fire, but Lulu holds him back.
"Holy…" yells Big Pete.
"…crap!" finishes Little Pete.
The commotion draws Taylor's attention. He comes trotting over.
"Was that actual legal tender? Now I know that's a violation, ordinance book or not." He points a finger at Christopher. "You can't willfully burn money, young man. It's un-American."
"That's flags, Taylor, you idiot!" Gypsy yells back.
"Did he just throw money in there?" Brian asks incredulously. "I had gum for lunch."
This is not the attention she was hoping to garner. "Oh my God, Chris!"
"What? It was just two ones and a five. It's not like I threw in the fifties," he cajoles as they retreat.
"Who is this jerk-off?" mutters Bootsy. He is en route to the bin, holding a large stack of small papers.
"Shut it," Gypsy replies from the corner of her mouth. "I'll tell you later."
"Don't bother," Bootsy shrugs, turning toward the flame, "It was a, whaddayacall it, a restorical question. Here ya go," he states dejectedly. "Lottery tickets. Losers every one. I don't know why I kept them." Into the bonfire goes Bootsy's wad of lotto tickets. "I should just stop playing. My luck never changes."
Luck. The word jolts him once again.
...Keep that in your wallet, Duke. It'll bring you luck…
...You're lucky I'm back in your life, because clearly you were lost without me. Right?...
He shakes his head slowly at the memories. 'It's all a game to her. You were just another pawn.'
...Man, I will say anything for a cup of coffee…
'Whatever she wants. Whenever she wants it.'
He looks across the flame, seeking her out. She is already watching him. 'Good.' He tightens his grip on April, draws her closer, kisses her head. She, in turn, snuggles into Christopher, places a hand on his chest, wraps her arms around him. Around Christopher.
...I slept with Christopher…
His internal rant builds once again. His eyes narrow, but do not look away. 'Is she taunting you? Why did she come here, anyway? To April's thing? To the bonfire you built? Why did she come with him? Why'd she get out of his car? Why'd she get in his car in the first place?
FUCK HER.'
He takes a deep steadying breath. He tries to calm himself again. But he is too far gone now. Completely enraged. He releases April and stands tall, arms folded challengingly. She matches his stance exactly, having disentangled from Christopher. From Christopher.
...I slept with Christopher...
'Fuck.'
...It'll bring you luck…
'Her.'
Minutes pass.
Across the flame, two sets of blue eyes pierce into each other; ocean and sky, reflecting between them equal measures of hurt, shame, guilt and fury.
He steps to the bonfire's edge. Without breaking eye contact, he very deliberately reaches into his back pocket, and slowly opens his wallet. He glares at her unflinchingly as he carefully pulls out a yellowed piece of newsprint.
He holds it up to his face at eye level, slowly and methodically balls it up, and tosses it with a flick it into the flame.
"Losing ticket?" Bootsy claps him on the back in a rare show of solidarity.
"Something like that, Bootsy," he answers coolly. His eyes still bore into hers. His clenched jaw allows his mouth only the tiniest of triumphant smirks.
"Well, Butch, old buddy-here's to changed luck!"