This story takes place after episode 5.09 Emily Says Hello. The first 7 paragraphs are basically taken from that episode to set the scene.
What would've happened if Rory hadn't fallen asleep during her study date with Marty? Would Marty have mustered the courage to tell her how he feels?
I do not own the characters.
Chapter 1. Now Entering Peyton Place, Population 9875
Marty sat on his bed in his cluttered little dorm room and leaned against the wall. Rory, who lay back against his pillow, had needled her toes in behind him and was contentedly warming them against the small of his back. Though the touch was platonic, Marty thought perhaps it brought him even more pleasure than it did her.
"I broke up with my boyfriend this week," Rory explained, after he'd asked her about her troubles. "That was fun. In front of a bunch of people at my grandmother's house. And then, 'cause apparently that wasn't enough Peyton Place for me, I have this whole thing going with my dad who's suddenly back in my life again."
"Yeah dads can be tough," Marty said, reminded of his own soap-operatic life.
"I spent so many years just… well I couldn't wait 'til he showed up and now he's showing up and… I don't know… I'm just really tired." Rory lay back on Marty's pillow, her legs making even greater contact with Marty's torso now, and warming him as well.
With all that had happened recently in his own life, Marty felt that this was a subject he could contribute to. "You know, once I found out my father wasn't really my father, we started getting along much better."
"Stop it," she chided, amused.
"I'm serious. Suddenly the pressure was off. If something happens I don't have to automatically give him the kidney. I can weigh my options. It was a real turning point in our relationship," he joked dryly.
"Come on. You'd still give him the kidney." When Marty only smiled, she added, "Admit it."
Marty chuckled. "Probably," he admitted sheepishly. "If it matched."
"So do you call him Dad or Uncle or what?"
"We're still smoothing out the edges on that. Sometimes I'll call him by his first name – Rick – but the other day, I was about to call him Dad and I caught myself and it came out like "Dick" instead. From the way he looked at me, I'm not sure if he took it as a short form of Richard or as a body part." Marty smiled when Rory giggled. "It's cool though. I usually call him Rick, baring any slips of the tongue."
"It sounds so… amazing. What's it like to suddenly find out your dad's not your dad?"
"I know," Marty agreed. "I don't know what I could compare it to. It's exactly as freaky as it sounds. There's this man, and you've called him Dad all your life, and he's called you Son, and he's raised you and enforced the rules and, although you don't see eye to eye, he's called all the shots. And then one day, twenty years later, you and your dad walk into the kitchen…" Marty gestured in a "Behold This" way. "And your mother is sitting there at the table. And she's looking at you so seriously that you expect she's gonna tell you you only have three months left to live. And then she just drops this bombshell: she had an affair with her brother-in-law… oh, about nine months before you were born."
"Wow."
Marty absentmindedly toyed with a frayed hem on his pillow, weighing his words before continuing. "So suddenly, I'm looking at this man that I thought was my father and I'm realizing why we're such different personalities. And in the process, I'm realizing that I have to accept the fact that I'm me and that I'm not necessarily who he'd like me to be."
Rory nodded. "Yeah."
"What's even more weird is that Uncle Jerry is my real father – and he doesn't even know it yet."
"No!"
"Yeah. My mom hasn't told him yet. Meanwhile, I've been avoiding seeing him. It's too weird. I mean I barely know the guy but, from the things I do know, I'm starting to realize how much he sounds like me. And the last time I saw him, I was staring at him like some kind of psychotic. I don't want to creep the poor guy out but I just can't stop staring now."
Throughout Marty's words, Rory was attentively listening, occasionally nodding. Now she spoke up. "Some of it kind of sounds like my family. I never knew much about mine either, until I was fifteen. What I did know was from strained holiday dinners and from my mother's stories."
Rory absently twirled her pen like a baton as she continued. "Then we started having the Friday night dinners and it was the first time I really got to know them. I discovered that they weren't entirely evil, the way my mom sometimes made them sound. I've discovered that I actually like some of the things about them that my mom always hated. I completely understand what you mean about getting to know myself in the process of getting to know them. Until recently it was like my family was my mom and that's it – and now I realize how much of a family we all are and how they are all a part of me."
Through the wall thumped the baseline of a rock tune but, safe in the confines of Marty's bedroom, the two fell into an easy silence, each lost in their own thoughts of family and personal identity. Rory's earlier words also rang in Marty's head. She'd said she'd broken up with her boyfriend. Despite the fact that Marty had broached the subject with her once before, it was the first time she'd even admitted to having one. Marty spoke as casually as he knew how. "So you broke up with your boyfriend?"
Rory's eyes flickered downward. "Yeah. Dean," she said, nodding.
"Ah. Dean," he repeated, rolling the name over his tongue. She'd mentioned Dean before but, until now, it had never been in the "boyfriend" context. "Which one of you broke it off?" he dared ask. "Or was it mutual?"
"It was his idea," she frowned.
"That's tough," he replied with commiseration.
"I'll be fine," she asserted, her expression a stoic indifference layered over tender vulnerability. He could tell from her manner that she was hurt, though her voice was strong.
Marty regarded her carefully. Inside, he was torn. The idea that her boyfriend was out of the picture tickled hope in his heart. However, he never wanted to see Rory unhappy. Knowing that her break up with Dean made her sad hit him over the head like a dread-filled lead weight.
"Were you very close to him?" he asked, stealing another glance in her eyes.
"Yes… No. Um."
Marty couldn't help but smile at her faltering. "Or is it 'D. All of the above'?"
"Well," she tried to explain. "Dean and I are very close in the sense that, we've been together practically forever. We've shared so many firsts... Well," she admitted after a breath. "They were mostly all my firsts, his seconds. But anyway, I love him because of all we've shared together, you know what I mean?"
Marty pursed his lips, identifying with her nostalgia. Rory met his eyes and he waited, silently nodding, for her to continue. When she finally spoke, he listened carefully, heart beating rapidly in the hopes of hearing that her love for Dean was based only in nostalgia.
"But the thing is, he's got a temper. Like, he gets jealous, and often it's over something – or someone – that's less important to me than he is."
Rory gestured in futility, then pulled a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice was low and even. "And as a result, I've kept things from him, in the past, so as to purposely avoid him flying off the handle. If I'm hiding things from him, then I guess I can't really say that we were close, can I? I guess you could say that we had a problem with communication. Everything was always so black and white to him. I could never explain the greys."
With furrowed brow, she continued, agitated. "I'm a little mad at him, actually. He broke up with me because I was fifteen minutes late for our date."
Marty, who'd been idly playing with a pillow thread as he listened to her story, froze. His eyebrows shot up and his expression grew incredulous. "Really? That's the reason?"
"Well…" Rory faltered, shadows playing across her face. "I guess it didn't help that I was late because of a whole bunch of guys. They all followed me out to meet him. But still…" she drifted off, her eyes imploring.
"Bunch of guys?" Her admission seemed a little odd to Marty, at least the way she'd phrased it, but any notion of misdoings was easily squelched. "Did Dean meet you at a sailors' dance hall, or what?"
"Might as well have been." Rory chuckled. She indicated an imaginary marquee across the sky. "'Presenting Rory Gilmore. Ten cents a dance.' But no, it was at my own grandparents' house. They rooked me into attending this meat market set-up party."
"A what?" Marty smiled.
"They invited all of their Yale friends' Yale sons to a party. All those boys… and me," she finished simply. "Ugh! As soon as I saw that, I wanted to run."
"They did, huh?" Marty smirked. "I'm not sure which sounds more bizarre, this party or you dancing for dollars down at the marina."
"Yeah. It was crazy. I swear I was the only girl within a thousand miles; they certainly saw to that. It was humiliating." Rory shook her head. "As if I were so pathetic I couldn't even get a date on my own. I'm a little mad at them too actually," she muttered. "If they hadn't done that, I'd still be with Dean."
The smirk dried up on Marty's face. "So your grandparents threw this party which you would've rather not been at; the Yale Sailors Club keeps you a little late; and Dean breaks up with you? It seems like a minor infraction on your part."
"You're telling me. Sometimes it seems like he blows things right out of proportion."
"Then maybe he isn't worth your while." Marty spoke quietly. "Maybe you're better off without him."
Rory sighed and Marty bit his lip, afraid his suggestion had crossed the line. Although he was tempted to throw a couple figurative stones at the other boy, he didn't want to be offensive. It was a minute or two of Marty's trepidation before she replied. "Maybe. But, like I said, we've been through a lot together: breakups, makeups. He was my first kiss. He was my first lover-" Rory stopped herself and met Marty's gaze, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.
Marty's eye darted to her reclined posture before focusing on the bookshelf across the room. She was sweet and soft lying there. He didn't want to think about her hot and heavy with anyone else. I mean with anyone at all, he amended, feeling the need to censor his thoughts. He could feel his own cheeks burn a bit. "Well, if you've shared all… those things with him, then it makes sense you're having a hard time saying goodbye. That is, if you're saying goodbye."
"What do you mean 'if'?"
"You might still be able to get back together with him, if that's what you wanted," he stated, wishing he'd held his tongue.
"I need to move my legs," she interjected, referring to how her feet were tucked neatly behind the small of Marty's back.
"Oh! Yeah." Marty blinked. He leaned forward and she rolled onto her back, pulling her knees up and to the side. He leaned back against the cold wall.
"I hate the fact that he's out of my life again," Rory admitted, her voice growing hoarse. Marty turned away from her expression and played idly with the lever on his 3 ring binder. He really hoped she wouldn't cry. He needn't have worried though. She took a breath and her voice became strong again. "But to answer your question, no. I'm thinking maybe he's right. Maybe we do belong in different worlds."
"Hmm…"
"I feel bad though. He left Lindsay to be with me."
"Lindsay?"
"His wife."
"Whoa."
"Yeah."
"How old is he?"
"Our age. Going on 20."
"Hmm," Marty uttered in thoughtful staccato. "I'm seeing a whole new section of the 'Rory' portrait now."
"I know. This is the part of the picture I'd rather not reveal. I hate to admit I broke up a marriage, but I have. You know, I should've been stronger and resisted," Rory chided herself. "I never pictured myself as a home wrecker."
"I certainly never did," Marty added in newfound amazement.
"Do you think less of me?"
"Not really," Marty replied vaguely, as he wondered what it was he truly felt about Rory. Here she was. She was so much more to Marty than just a pretty face and he was beginning to learn that there was more to her than he'd even imagined. Intelligence and comic wit sparkled through her ice-blue doe eyes. She was the embodiment of an independent spirit tempered by timidity – a timidity that begged him to take her into his arms and offer her safety.
Tonight, under the low light of his desk lamp, it was merely her softness which showed through. To say that he cared for her was an understatement. But he wondered now, did he really know her?
"Maybe I was just lonely," she wondered, lost in thought. "Sometimes I think I don't know how to be alone… but I don't know how to be with anybody either."
"What do you mean?"
"Well I keep going back to Dean. It's like when I'm alone, I go running to him because he's safe but when I'm with him, I don't know how to stay with him. When I'm with him, my eyes wander."
"If your eyes are wandering, then they must be looking for something that's missing." Rory nodded, encouraging Marty to continue. "I'm sure you'll meet someone who fills in the blanks."
"I hope I don't. I don't want to be with anybody anymore."
After a moment, Marty nodded, the feeling of dry chalk in his throat. "Right. Dating's overrated."
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