Disclaimer: My attempts to take ownership of Gilmore Girls have all been subverted, so they still aren't mine. Not for a lack of trying though. Nor does the song "Breakable" belong to me, it's by Fisher. It's beautiful and I highly recommend downloading it.

A/N: Okay here I go: this is my first GG songfic. I love doing songfics, so if I get good feedback look for more. This covers both the first and second (I took a few small liberties with this) seasons. It's Rory and Tristan POVs. Rating it due to some language. I'm begging you please let me know what you think and be kind, criticism is appreciated as long as it's constructive (you suck, is not constructive). Oh and my next chapter of "There May Be Something There…" should be out this week. Enjoy!

Breakable

            He averted his face from her trying to hide his hurt expression. He hated when they fought. Because there was a difference between friendly banter and cutting words. And sometimes her words cut him right to the bone. Not that she realized. Not that he'd ever let her know how he was hurt by her harsh words.

Do you always have to tell him

Everything on your mind

You know that sometimes too much honesty

Can be so unkind

            It wasn't until the night of Madeline's party that she looked at him, really looked at him, and saw him as well—a person. A human being who could be hurt. Who could be sad. Sitting at that piano both uncharacteristically vulnerable, the kiss took place. It broke her heart because the reality of her breakup set in. What she didn't know was as she fled the room in tears his heart began to break too.

And every time you throw him

To the floor

Why are you surprised to see

He's breakable…

            For an intelligent girl she sure could be clueless, he thought to himself. But this thought didn't echo in fondness as it had last year. He was almost angry because once again she didn't get it. Surprise, surprise he thought sarcastically. She wanted to know why he was avoiding her, weren't they friends she asked. Of course they weren't friends, she 'hated' him. That's what she declared to the bagboy at the end of last year. And she wonders why they aren't friends. You don't publicly declare your hatred for your friends. You don't hate your friends, simple as that. Sometimes he wished he had the ability to hate her…but he couldn't. No matter how much she hurt him.

You always try to find what's

Holding him away from you

But do you ever see your anger

Standing there right between you

            She tried to recall exactly what had happened that day sophomore year, she remembered being annoyed at him for assuming she would go to the concert with him, and even more upset that he had damaged her fragile truce with Paris. And she had been so angry at his arrogance and then she saw Dean and he thought she was with Tristan. So she told him that—oh she remembered now. She said that she hated him…. She didn't mean it, not really. She was so excited to be back with Dean she never remembered about Tristan. She never looked back. She didn't see his shattered expression, didn't feel the pain that flooded his heart, didn't know the fatigue and resignation he gave into as he laid her books on the ground…and left.

And every time you throw him

To the wall

Why are you surprised to see

He's breakable…

            So he strengthened his resolve, found some new hobbies, some new friends. He was a grade A asshole, and you know what he was good at it. His old hobby of chasing girls wasn't as appealing thanks to a certain brunette. So he thought he'd try his hand at being the typical bad boy, well bad wealthy boy. That backfired too thanks to good ole Will Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet, how fucking perfect, he thought when he heard. And she tried to make things at least semi-okay with him again, but then she ruined it all. She started it, not him. Why let Bagboy Dean know about a kiss that meant nothing to her? Last straw, the one that broke the camels back or however that saying goes. So he played the part he had written for himself, the cocky rich boy asshole, and screwed with their heads. I mean why the hell not, he thought, she fucked with my head so many times I lost count. Maybe she didn't realize it—but the damage is done. So she can go cry to her boyfriend and her whole weird little town about how I did her wrong. I don't care. At least that's what he kept telling himself.

Tell the world that he's breaking your heart

Go tell them the world nothing's ever

Your fault

Go tell them all

            Then he was gone, just like that. No real warning, no time for goodbyes. She didn't know why she was dwelling on it. They weren't really good friends and he probably and he had the distinction of being the one person in the world who could get under her skin so quickly and make her lose her cool. And he had made her so mad because he did something so stupid, completely idiotic and unlike him. Somehow she just knew it was unlike him. Sometimes she saw the mask drop and façade fade and saw him, a little boy. But most of the times she forgot about the little boy, and could only concentrate on the vain jerk he portrayed. And then she said things that she didn't always mean, things said in the heat of the moment. And as he walked away from her that night, and his mask slid away to reveal that scared little boy with one sad smile. And she realized once again she had forgotten to remember that he was human, and well…able to be broken.

And every time you throw him

To the floor

Why are you surprised to see

He's breakable

And every time you push him

To the wall

Why are you surprise to see

He's breakable

Breakable…