Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Gilmore Girls. This is just how I'd have liked things to go at the end of "The Third Lorelai."
She'd been confused. That's what she'd told him. That's what she'd tell anyone who asked. Although she didn't imagine he'd have shared the news of their kiss with any of his friends. It might have boosted his reputation to say that his very public humiliation by Summer had been immediately followed by the Mary falling for his charms- if only she hadn't run out crying.
She wasn't confused any more.
She'd spent an entire day wondering why she couldn't just tell Dean she loved him, blocking out their break-up because it meant she'd failed at something. Rory Gilmore didn't fail. Ever.
Until now, she'd been exactly what they wanted.The town princess, the flawless daughter, the straight 'A" student. The girl who could do no wrong. She was terrified of disappointing them, of making a single solitary mistake that would make them look at her differently, make them realise that maybe she was just like them after all. But she'd had that one unchecked box on her resume, the Dean shaped space in the boyfriend slot. He fit better than she could have imagined if she'd created him herself. He was just what they wanted for Rory Gilmore, though they'd protested that maybe even he wasn't good enough. He was perfect for the Rory that they saw, the Rory she'd been content to be her whole life. But it wasn't enough any more.
He had been the perfect boyfriend- their relationship was so sweet that if she'd been an onlooker it would have made her teeth ache. But then it was over and somehow she'd found herself bonding with Tristan- she was beginning to wonder if that part of it had been a hallucination- and with one swift brush of lip on lip he'd shown her exactly why she hadn't been able to say the right words. Why, for the first time in her life she hadn't done what was expected of her.
This new clarity wasn't born of anything as ridiculous as suddenly realising she loved Tristan instead. She wasn't that stupid. But she'd known all along he challenged her in ways Dean never could. With that one kiss she'd discovered what else had been missing from their relationship. Lust.
So she'd cried, wallowing at last for the loss of who she'd been rather than who Dean was or what they could have been. And then she'd tried to make it right with Tristan, trying to explain that it hadn't been his fault when she knew he hadn't deserved her tears. Trying to help because she knew, now, the feeling of grief over something you'd lost. But she wouldn't sacrifice herself to the cause, though she'd been aware of her stomach flipping when he'd cocked an eyebrow and suggested they try it again. She'd honestly thought she could play matchmaker, rejoice when he and Paris connected. A cheerful, loved-up Paris might make the Chilton hell a little easier. So she'd bitten back the hollowness in her throat when he'd asked Paris out, even helped her get ready, put on a happy face when she showed up, glowing, the next day.
She'd been unfairly glad that he'd told Paris he just wanted to be friends, then horrified that he'd dragged her name into that announcement and caused the meltdown she'd just witnessed. He'd stopped her ranting afterwards the only way he could.
"I like someone else."
She tentatively suggested that he wasn't over Summer yet. He agreed.
He was lying.
He'd knew he'd taken a chance, saying it, when saw the recognition in her eyes. He couldn't believe that he was setting himself up like this. He'd stopped tormenting Mary the day he'd been caught staring at her in class and his ego couldn't take the fact any longer that everyone knew she kept knocking him back. There were other girls- easier girls, he admitted, with long dark hair and blue eyes. Summer had fit that pattern. She fit much better into his life than the princess of purity ever could. Unfortunately, she'd cared as little about him as he had about her, using her destruction of his reputation to enhance her own. It had probably worked. He knew that there were plenty of people who'd be happy to see the King of Chilton dropped on his ass like that. Until she'd walked into the room where he sat at the piano, talking about biology tests and books, he'd have bet his trust fund that Rory Gilmore would have been one of them.
She'd been kind. He wasn't used to that. There weren't many people who knew just how much his home life lacked the basic compassion that characterised their own. On the other hand, his lack of what he'd call a family wasn't exactly unique in the Chilton scheme of things. Paris was just one of those who went home to nothing more than he did every day. He knew it wasn't like that for Rory. She didn't try to fit in at Chilton because she didn't have to. She had something better outside.
He'd never really talked to her before. When he wasn't throwing lines at her he was too nervous to say much, too scared she'd see him for who he really was and have the ammunition to break him. But his bravado was already broken when she found him on the piano bench, and her empathy had unleashed the vulnerability he'd never wanted her to see. Although her understanding was misplaced. Summer had damaged his ego rather than his heart. She'd never had that power.
By the time he'd kissed Rory, the power belonged to her. When she dissolved, something inside him shut down. He'd spent more than a week building up a wall that she wouldn't be able to get through until whatever it was had healed. Then she'd insisted that they talk. He forced himself to use the "friends" line before she could. He'd been too willing to listen to whatever she said, almost had himself convinced that any girl with substance would do.
Until, at her behest, he'd dated Paris. It had been a surprisingly good date. But with some new-found consideration for her feelings, he'd realised he couldn't string her along while he wanted Rory. Being on a good date with someone else had shown him just how much trouble he was in. He wanted Rory- and he'd let himself be talked into asking someone else out because she'd told him to.
Everything he'd said the next day had been true. At least until the point where he'd let her think he wasn't over Summer.
He could see she knew he was lying. He could hear it in the silence that had followed his words, feel it in the tension that immediately thickened between them.
"We need to talk," he said softly, turning away from the others so that they wouldn't hear. "Outside, five minutes."
She nodded, blue eyes fixed on his.
He found her waiting on the bench where they'd had their last talk. He could feel his pace slowing as he approached her, knowing this time he'd shatter completely if she didn't make him whole.
"Hi."
"Hi."
There was silence, awkward as she twisted her hands in her lap, wishing she had a book at least to hold, if not to read. He stilled her hands, covering them with one of his own. She stared down at them, not wanting to look at him.
"You did recover quickly." Her statement was meant to be a joke, but sounded more like an accusation.
"I'm over Summer."
"Then why..."
She stopped. She had to look at him now.
"Are you over Dean?"
The question was almost brutal in his effort to get it out without wavering. She looked away again.
He could feel his heart beat as she hesitated, was aware that if she said no it would continue to pulse relentlessly, but his life would again be reduced to existence without colour.
If she said yes, she'd be changing the structure of everything she'd thought she knew. But his eyes, searching, hopeful, locked on hers, dragged the answer from her lips before she knew it was in her head.
"Yes."
He raised an eyebrow, the way he had before. "Wanna try it again?"
This time he knew her answer, didn't have to wait before he kissed her, didn't have to wonder if she'd cry or run. This time it wasn't about what they'd lost. This kiss was the beginning of everything they'd found.