Title: How to End an Argument
Author: Eve
Rating: R, but mostly for language; there's nothing
too bad.
Pairing: Luke/Taylor
Spoilers: None
Archive: If you like, just let me know first!
Feedback/E-mail: Java_Eve@yahoo.com. Comments
gleefully received.
Summary: Luke reflects back on the time he's known
Taylor, and a possible mistake they made together.
Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm not making any money off
them. They belong to Amy Sherman-Palladino, the WB,
and others I'm sure. Please don't sue.
I've almost always tried to stay away from Taylor
Doose.
I knew who he was growin' up. He was always tryin' to
get my dad to change something about the store, tryin'
to make everything cheerful. My father would play
along with him, laugh good-naturedly, and then leave
everything exactly the way it's always been. I guess
those are my first real memories of Taylor. Him comin'
into the shop, saying change this, spruce that, and my
dad smilin' and saying "Maybe someday Taylor." And I'd
sit on the stairs to his office, watching. And when
Taylor left, my dad would turn to me and wink, and I'd
smile, and he'd help the next customer.
And when I got older I realized how much I didn't
like those types of guys, the ones that nagged and
pushed for you to do things "their" way. So I ignored
Taylor, and his cronies, the "town beautification"
groups and all the other committees that he ran. I
lived in my own little world, runnin' track, helping
out with my dad's store, listening to my music. To be
honest, I just didn't give a damn about Taylor Doose.
And he stopped bothering my dad so much, only coming
by when he needed hardware supplies. Which wasn't that
often. Taylor's big on building a better community, as
long as he doesn't have to actually build.
At my dad's funeral he came up to me to tell me what
a great man my dad had been. A lot of people told me
that, but for some reason I listened to him. I guess
because by that point he was known as being honest, to
a fault. He criticized and nit-picked everything and
everyone. But he said my dad was a good man, and that
meant something. When I changed the hardware store
into a diner, he didn't bug me about it. He let me
settle in, didn't come banging at the doors, telling
me to spruce like I had half-expected him to. He just
let me do my thing, for a few months at any rate.
When he did come by, he did nag. But he also asked me
how I was holdin' up, and that took a little bit of
the edge off my irritation. 'Course, I would've thrown
him out right then if I had known how he'd be buggin'
me for years to come. Or maybe not. So he came, he
made sure I was doin' alright, and then he suggested a
fresh coat of paint. And I tried what my father had
done, and as much as it kills me to admit it, I smiled
and politely refused. And he kept after me, stopping
in at least once a week, sayin' he was just getting a
cup of coffee. Then he'd suggest new tables, or
something else equally stupid, and eventually I
stopped trying to be polite about the whole thing. We
started fighting the way we've been doing for years
now. I figured out exactly how to piss him off, and he
did the same. Sometimes he'd storm out of the diner in
a huff, other times I'd go into the kitchen and throw
a pan.
And once, just once, we had sex.
God, I hate even thinking about it now. It's like a
dream, or a nightmare, and sometimes it doesn't seem
real. I mean, I'm not the type of person that gets
into a fight with the town's self-proclaimed
cheerleader at closing time, and ends up fucking them
in the bedroom upstairs. What was he complaining about
that night? Must've been the counter, thought it was
too old. "Are you sure it's stable?" he asked. "Maybe
someday you'll put a plate down, or some unsuspecting
mother will sit their child down on that counter, and
what will you do if it collapses?" And he went on
about lawsuits, and I went on about how no one should
sit their kid down on a place where strangers eat off
of, and I yelled at him to sit on it, and then I
jumped on it. I'm sure I was proving some point, about
how it could support the weight, but I dunno if we
said anything else, because suddenly he was kissing
me. Maybe he was drunk, on drugs, I'm still lookin'
for an excuse for why Taylor would feel the need to
put his lips to mine. And in my mind I was
sleep-deprived, or something, *anything*, because I
kissed him back. I remember noticing how weird his
mustache and beard felt against my skin, and how it
wasn't breasts that were pushed up against me, but
another man's body.
I don't remember going upstairs; I think we stumbled
a lot. I'm hopin' that we didn't break apart, because
I'd like to imagine that if I had thought about what I
was doin' than I wouldn't have done it. And I only
vaguely remember the way his skin felt against mine,
the way he obviously knew what he was doing, and I had
no idea. And there was no exhausted sleeping, because
I think both of us were in shock. I remember pulling
on pants, taking a walk and pretending everything was
okay, and going back to my apartment to find it empty.
I didn't sleep that night, that I remember. I know I
stared up at the ceiling for hours, wondering if that
had just happened. Tryin' to figure out why, what it
meant. And I don't know about him, but it didn't make
me any less pissed off at him. I thought about finding
him, beating him, asking him why the fuck he kissed
me. It became clear to me that given a second chance,
I wouldn't have had sex with him. And I convinced
myself of that, and finally fell asleep. And the
bastard showed up in my dreams.
We never talked about it, never let ourselves have
even a moment of awkwardness. Guess that's why maybe
it doesn't seem real. Mostly I've forgotten it even
happened. He comes into my diner, he nags, we fight,
Lorelai jumps in with her own commentary. Both of us
get pissed, but remain bullheaded. He storms out; I
throw a pan in the kitchen. And only every once in a
while do I imagine a better way to end the argument.
-30-
Author's Notes: I haven't written a Gilmore Girls fic
in a while, so I'm a little rusty. However, this has
been rolling around in my head for quite a while now,
because I definitely sense chemistry between Luke and
Taylor. Please, let me know what you think-good or
bad-at Java_Eve@yahoo.com!
Author: Eve
Rating: R, but mostly for language; there's nothing
too bad.
Pairing: Luke/Taylor
Spoilers: None
Archive: If you like, just let me know first!
Feedback/E-mail: Java_Eve@yahoo.com. Comments
gleefully received.
Summary: Luke reflects back on the time he's known
Taylor, and a possible mistake they made together.
Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm not making any money off
them. They belong to Amy Sherman-Palladino, the WB,
and others I'm sure. Please don't sue.
I've almost always tried to stay away from Taylor
Doose.
I knew who he was growin' up. He was always tryin' to
get my dad to change something about the store, tryin'
to make everything cheerful. My father would play
along with him, laugh good-naturedly, and then leave
everything exactly the way it's always been. I guess
those are my first real memories of Taylor. Him comin'
into the shop, saying change this, spruce that, and my
dad smilin' and saying "Maybe someday Taylor." And I'd
sit on the stairs to his office, watching. And when
Taylor left, my dad would turn to me and wink, and I'd
smile, and he'd help the next customer.
And when I got older I realized how much I didn't
like those types of guys, the ones that nagged and
pushed for you to do things "their" way. So I ignored
Taylor, and his cronies, the "town beautification"
groups and all the other committees that he ran. I
lived in my own little world, runnin' track, helping
out with my dad's store, listening to my music. To be
honest, I just didn't give a damn about Taylor Doose.
And he stopped bothering my dad so much, only coming
by when he needed hardware supplies. Which wasn't that
often. Taylor's big on building a better community, as
long as he doesn't have to actually build.
At my dad's funeral he came up to me to tell me what
a great man my dad had been. A lot of people told me
that, but for some reason I listened to him. I guess
because by that point he was known as being honest, to
a fault. He criticized and nit-picked everything and
everyone. But he said my dad was a good man, and that
meant something. When I changed the hardware store
into a diner, he didn't bug me about it. He let me
settle in, didn't come banging at the doors, telling
me to spruce like I had half-expected him to. He just
let me do my thing, for a few months at any rate.
When he did come by, he did nag. But he also asked me
how I was holdin' up, and that took a little bit of
the edge off my irritation. 'Course, I would've thrown
him out right then if I had known how he'd be buggin'
me for years to come. Or maybe not. So he came, he
made sure I was doin' alright, and then he suggested a
fresh coat of paint. And I tried what my father had
done, and as much as it kills me to admit it, I smiled
and politely refused. And he kept after me, stopping
in at least once a week, sayin' he was just getting a
cup of coffee. Then he'd suggest new tables, or
something else equally stupid, and eventually I
stopped trying to be polite about the whole thing. We
started fighting the way we've been doing for years
now. I figured out exactly how to piss him off, and he
did the same. Sometimes he'd storm out of the diner in
a huff, other times I'd go into the kitchen and throw
a pan.
And once, just once, we had sex.
God, I hate even thinking about it now. It's like a
dream, or a nightmare, and sometimes it doesn't seem
real. I mean, I'm not the type of person that gets
into a fight with the town's self-proclaimed
cheerleader at closing time, and ends up fucking them
in the bedroom upstairs. What was he complaining about
that night? Must've been the counter, thought it was
too old. "Are you sure it's stable?" he asked. "Maybe
someday you'll put a plate down, or some unsuspecting
mother will sit their child down on that counter, and
what will you do if it collapses?" And he went on
about lawsuits, and I went on about how no one should
sit their kid down on a place where strangers eat off
of, and I yelled at him to sit on it, and then I
jumped on it. I'm sure I was proving some point, about
how it could support the weight, but I dunno if we
said anything else, because suddenly he was kissing
me. Maybe he was drunk, on drugs, I'm still lookin'
for an excuse for why Taylor would feel the need to
put his lips to mine. And in my mind I was
sleep-deprived, or something, *anything*, because I
kissed him back. I remember noticing how weird his
mustache and beard felt against my skin, and how it
wasn't breasts that were pushed up against me, but
another man's body.
I don't remember going upstairs; I think we stumbled
a lot. I'm hopin' that we didn't break apart, because
I'd like to imagine that if I had thought about what I
was doin' than I wouldn't have done it. And I only
vaguely remember the way his skin felt against mine,
the way he obviously knew what he was doing, and I had
no idea. And there was no exhausted sleeping, because
I think both of us were in shock. I remember pulling
on pants, taking a walk and pretending everything was
okay, and going back to my apartment to find it empty.
I didn't sleep that night, that I remember. I know I
stared up at the ceiling for hours, wondering if that
had just happened. Tryin' to figure out why, what it
meant. And I don't know about him, but it didn't make
me any less pissed off at him. I thought about finding
him, beating him, asking him why the fuck he kissed
me. It became clear to me that given a second chance,
I wouldn't have had sex with him. And I convinced
myself of that, and finally fell asleep. And the
bastard showed up in my dreams.
We never talked about it, never let ourselves have
even a moment of awkwardness. Guess that's why maybe
it doesn't seem real. Mostly I've forgotten it even
happened. He comes into my diner, he nags, we fight,
Lorelai jumps in with her own commentary. Both of us
get pissed, but remain bullheaded. He storms out; I
throw a pan in the kitchen. And only every once in a
while do I imagine a better way to end the argument.
-30-
Author's Notes: I haven't written a Gilmore Girls fic
in a while, so I'm a little rusty. However, this has
been rolling around in my head for quite a while now,
because I definitely sense chemistry between Luke and
Taylor. Please, let me know what you think-good or
bad-at Java_Eve@yahoo.com!