A Word Called Maybe
Summary: Let's pretend it's 1995 and see what could have happened on a beautiful summer's day in the small town of Stars Hollow if there was an unexpected visitor who found his way to the Independence Inn. AU oneshot.
A/N: Yet another fic started by an idea from Selina (I'm starting to see a pattern here), though it didn't turn out at all as I first thought it would. Funny how often that happens.
A big hug and thanks goes to Knowhere for taking her time and reading through this for me. (Your comments made me laugh a couple times.) And for Sandi because she doesn't complain when I use her for getting out of writing funks. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from Gilmore Girls. If I did Jess would never have left and Rory would still be sane.
He doesn't like being fussed over. This is something he has learned in the past two hours. He draws a deep breath as he closes the diner door behind him and can finally hear his own thoughts again. He never knew having his mother actually act like his mother could be so deafening.
He quickly darts away over the street, anxious to get as far away as possible before they notice he's gone. He doesn't ever want to hear another supposedly cute anecdote from when he was three. It's bad enough that they're bringing them up, but does he have to be there?
This visit is turning out to be just as horrible as he thought it would be. He walks through the streets of the small town, feeling more and more out of place. It's nothing like the busy streets of New York he's used to. It's more like something out of a fairy tale.
He's searching for somewhere quiet where he can sit and read without being disturbed. But everywhere he looks there are people, walking their dogs, talking to other people or just milling around looking happy.
After a while he reaches the edge of town and in the distance he can see a small stream or lake with shadowing trees. There's a big house on the hill above it, but there doesn't seem to be any people around.
He walks down to the water and finds a perfect reading spot, against a tree right at the water's edge. He sits down and opens the book back up, continuing where he left off. Soon he's absorbed in the story, instead of the world around him seeing the fictional figures of Dickens.
He isn't sure what it is, but something rattles him out of his fictional world rather abruptly. Then he hears clinking, as from cutlery, and faint rustling of paper. Staying still where he is, half hidden by the tree, he carefully sticks his head out to see what is causing the noise.
What he sees is a girl, about his own age, sitting on a blanket no more than ten feet away with a book in one hand and a spoon in the other. Slowly and without taking her eyes away from the book she moves the spoon to a container beside her, digging up a big hunk of ice cream.
Fascinated he watches her carefully guide the spoon up to her mouth and slowly, almost thoughtfully, lick the ice cream off it. He doesn't think he has ever seen anyone take that much pleasure in eating ice cream before.
His leg is beginning to cramp he notices then and slowly he shifts his weight to the other, trying to get a better position. And then a small branch cracks under his foot. He freezes, hoping she won't turn towards him.
He has no such luck though as she instantly turns his way and yelps as she sees him, dropping the spoon and scurrying to her feet. She looks almost terrified for a moment and stares at him with wide open eyes and gaping mouth.
"Who are you?" she asks and he can hear in her voice that she is still shaken up. But she stays put, both feet firmly planted to the blanket on the ground, the book still clutched in her hand.
He stays quiet and doesn't move from his place behind the tree, suddenly having no idea how to handle this situation. He feels an almost instinctive need to run away, get away from this girl, but for some reason his feet won't let him.
She continues looking at him and he can clearly see her expression and posture turn from shaken to annoyed. "I've never seen you before," she says, her voice more confident now. "What are you doing here?"
"That's none of your business," he says defensively, wondering why he can't just leave, what is keeping him there.
"I think it is my business, since you're in my back yard," she says matter-of-factly, crossing her arms in front of her and staring at him, trying to look stern.
"You live up there?" he asks, too stunned to really think about what he's saying, and points to the large house that's still visible from where they are.
"Well, not really," the girl says and almost looks a little ashamed. She turns her eyes away from him, suddenly very fascinated with the blanket beneath her feet. "That's the Inn. We live behind it." She is almost whispering now and he thinks she's embarrassed all of a sudden.
"So how can this be your back yard?" he asks. He's starting to feel curious about this girl he just met.
"My mom works at the Inn," she says, looking up at him again, seemingly more confident again.
He's still looking at the house on the hill, but in the corner of his eye he can see her survey him curiously, biting her lip as if debating what to say. She finally opens her mouth to say something, but he cuts her off.
"Ok," he says, "I should go then." He starts to look around, trying to find his book. Just when he finds it he hears her voice behind him.
"Wait," she says and he stops. "Don't go. I don't even know your name."
Bewildered by this girl, who's like no one he's ever met before he just stands there, unable to move away. His mind is screaming at him to get away, to take the chance she gave him, but his feet refuse to cooperate, having him planted firmly to the ground.
Then he sees her come into view again and reaching out a hand to him. "I'm Rory," she says and stubbornly holds her hand in front of him, waiting for him to shake it.
Slowly and to his own surprise he takes the outstretched hand. He can't remember ever shaking anyone's hand before and wonders how it can still feel so natural.
He tries to get his hand back, but the girl, Rory, holds onto it, not letting go. "Can I get my hand back?" he asks, realizing as he says it that it sounds very stupid.
"You haven't told me your name yet," Rory says and he can feel her grip on his hand tighten even more when he doesn't say anything for a couple seconds.
"Why do you want to know?" he asks. He knows he's being difficult, but it has sort of become a matter of principle by now. Why should he tell her just because she wants to know?
"Because I don't really know anyone my own age and anyone who's reading Dickens has to be better than the stupid kid down the hill who hangs after me like a lost little puppy!" she exclaims, gesticulating wildly with the book she is still holding in her left hand.
"Huh," he says, keeping a close eye on the book flying through the air, coming close to his head a couple times. "Could you not hit me in the head with that?" he asks then, almost smiling at her indignant expression.
She suddenly lets go of his hand and flings both hands up in the air, exasperated. "Gah!" she exclaims, staring at him with flaring eyes. "Why do I bother? I don't need friends anyway!" And then she proceeds to stalk away angrily, still gesticulating with her arms.
He looks after her for a second before running after and intercepting her. "I'm Jess," he says when she stops abruptly. He sticks out his hand much like she did before and smiles when she accepts it.
"You're not form here, are you?" she asks, nibbling at a cookie and peering over at him.
"No," he says, shrugging his shoulders a little and digging a spoonful of ice cream from the box between them. He hears her make an annoyed sound beside him and glances at her through the corner of his eye. "New York," he adds after a second, and sticks the spoon in his mouth.
"Oh," she says, sounding a little disappointed.
He glances at her again and sees her drop her head a little, biting her lip and finger the cookie in her hands. She looks sad and for some reason he feels it is his fault. Then she takes a deep breath and faces him, smiling again.
"I've always wanted to go to New York. But we never got there, 'cause mom says we can't afford it," she says, an almost dreamy look in her eyes. "Is it as exciting as it's made out to be?" she asks excitedly.
"It's ok," he mutters and shoves another spoonful of ice cream in his mouth.
"Oh…ok," she says a little hesitantly. "Something wrong?" she asks then, looking at him curiously.
"I'm fine," he says, not facing her and digging up yet another spoonful of ice cream.
He glances at her over the pages in his book, for once not able to concentrate on the words. She is sitting just like before, head buried in the pages of her book, seemingly engrossed in the story.
He sighs and drops his book to the ground with a thud, looking at her fully. She doesn't move at all. "Do you like it?" he asks, pointing to the book even though she can't possibly see him.
"Like what?" she asks almost immediately and he smirks a little to himself.
"The book," he says, trying a little harder to get her to talk to him again
"Yes," she says, but still doesn't move.
"Why?" he asks, not wanting to give up just yet.
"What?" she asks, and he sees the book waver a little. Feeling a bit encouraged he continues to get her to talk.
"Why do you like it?" he asks, hoping she will actually look up this time, or at least give him a real answer.
"Because it's a great book," she says, still hiding behind the book. But he can hear the smile in her voice and smiles to himself. At least it is progress.
"I'm hungry!" she exclaims, sitting up pouting and looks over the empty boxes strewn around them. There isn't as much as a crumb left.
"How can you be hungry?" he asks incredulously, staring at her from his position on his back on the blanket. "I've never eaten this much in my whole life and you're already hungry again?"
She stands up and looks down at him, an offended look on her face. "Don't make fun of my eating habits! It's not my fault I've inherited my mom's appetite! And I happen to love it, thank you very much!"
He can't completely suppress his laughter at the way she sticks her nose up in the air at the last part of her speech.
She huffs at him, playing offended. By now he's learned the difference between the real and the acted one. "I'm going up to see if Sookie has got anything to eat," she says and starts walking up the hill. After a couple steps she turns around. "You coming?" she asks, smiling at him.
He stands outside the Inn, stubbornly refusing to follow her inside and eventually she sighs and walks through the door. He looks after her and wonders if she will tell anyone he's here. Just to be safe he walks a few feet away to where he can keep an eye on the front door and still be far enough away to run if he needs to.
He doesn't want to go back into town just yet. Not when he's found someone to talk to who enjoys reading as much as he does.
While he stands there waiting he finds himself hoping she will come back soon. He feels silly, but he can't stop it. And when she finally comes back out, smiling at him, he can't suppress the big grin that forms over his face.
She is holding a large basket filled to the brim and covered with a white towel and she slumps a little, struggling under the weight. Without even thinking he takes a hold of the basket and together they carry it back down to the blanket.
"Mom said we might go down to New York for my birthday," Rory says, with an almost ecstatic smile and he thinks he can see her bounce a little where she is sitting.
"Your mom sounds great," he says, trying to make his voice cheerful.
"She is. She's my best friend," she says happily.
"Then you're lucky," he says quietly and concentrates on the cookie in his hand, suddenly not that interested in eating it.
Her smile dies away slowly and he can feel her eyes on him, just as he knows the question she's dying to ask. He stays quiet, hoping that she will let it go once again.
"Where…where is your mom?" she asks timidly after a few minutes of silence, proving his instincts right.
He debates with himself whether to tell her or not, but he feels he can trust her. That she won't tell anyone. "Probably still in town with my uncle."
"She didn't come out here with you?" Rory asks, looking stunned, as if that is something she can't even imagine. As if the thought of going anywhere without her mom is completely foreign to her. "Then how…?"
"I snuck out," he says before she can ask her question, already knowing what it would be.
"But…why…?" Rory stutters beside him.
"Just felt like it," he says. "I couldn't stand the constant jabbering."
"Come here," she says from somewhere near the water. He looks up from his book and sees her balance on the edge of the water while trying not to fall.
"What are you doing?" he asks, watching her curiously.
"I want to check the water temperature," she says, a concentrated look on her face. "It's so warm out and I want to swim. But I have to see if the water is warm first."
A huge grin spreads over his face and he puts the book away, gets up and saunters over to her. "I could help you with that," he says, stopping right beside her and grins even wider at the possibilities in front of him.
"Great!" she exclaims and reaches out her hand to him, not looking up. "Then you can hold me up while I try to reach."
He surveys the hand that's waiting for him to grab it and then quickly looks down at the water again, grinning to himself. "Sure," he says and reaches out, but instead of grabbing her hand he sets his hand on her back and pushes a little.
The effect is rather spectacular he thinks. She doesn't fall into the water immediately, but instead stands on the edge a couple seconds, trying to regain her balance with her arms waving in the air.
Soon enough she topples over and lands on her stomach in the water, causing a large splash that forces him to jump back from the edge to avoid the spatter.
She is sitting on the other side of the blanket with her knees up to her chest and her back towards him. She has been sitting like that for the past twenty minutes, ever since she climbed out of the water.
The glare she gave him when she stood up, dripping wet from top to toe, could have frozen anyone to stone. It definitely made him stop laughing. And she hasn't said a word since, which is starting to make him feel very uncomfortable.
He's not used to having friends, not that he would call her a friend, but he thinks she's the closest to one he has ever had. But he has no experience of dealing with upset girls, or people at all for that matter, so he continues to sit there and watch her, pretending to read.
He watches her over the edge of his book and wonders how long she'll be mad at him. He thinks that maybe this time something more than asking her about her book is needed.
"Are you still mad at me?" he asks when he can't take her silence anymore.
"Yes," she says firmly, not shifting her position.
"You want to push me in?" he asks, grimacing as the words leave his mouth. He has never been much for bathing and definitely does not want to be pushed in the water.
"No," she says just as firmly, still not moving.
"OK," he says and tries to think of something else to say. When nothing comes to mind he stays quiet.
"I want to go and change clothes," she says and stands up. "Maybe I'll push you in when I get back," she adds and runs up the hill to the Inn once again.
He's pretending to read again when she returns, dry again and carrying a new basket.
"Hi," he says and smiles at her, hoping her mood is better.
"Hi," she replies and sits down next to him. "I brought more to drink," she says and hands him a soda can.
He accepts it mostly out of reflex and eyes her curiously for a second, but decides not to question her change in mood. So he opens the soda, takes a sip and sets it down beside him. Except that when he lets go of it his hand is stuck to it.
He stares at his hand, at first not comprehending what just happened. But then he hears her laughter and it's all clear.
"You think this is funny?" he asks, somewhat embarrassed that he fell for her trick. He hides his hand with the soda behind his back and glares at her, but she just keeps on laughing.
"You should have seen your face," she sputters through her laughing, holding her stomach, with tears running down her cheeks. "Priceless!"
He glares at her and huffs a little, but her laughter somehow makes his embarrassment less important.
"How's your hand?" she asks, glancing at it as he rubs his palm.
"Itchy," he answers, continuing to furiously attack the remains of glue still present. "And glue-y," he adds, piling away some more.
"That's not even a word," she says matter-of-factly, scrunching up her nose as she mumbles it to herself.
"Of course it is, I just said it," he defends. "And I wouldn't have had to use it if it wasn't for you."
"And if you hadn't pushed me in the water there wouldn't have been any need for the glue in the first place," she retorts.
"But it was so much fun," he admits without thinking and she hits him on the arm, hard. "Hey, that hurt!" he exclaims, glaring at her again.
"You deserved it," she responds with a huff, crossing her arms in front of her. "No one makes fun of a Gilmore without being punished."
"These are really good," he remarks in the middle of eating a chocolate cookie.
"That's one of the good things with living at an Inn," she agrees, munching on a cookie of her own. "The food is always good."
"And it would explain your eating habits," he comments with a smirk, watching her as she devours yet another cookie.
"Hey, I told you not to make fun of my eating habits!" she exclaims in the middle of taking a new bite, which results in crumbs flying all over the blanket in front of her.
"I haven't seen anyone, least of all a girl, eat as much as you before," he says, not able to hide his amusement.
"Still doesn't give you a right to do it," she pouts, brushing crumbs off the blanket.
"But it's so easy," he says, laughing at her as she tries to hide her blush.
"It's getting late," she suddenly remarks, causing him to look up from his book again.
Actually it is her book, but he is still reading it. They switched an hour or so ago and are now lying side by side on the blanket, reading. Or was till just now at least.
"It is," he agrees, noticing the sky is getting darker as the sun is about to go down.
"I have to go home or my mom will come looking for me," she says, looking at him sadly again. Like she did in the morning when they had just met.
"Ok," he says, not knowing what else to say. He doesn't think a suggestion to stay out and hide would go over well with her.
"When are you leaving?" she asks, as if she just realized he has to go home too.
"Probably tonight," he says with a shrug. "I didn't know until this morning we were going here in the first place. But we usually don't stay long when we go anywhere. And I can't see this being any different."
"What are you doing here?" she asks, suddenly realizing she has no idea. "You never told me that."
"We're visiting my uncle. He lives here and mom wanted to see him. I don't know why, because until just recently I hardly knew he existed." He gives another shrug, not knowing what else to say.
"Will you come back some time?" she asks, standing by a tree outside the Inn with the blanket tightly held in her arms and the baskets at her feet.
"I don't know," he says as he has no idea when the next time his mom will feel like getting out of the city will be.
"But you have to," she says, hugging the blanket tighter and he thinks he can see her lower lip quiver.
"I'll try," he says, trying to make it sound reassuring, but mostly feeling surprised that she seems so sad he's leaving. He fleetingly thinks that this is what it means to have a friend. Having someone who misses you when you're gone.
"Promise!" she demands, looking at him with huge, unblinking eyes.
"I promise," he says after a short pause, knowing he will do his best to keep that promise.
"Ok," she says, nodding her head a little, still not blinking.
She suddenly drops the blanket and lunges forward, surprising him even more by hugging him. Hesitantly he hugs her back.
"I have to go," she says abruptly and lets him go, picks up the blanket and runs into the Inn, leaving the baskets at his feet.
He watches her run away and knows that he will be missing her too when he goes away. But as he turns around and walks back towards the town, sporadically kicking a pebble, he thinks that maybe this trip wasn't so bad after all.
And maybe she will notice the message he wrote in her book that he put back in one of the baskets before leaving. And maybe she will come to New York for her birthday.