Open Gates
Disclaimer: I own little. I accept it, you accept it, I might even like it in a strange way. My disclaimers are getting weirder, aren't they?
A/N: Another one shot, inspired by what it looks like outside my window in the spring/summer at about 7 PM on sunny days, the arboretum in a college town I know very well (don't ask me exactly where this is set please, because I don't know, heh), and very vaguely by some spoilers. Set in Rory's junior year of college. BTW, ff.net italics are being screwy again. *rolls eyes* If it seems like it belongs to a flashback, it probably does and I had it italicized originally. (Also at SH.org, with the right italics. Heh.)
Dedicated to Mandy, because we love you… To Jin, Steph, and Katie because you're great friends and college will be fun! ;-) To Elise because you're so awesome and helpful. To Mai because you're so very talented and you just rock.
*****
He isn't used to this.
But he knows she's here, and that's why he's here; that's what matters.
This is so damn depressing. He opens the unlocked, rusty gate. It's black iron, cold to the touch despite the increasing heat of the late spring day. The fence is in one of those fancy patterns; the top has points and dips like waves, and intricate designs carved into the edges. Still, it's battered, and there are silver spots on the bars where the black has worn off. It's part of the town, the tradition, and it's supposed to be friendly and welcoming.
He's not one of those it's supposed to welcome. An outsider, still wearing a jacket, rebelling against the warmth because he can't feel it right now. He feels a different hurt than he has for the past year, a hurt that might be part scared, somewhere deep inside him. It's not just that he's run away and feels guilty. It's that he's close and he's unsure.
It's a different life than the one she had before; a different life than the one she had that he knew. He thinks maybe she enjoys it.
But he steps through anyway, and no one stares at him strangely. There must be plenty of weird kids around, and after a while no one pays them any mind. He expects comments from sidelines he can't find, and doesn't get any.
He smiles as he listens to her gush about her visit.
"It was amazing," she says for the billionth time, but he doesn't point this out. She seems to enjoy the novelty of these words, of telling someone about a real college, college town, college life. He's her victim, apparently, and he'll deal with it. Part of his job description.
"Everyone walking everywhere," she continues. "So many bookstores, oh wow, you would love it." He smirks, and yet again, she goes on.
What will she say to him when she's done with this? It's going to involve the words "your" and "future," and he's dreading it.
But he smiles at her anyway.
"Are you listening?" The stern look is faked.
"Of course."
And she believes him, and she grins. "I can't wait."
He keeps the look she'll recognize from crossing his face, pulls her close, and kisses her. Long and sweet, like it's their last. He hopes that thought doesn't show.
He wonders later if it did and she never mentioned anything.
There really are people everywhere, sitting on small hills, in trees, spread out on blankets. It's seven o'clock and it seems like the sun should be setting, but it's not. It's bright and it's golden and the sky is pure blue, clouds lined in silver. He stares at the grass (that by the way is far too green).
They're in pairs, in groups of four, and he spots so many people who are obviously in love.
Well, of course. It's spring and exams are over. It's almost summer.
It's hot outside, but he won't take the jacket off. It's part of his façade, part of his cover, part of his image. And it's one of the few things that keep him from being vulnerable. Particularly because he's standing, and other than those people playing Frisbee over there, everyone else is sitting down.
"You wanna come?"
"I have to work."
She sighs. "You do not?"
"Try again."
"I hate your schedule?"
He forces out a "So do I," even though he's thankful for the excuses it offers him. He regrets it only on her free Saturdays and on the late nights she has no studying to do.
He's managed to avoid questions with those two fateful words in them, but they're hiding, waiting, approaching. A walk around any campus would seriously kill the careful protections he's made against them, break down the walls he holds up around here. So far she's jumped over them, but he's afraid they're getting higher.
"I'm just going to go look."
"You wanna rent the movie tonight?"
"You can choose."
"Aww," he teases her. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and touches her lips to his. He holds her tightly for a moment.
"Indian food," she calls as she leaves.
This is where she'll be. He still knows her…her outside has changed, maybe, and maybe some of what's inside too. She fits into a place he never will, but that's always been the case.
Tall, thin, straight pine trees surround him, and the ground is a carpet of needles. It's shadier but the light creeps through. If he were looking for just anyone, she'd never be found in all of this, but she has an uncanny way of being right where he looks at times like this.
Times sort of like this.
Breeze sweeps through the branches above him. He hears the roar of a plane overhead and actually looks up to see the white line of cloud appear and disappear. The sun is right in his eyes, but…
He catches his breath for a moment and berates himself inwardly for doing so. He's not supposed to understand why people like this place.
"My first class. What if I screw up?" she says worriedly.
"You won't."
"What if I do?"
"You won't."
"But…"
He cuts her off with another kiss. "Take logic. Take math. I can't answer that question."
She buries her face in his shoulder for just a moment. "I know."
He doesn't say anything right away. His hand rests on the rough bark of a tree, but he likes the feel. It has depth of some kind; it's not boring. There is a wood sort of smell here, a scent of cut grass and flowers and lumber and, as strange as it sounds, warm sunlight, at the same time.
The sunlight is fading now.
She adjusts her position against the tree and balances her book on her knees. He swallows; has to speak before the sun does set and she walks off in the other direction.
"Good book?" It's the first thing he can think of and afterward, he can't believe he said that.
She's startled, and even more so when she sees him. A million expressions fly through her face at first: sadness and happiness and surprise, guilt and wonder and disgust and everything in between.
"Yeah," she answers, closing the book and standing awkwardly, brushing pine needles off her jeans. He shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to find somewhere to look.
It's the usual situation…he came back yet again for unknown reasons, but it's up to her to talk. She almost reaches out and grabs him, both because she misses him and because she's scared he'll run away.
She says the obvious, and can hear how dull it is. She isn't sure she trusts herself to say anything else. "What are you doing here?"
"I…" He starts again. "I thought you'd be here; I haven't been so far away."
"Oh really? Not so far away?"
"Only—"
"Ever write, call, inform me of this little fact? Ever deign to let me know what 'goodbye' really means to you?"
"It—"
She won't let him get a word in edgewise. And she's scared if she does…
Deep breath, and she can start over. She stares out at the skyline, between the trees. The sun is sinking toward it, and there's a rainbow of now gold-lined clouds just above the trees in the distance. But the sun's not low enough to be gone from this place, and there are golden rays of light sneaking between branches, lighting everything up, illuminating the green above them. The ridges on the uneven bark have outlines lit up as well; every detail stands out in everything.
But he speaks before she can. "I'll look it up for you when I get home."
"Jess!" she yells in frustration. "You can't do that! I'm sorry, but you can't! You can't do this; you can't run away and expect me to smile when you suddenly return!" A pause, quiet, too quiet. He doesn't interject with one of the thousand things he wants to say.
And when she begins again, her voice is restrained and soft, enough that he can hear the pain she's hiding. He's sorry for a moment, just for that, that everyone else is out there enjoying the day and she's hurting.
She's hurting because of him.
She was supposed to enjoy this life; this was what she couldn't wait for. What if I screw up? What if he screwed it up? She has one more year and then it's over. What if I screw up?
I can't answer that question.
She barely holds back a laugh and it startles him, but he keeps himself together—she deserves that. He doesn't, and he couldn't laugh if he tried.
"You just told me you had to leave," she says. He doesn't need reminding. He remembers, every day, sometimes better than he remembers things like them meeting, their kisses, their conversations and their movie nights. (He hates that.) "All you said…all you said was that you were sorry and you told me you did care. I remember it all."
Her eyes are wet when she looks up at him, and he restrains himself with everything he has. Slowly, carefully, she pulls a worn piece of paper out of her pocket.
It's his note.
"I kept it! I cried and I missed you. I didn't have some stupid party when you left, and I know someone who did." He glances away. "When her boyfriend left, not you!" she adds quickly. He nods bitterly, picturing that.
It's time for him to talk. She's never been good at conclusions and he understands.
His voice is lower than usual. "I'm sorry." She doesn't point out that he says this every time, that he has to say this every time, that he owes it to her. He's thankful. It makes him feel like he's doing something he doesn't have to do. A good deed, a kindness. It's only later that he'll lie down and wish he hadn't; will just feel awful, will know he is the jerk people say he is. He doesn't even know why he's doing this, because he is entirely positive she won't accept it the way he wants her to.
It isn't fair to expect her to.
"Don't interrupt me. I am. Maybe I'm sorry for things I shouldn't be sorry for. Maybe I'm not sorry for things I should be."
"Like what?" she asks.
Her eyes are shining. He hopes his aren't.
"It's all I can say. I say it every time I come back because every time I mean it. You know it. Damn, you know everything I just said, and I know you do!"
She doesn't argue. She does look away, as if embarrassed.
"I'm sorry. I mean it; I meant it. I screwed up and I did things wrong."
He had meant to keep all pleading out of his voice. To say what he needed to say and to leave through those gates. Every time it comes down to what he did, that unasked question is in there somewhere, under the surface they can't seem to break. He hears that pleading himself; it is there this time, maybe even clearer than before. He knows she hears it too. She can't say yes and why would she want to?
"Look, I didn't mean it. I'm sorry."
For once, she's the one standing on the bridge. He's still sitting, and he's not showing any sign of getting up.
"I'm sorry too," she tells him. He blows out the smoke, puts out the cigarette and throws it away. "You were quitting."
"I'm quitting."
She shakes her head. "You don't have to."
"Sure I do."
She shakes her head again. "You're impossible."
"That a good thing?" He turns and stands up to face her. Her hands slip around him, kissing him, kissing him. He kisses back.
"It's a good thing."
She takes a step closer without knowing why. He wants to, but can't stand the idea of seeing her move back.
He wants to fix this!
He can't fix this.
Lost the chance he never had.
He's going to say more. But she opens her mouth first.
"I want to say it's not okay," she informs him. "I want to tell you that you are a…a jerk, for running away and for hurting me even though I know you didn't mean to?" (She isn't sure.) "A jerk for running away to a place I could get to with my eyes closed." She silently dares him to jut in with one of his sarcastic comments, but he doesn't take the bait. "A jerk for not telling me where you were. I would have written and listened if you'd told me not to come. I might have cried, but I would have listened! It would have been hard…"
She meets his eyes again. "But it could have made things better, later?"
There are too many questions in that.
I can't answer that question.
Not much has changed, has it?
The sun is visibly sinking. It's behind the trees and the golden rays are all but gone. The light slowly, slowly decreases, like someone is holding a light switch; turning it a millimeter a second. It's funny how that as it draws closer to the horizon, it always seems to be moving faster. She shivers.
"But I don't want to!" she shouts. He wonders how many people outside the secluded group of trees can hear them, are listening.
"Rory…"
"I don't want to. I don't want to say all of that, even though I think it. I honestly think it, every single word." Again, she gives him that piercing glare, and he collapses under it. Only the façade is left. He's going to keep it up?
"I know you avoided all those questions, about what you were going to do. It was your choice. I knew it then, and I know it now."
"I didn't mean to think that." It's stupid, saying that, and it sounds completely random, but she gets it.
"You could have done anything, you still can. You walked through those gates and I know how it feels. But it's great, you know, here, when you get used to it. I think you'd like it too."
She does not know how it feels.
"I came in because you were here, okay? That's why I came. I came to see you and don't ask me why because I don't know."
"We had our chances, but that doesn't mean I want them to be over…"
"'Had' is past tense, Rory."
Somehow, they are closer. He doesn't remember moving, and he doesn't remember seeing her move either. He touches her, finally, and she leans in toward him. She's missed this; he's missed it too.
Not now.
He pulls away, and again she nods.
He frantically searches through his brain for the things he wanted to tell her, the things he planned out on the bus, planned out walking here. They were carefully structured and for the end, for a finale. He had one goodbye and one 'I hope so,' even though that one was hidden well enough not to dwell on it. But they're all gone, disappeared, and he can't find them. This is it?
I can't answer that question.
"I'm sorry," he repeats, and wonders absently what he sounds like, saying this over and over again. He doesn't care much.
"Me too." She bends to pick up the book she dropped. He looks over; she tilts it to show him the title.
"Going home?" he asks casually.
"Yeah. It's…it's that way." Her voice shakes slightly. He's getting out of here. But he notices her smile. Not triumphant, but it isn't sad either. She loves the memories; that he can tell easily. He does too: they still have two things in common.
Neither of them are good at conclusions. No one else would be satisfied with this, and the outcome…he isn't. But for what it obviously has to be? He is; so is she. It works out.
Uncomfortably, she turns. That light switch is still slowly moving, reaching the 'off' point now. They can see because of the reflecting clouds. The leaves are still illuminated for reasons he can't figure out. He sees the gold still coming through the trees shine on her hair. Needles and leaves crunch under her feet as she walks away.
"Well, he was right about me then!"
She's crying, trying to hide it, but she's crying. Who can blame her? She's not with Dean anymore and…he is all that's left. Of course she's crying.
What exactly did she just say…
"He was right. About all of it."
She smiles through tears, accepting.
He opens the gate, walks through, and closes it behind him. It's still cold—iron never gets warm—and the silver spots stand out more clearly in the dark. Or almost dark. There are no more picnics, and the place is no longer filled with people laughing and talking, but there are still small groups of people scattered around. The whole exchange seemed to last no more than five minutes, but in reality a lot more time went by.
Reminiscent of their relationship, he thinks.
Possibly, supposing he fit in here…he could live with it. The gates are not so fancy; they're never locked. The grass is green, but it was in Stars Hollow too, and this comes without a Taylor. The light lasting makes it easier to read.
She's glad this is her life. This is what she's always wanted. This is what she couldn't wait for. And he has to let it go.
Rory is watching, from behind; he can't see her. The paths they each took lead to the same entrance (she noticed that when she left; it was maybe on purpose, on her part). She turns away again, without him knowing, and pulls out the note. She knew that last look in his eyes even if he hadn't wanted it to be there. She knows what it means.
Another gust of wind sweeps through the street, warm, like summer. She breathes in gratefully.
She won't be throwing this away, and she wonders when he'll be coming back.