What happens in New York…
Summary: Lorelai takes Rory to New York to celebrate her 18th birthday. They get separated and Rory finds herself alone on a bench in Washington Square Park. Queue one native New Yorker, who's not too happy to find her there.
A/N: Some things happened, others didn't. Jess never came to Stars Hollow. Rory and Dean broke up anyway, for different reasons. It will all become clear with time.
Disclaimer: Gilmore Girls is not mine. Not now, not ever.
Stupid Pager
Rory paces the now familiar stretch of pavement in this park, giving it one last try, pushing every button as hard as she can, but the stupid pager just won't work. It's as dead as can be, and she sighs in defeat, sinking down on a nearby bench.
"Stupid pager!" she mutters, frustrated. "Stupid battery! Of all the days you could possibly choose to give up, you choose this one? Stupid, stupid, stupid!"
She emphasizes her point by banging the offending piece of technology against her leg repeatedly, in a frustrated attempt to shake it back to life. But, of course, nothing happens, except that her leg now hurts as well.
Her second option is to find a payphone, so she rummages through her purse in search of coins, or any money at all, getting more worked up by the second when she finds absolutely nothing useful. She fishes up two candy bars, a tube of mascara, a William Golding novel, an old ticket stub for a movie and a couple receipts for books, but no wallet. There isn't even a penny, and she just wants to scream when she remembers her wallet is still in her school bag, in Stars Hollow, on the insistence of Lorelai. Instead she angrily stuffs everything back inside and flings the useless purse down on the bench, hiding her head in her hands.
Had she at least known where they parked the car she could have gone there, but oh no, her mother thought it would be hilarious to blindfold her halfway to their destination, and not remove it until she had been steered through the streets to a tiny little coffee shop. She had felt ridiculous, but also found it a bit exciting. It wasn't until they walked out again and went over to the subway that she knew they were in New York.
And now she is lost, and beating herself up for being so in awe of everything that she didn't keep better tabs on what streets they were on, or what subway stations they were in. She should have, it's what she does after all, but her mom had kept such a breakneck speed for everything they did that there simply was no time. They had been all over the city, or at least the lower half of Manhattan, and on their way to the hotel Lorelai had booked, they had been separated at an insanely busy crossing, and when she reached the other side her mom was nowhere to be found.
She had done what she thought was the right thing to do; stop, look around and wait. But after a few minutes of more and more frantic searching, quite a lot of yelling, and not even a glimpse of her mother she had tried to retrace her steps, hoping to find her along the way. And that's when she must have taken a wrong turn and gotten lost.
And of course her pager had decided to die on her.
And now she is sitting on a random bench in a random park, somewhere in New York City, with no money and no pager. Just the perfect end to this day. And now it is getting dark as well.
If she weren't so miserable, she would feel silly about sitting there on the bench, pouting like a three year old.
"You're in my spot," comes a not so friendly voice from behind her back, startling her out of her thoughts.
Instinctively, she whips around, ready to face whomever dares to lay out such a claim to her, and at this moment none the less. "I don't see a name on it," she shoots back, narrowing her eyes at the intruder.
He's a lot younger than she expected, probably around her own age, and she can't help but notice he is quite good looking, albeit a bit on the unkempt side, with unruly hair and a bit of stubble. He also appears to be absolutely furious.
"That's because you're sitting on it," he snarls, stressing his words with his hands. "Now, I suggest you get lost."
"Too late for that," she mutters quietly, turning back around and getting comfortable on the bench. She is not going to let this guy just run her off. No way.
"Did you not hear me?" he growls, rounding the bench so he's standing right in front of her, and she can detect a hint of disbelief in his voice. "Or are you just dumb?"
"No, I heard you just fine," Rory says boldly, not about to back down. This guy is making her absolutely furious, and it's strangely relieving to focus on that instead of her predicament for a while. And, she's always been stubborn to a fault. "You told me to get lost. I don't think I can get more lost than I already am, so I'm just gonna stay right here for a while."
"Fantastic," he grumbles. "Just fucking fantastic."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she bites out, rather proud that her tone successfully conveys the exact opposite sentiment. "Does my misfortune inconvenience you?"
"As a matter of fact, it does," he throws back. "I've had a hellish couple of days, or weeks actually, and I damn well don't need some crazy entitled brat giving me any crap right now."
"Crazy entitled brat?" she all but shrieks, staring at him, unable to completely process the accusation.
As way of answer he thrusts his hand out towards her, letting his eyes travel from her face, down to her feet, and back up, an eyebrow raised in silent challenge. She opens her mouth to protest again, but glances down at herself, seeing the designer coat with the glittery dress peeking out around her knees and the sparkling shoes, and his assumption suddenly makes so much more sense. She closes her mouth again.
"What? No scathing comeback for that one?" he snarls.
"This is not… I'm not who…what you think I am," she stumbles, suddenly feeling exposed, slumping back against the bench. "And I'm not crazy."
"How reassuring," he deadpans. "You're still in my spot."
"Did you pay for it or something?" she asks, despite herself getting drawn right back in again. She has no idea what it is, but something about this guy makes her blood boil. And it's not entirely a bad feeling. She thinks she's actually enjoying herself, despite everything. "No offense, but you don't exactly look like you can afford it."
"And you'd know, huh?"
She frowns, for the first time taking a really good look at him. "Actually, you look like you've been sleeping in your clothes," she remarks.
His eyes flash with something she can't quite put a name to. She thinks it could be embarrassment, but it's soon overtaken by seething anger. "Well, newsflash for you, princess," he grinds out through clenched teeth. "That's because I have. On this bench. So get the hell off it or I swear to whatever insanity is out there, I'll do it for you."
She finds herself staring at him, mouth open in shock. She blinks once, and manages a weak, "What?"
"You heard me," he spits out. "I suggest you get your ass off of my bench. Now!" This time, the unveiled threat is not enough to completely mask the desperation in his voice.
She scurries off the bench anyway, because she is pretty sure he would have no qualms pulling her up from it. At the same time, she has seen no signs warning her of violence, and he actually takes a step back to give her space when she stands up. She frowns, taking two small steps away from the bench, still watching him.
"But… It's cold outside," she mumbles, still not quite grasping what he told her.
"Thanks for pointing out the obvious," he mutters, hoisting an old backpack she hadn't noticed before from his shoulder and onto the bench. Her eyes follow it and widen in surprise when she sees letters carved into the wooden plank where she had been sitting a moment ago. How had she not noticed that before she sat down?
"I thought you were just joking," she mumbles, trying to decipher what the letters say. She thinks the first is a J.
He scoffs, turning back to her for a moment, his eyes showing nothing but contempt. "Yeah, 'cause of course there's no way little princess could run into some real life misery on her trip down the food chain."
"No, no, I meant about the name," she stutters hurriedly, pointing unnecessarily towards the bench. "And for your information, these are not my normal clothes."
"Yeah, of course not," he mutters, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I suggest you get back to whatever castle you came from, before those clothes get you into trouble."
"Oh, believe me," she mutters, "I would if I could."
"The exit is right over there," he says, pointing. "Just hail a cab or whatever. I'm sure you've got better things to do than hang around here with the strays."
"You know what? I do have better things to do than hang around some random park in New York!" she yells, suddenly feeling both lonely and scared, her eyes stinging from unshed tears. "I would love to get back home right about now, but I don't even know where I am. I lost my mom in the crowd somewhere and even if I knew where I was, I don't know where to find our car, so please stop telling me to go home, because I can't!"
She can see a brief flicker of something resembling sympathy, or maybe recognition, in his eyes, but then he shakes his head. "So call your mom, and get out of my hair!"
"I don't have any money!" she yells right back. "And my pager is dead."
"You've got to be kidding me," he groans.
"Oh, you have no idea how much I wish I was."
"Well, I can't help you there, so why don't you go bother someone else, huh?" he says, turning his back to her.
She opens her mouth to retort with some snide remark, but her eyes catch sight of a wellworn paperback in his back pocket and the words won't come out. They get stuck somewhere in her throat as part of her anger and irritation turns into curiousity and intrigue.
"Whatever," he mutters, pulls out the book and sits down on the bench, obviously about to ignore her.
The larger part of her really thinks she should do as he said anf leave. But she doesn't move, just stands there är watching him read, because another part of her is even more intrigued now. She isn't even bothered by the fact that she's basically staring at him. And then he pulls out a worn pencil from his jacket pocket and scribbles something in the book and now she not only wants to know what he's reading, she wants to know what he's writing as well.
"Maybe we can help each other," she finds herself saying, swallowing hard as she hears the words come over her lips.
"You want to help me?" he asks, head whipping up so fast she barely sees him move, and stares at her like she's gone insane. Then he laughs. "Yeah, right."
"What's so crazy about that?" she asks, blinking in confusion, taken aback by his sudden outburst.
"You actually have to ask?" he questions, still laughing, though she can't help but notice it sounds bitter.
"Well…" she starts, but then realizes that someone who fights for the right to sleep on a park bench probably isn't exactly used to receiving help. So she tries a different approach. "I need someone who knows this city, and you could probably use somewhere to sleep that actually has four walls and a roof, if only for the night."
He eyes her closely. "Mutual benefit, huh?" he asks, still watching her somewhat warily.
"Something like that," she agrees. What she doesn't mention is that she can't seem to walk away. She wants to keep talking to him, no matter how insane that probably is. She just can't help being drawn to him.
She can hear her mother's voice in the back of her mind, warning her to stay safe, and not to trust strangers, especially ones who clearly lack what she considers the bare necessities in life, not to mention basic manners. But for some reason she does feel safe around this guy, despite the less than ideal meeting, the insults and the yelling. He's had plenty of opportunity to take advantage of her implied naivety. Especially in this strangely empty part of the park. He could probably have taken her purse before she even knew he was there. But he didn't. Not that there's anything of value in it, but still.
"So, you want me to help you find your mom?" he clarifies, clearly still not sure he actually heard her right.
"Yeah," she agrees, nodding unnecesarily.
"And what exactly would my…reward for finding her be?" he asks suspiciously, eyes narrowed.
"A room at the hotel we're staying at tonight," she says as confidently as she can. She knows she can't promise that, but she will do everything she can to make sure Lorelai makes good on her word when they find her.
She can see the wheels turning in his head, and can only imagine what he might be thinking. To her it seems like an easy choice. A cold bench in a park on one hand versus a warm bed, a shower and hotel breakfast on the other. But she also realizes that, for him, maybe it's not quite that black and white.
"Ok," he finally says, though he seems more than a little hesitant.
"Ok?" she asks, surprised to be sure, but also definitely happy.
He nods slowly, almost looking a bit lost, but then he stands up and closes the book. She catches a glimpse of the title and smiles.
"How very fitting," she remarks, her smile widening.
He blinks at her, confused for a second. "Huh?"
"Your book," she clarifies. "Holden."
He looks down at the book still in his hand, and she can almost make out a smile tugging at his lips. "Hopefully without the pneumonia though," he says, and when he looks up he's smirking at her.
"Right," she agrees, finding herself unable to look away. They stare at each other for some time, until she can feel her cheeks turn pink and ducks her head so he hopefully won't see it, nervously tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
That smirk and those eyes should not be allowed on the same face, she decides, idly wondering what exactly she's gotten herself into.