Hey everyone! Yes, I'm back after a very extended break with the end of this story; I finally found out what all the characters were planning to do, and I thought I'd tell you :-} So, here's their story, and the end of the long road. It's not officially the end, because when I join the stories together, I'll add the prequel and the final chapter, which will be a comprehensive epilogue (covers all). HOWEVER, I need someone to tell me how to join the stories! They used to have a feature where you could do that, but it's disappeared! Anyway, not sure of what to do, maybe I should just leave them apart like this and everything'll be alright.
So, anyway, here is your last and final Chapter of Dance a Thousand Steps. Sorry about the ending, if it's...too.....uh...you'll see what I mean. Thank you for all those who reviewed, you've been too generous.
Enjoy.
Luce
Epilogue
The sun was rising in the distance, slowly, somewhere in the East; in Stars Hollow, it was still before dawn. Two weary figures stumbled out of a cab by the first street into town, a boy and a girl. There was an odd tenderness, a hidden intimacy to the way he held her elbow as she wavered on her feet, a natural air of protectiveness that permeated his actions. She was a sleepy, tired child-like beauty that clung to him softly, rubbing her sleep-hazy eyes; she smiled at him in the pearly grayness of the horizon, and the cabbie flinched. Echoes of a long lost sentiment played on his face for a painful second. Curtly, he named the fare and took the money, unfazed by the wad of bills the boy had pulled out.
To him, it was another fairy tale, another lucid dream conceived in the early hours of the morning. One tall, blond, handsome boy, rich and polite and sleep-wrinkled; one mysterious, striking, doll-like figure that he sheltered in such a fragile way. He shook his head as he drove away, back to reality, back to Hartford. The two figures on the curb diminished to small shadows in the luminous, damp pre-dawn, and then disappeared.
On the curb, the girl leaned against the boy, a tired half-sigh half attempt at speech emanating from her throat, floating off into a small sound of contentment.
"Rory, c'mon. You can't fall asleep standing up."
She leaned against his chest, slumping against him, closing her eyes peacefully.
"Too late." she whispered, smiling a little smile to herself.
Tristan took her shoulders and stood her back, giving her a tiny shake.
"Earthquake!" gasped Rory, opening those vast blue eyes with a mock-shocked expression.
He rolled her eyes.
"You got jokes before the day's even begun. C'mon Sleeping Beauty, we're on a mission."
The two tiredly ambled down the main street, stumbling into each other occasionally, laughing a little. Had Rory been in her right senses, she would have realized what a scandal the scene would have caused if any of the local residents had seen it; but in her half-asleep state, she was too tired to attempt furtiveness.
Over their heads, the horizon was slowly turning pink, a blush nibbling at the edge of the cool, clear pearly luminescence of the gray dawn; underfoot, the asphalt was wet, probably from a previous rain. She stepped in small, black glistening puddles, sending droplets flying everywhere. The changing sky reflected in the small pools of water, quivering in the first strains of dawn. The streetlights were still on, but fading fast; over the treetops, a pale streak was breaking, the first trace of blue attacking the sky.
Everything was so peaceful, so pale, so sharply striking in it's wet, dewy intensity. She breathed in the clean air, and it left her chest chilled.
They wandered towards the diner, unsure of where to head.
The scene before them was striking, sharp, and fresh; they stopped still, just watching for a moment.
Sitting on the gazebo steps, across from the diner, was Jess.
The first hues of dawn were painted across his face in shadows and lights; they defined each strong, dark feature with a soft glow, tracing all the contours of his figure. He was wearing only a thin, white undershirt and a pair of rough jeans, the tenseness of his back apparent even from a distance. In his hand was a burning cigarette, it's glowing tip like a waning firefly in the new light; it hung there, seemingly forgotten, while it's owner stared out at the strange, pale glow on the horizon.
He did not seem to notice the cold, or to see Tristan and Rory; on his face was a calm, yet far away look, a look tinged with an unspoken sadness that was not easily revealed. He looked years older, and his hair was tousled and slept-in, a small trace of stubble coming in.
"Jess?" Rory breathed suddenly, and sharply, he awoke. Turning towards her, he smiled a wan smile, his face guarded again. He took a drag of his cigarette.
'What the hell are you doing out here at this hour?" he said amiably, motioning for them to join him. They sat down on the steps, watching the rosy hue as it spread across the sky like a stain, bringing in the first fiery rays of the sun in magentas and gold's.
"I was worried about you," came her honest reply. "Plus, we have school tomorrow. I need to do some work."
He nodded, and dropped the last bits of his cigarette to the ground. Grinding it under his shoe, his shoulders slumped a little.
"I'm fine," he said nonchalantly, without an affected air. The honesty of the words startled Rory a little; peering carefully, she dug under the calm exterior, probing.
"I'm sorry about Maggie," she started, and saw his shoulders tense again. On the other side of him, Tristan pulled out a pack of Winstons. Jess gave a thankful half grin, and Tristan nodded. With one quick, expert movement, Jess tapped the bottom of the carton, flipped the cigarette into his mouth and lit it. Quickly looking at Rory, he waited. Sighing, she gave a half-hearted consenting nod. Taking a long drag, he let the smoke out into the misty air, watching it swirl in ghostly patterns around them.
"Me too," he said at last, and Rory leaned her head on his shoulder.
The three of them sat there on the gazebo steps, watching the light break over the town silently.
"I thought it would be just another....you know, notch. Another adventure. I didn't expect it to end like this, you know," he said, contemplatively, as though analyzing his own words. Tristan nodded, in a deeper understanding.
"I should have said something," the blond boy said ruefully, running a hand through his hair. Jess smirked.
"Hell, from one Winston man to another, do you think I would've listened?" he chuckled humorlessly, throwing Tristan an incredulous look.
The other boy grinned sadly, acknowledging the truth of those words. With a half mischievous smile, he arrogantly lit his own cigarette.
"Was it good, at least?" he asked conspiratorially, with a knowing air.
"Hell yeah," smirked the other boy with a gleam in his eye.
"Hey, none of that around me, gentlemen," came Rory's half-asleep but still dangerous voice.
"Yes ma'am," the two saluted at once, and then shot each other distasteful looks. Shaking their heads, they shared a private smile in their love for the innocent girl with the long legs sprawled on the steps, falling asleep on Jess' shoulder.
"I don't know what to do," commented Jess quietly, taking another drag. On the sky, the sun was breaking through in a victorious explosion of pink.
"Forget," said Tristan firmly, intently glaring straight ahead into space.
The darker boy nodded, licking his lips absently, not trying at all.
"She's fuckin' ruined me for other women, you know," Jess cursed softly, clenching his fist unconsciously. Tristan nodded in agreement, and then looked at Rory.
"That's what I thought too," the blond boy answered. "But it may not always be the case. You can't escape the inescapable, it's gonna find you one day, don't matter how hard you avoid it."
"Is that a bad thing?" piped up Rory's voice a little maliciously.
"Never that," chuckled Tristan softly, smiling secretly to himself.
On the horizon, the sun was fiery pink and rising, bathing their faces in fierce hues; across the street, unknown to all three of them, Patty watched the silent trio, camera in hand, quietly clicking away. With a thoughtful look, the older woman brooded by the open windowsill, and then sighed deeply.
"I believe they'll be alright," was all she said, firmly taking the camera away. With those last words, she shut the window and walked back into the darkened house. On the wall, ticking away in the morning darkness, the hands of the clock precisely announced 6:45.
At the airport, 6:45 flashed imperiously from the boards, demanding attention. People flowed in a startled, rushed hurry to their respective gates; around them, tired, expensive attractively lit stores awaited, empty. The cool tile of the vast floors made a clicking sound under her black Armani stiletto heels as she hurried down to Gate 15. A voice spoke over the intercom, unintelligible. The tall girl flipped her long, blonde hair back, her long legs straining the short, expensive black miniskirt of the Gucci business suit as they determinedly strode forward with a model switch that earned more than a few stares. Yes, Maggie Longbourne Sheffield was not a girl you'd be likely to miss; she demanded, or perhaps, commanded attention, no matter where she was with that walk. Dark sunglasses covered her eyes, in spite of the fact it was still early morning. A large matching Armani bag hung from her shoulder, swaying with her walk. The clock flashed faster.
"All passengers to Gate 15 boarding now, all passengers to Gate 15," the tinny voice announced in monotone. The tall girl stopped hesitantly.
She stood there in the middle of the airport, people swarming around her, tall and proud and beautiful; slowly she took off the sunglasses, revealing weary eyes.
She touched her lips for a second, a tiny smile playing on the corners of her mouth. A small sigh never surfaced; her tired eyes softened a bit, and a trace of sadness washed over her face. Hesitancy registered on her features, the monotone voice insistently blaring in the background, a child crying in a stroller, a heavy, lumpy woman bumping into her clumsily. She stood motionless, letting the tide ebb and flow around her, shutting every sound out, listening to her own heart beating tiredly within her chest. Her proud, curiously beautiful face melted for a second; taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulder.
With one last look, she walked away from Gate 15.
Soft strains of Vivaldi floated through the spacious, tastefully decorated rooms of the house. From the living room could be heard the soft clink of glasses, sporadic strains of polite yet mischievous laughter, and the low sound of people conversing. Grabbing a glass of port, Lorelai Gilmore entered the room where her grandparents sat. On the sofa, Tristan, Jess and Rory looked up at her.
"Yale is fine school, young man. I only wish you could influence Rory, but she seems to have her mother's stubborn streak...." Richard Gilmore chuckled, taking a sip of his gin and tonic.
Tristan snuck a wink in Rory's direction.
"I'm afraid she might beat me with one of her precious books if I even suggested it. We'll see a lot of each other on the weekends, and then there's always vacation." Tristan nodded, used to making polite conversation in a very charming manner. On the other side of Rory, Jess seemed to have gone in some soft of boredom induced coma. Tristan nudged Rory, who in turn sharply elbowed Jess.
"Yes?" said the boy, alertly sitting up.
Everyone looked at him oddly. A slight flush brushed over his face, and disappeared. He cleared his throat awkwardly.
"So, Jess, what school will you be going to in the fall?" said Emily Gilmore graciously, ever perceptive and the perfect hostess.
"Well, turns out I'm pretty sure I'll be in MIT," said Jess, and grinned at the few raised eyebrows. "Believe it or not, I got some off the charts scores on my SAT's, I don't know how."
Rory narrowed her eyes at him; knowing Jess, he'd either fixed the scores somehow, or he'd actually used all that stored up genius. One look from him assured her.
"I didn't have much in the way of extracurricular stuff, since I'm not typically your average..uh...involved kind of guy, but I had a nice essay. Some Thoreau and Emerson, and a quote from Napoleon of something."
"You are aware that MIT has earned a reputation as a wild playground for the intellectual. In other words, it's the most difficult party school anyone can get into."
"Well, that pretty much cinched it for me," grinned Jess, earning a distasteful look from Richard.
"I hope you won't run around getting drunk like those horrible Greeks," said Emily, pouring him a small glass of wine. Jess had the urge to suddenly laugh that he wisely repressed.
"No ma'am," he smiled, downing the whole thing.
"Well, it was nice having so many young people in the house for a change. Any plans for tonight?"
"Actually, since it's the end of the year now, we thought we'd go say goodbye to old Chilton and maybe stay out late a few hours, have a toast to days gone by," said Tristan.
"With diet coke, of course," hastened to add Rory.
"Lorelai, this is fine with you?"
With a short look at her mother's disapproving face, Lorelai decided suddenly that it was.
"Sure mom," she smiled sweetly, watching her mother's features slightly sour as she ushered them out the door.
"Next Friday," called out Emily Gilmore, standing on the doorstep, watching the group of four enter the car. Rory waved a cheerful goodbye.
Richard draped one arm around her, and sighed.
The school loomed broad and dark in the night, imposing in it's gargoyled, mysterious gloom. The ivy looked like dead, withered fingers clutching the cold stone walls; the courtyard stood dead still, as though holding it's breath, waiting for some terrible thing.
"Well, not much different than how it looked the first day," shivered Rory, wrapping her arms around herself. Tristan looked up in awe at the massive, solid building in it's dark glory.
"God, it's like.....a haunted house...."
"Why did we come here exactly?" muttered Rory, her eyes quickly shifting over the surrounding. The shrubbery seemed to hide some dark evil lurking just behind.
"Uh, to wish it a fond.....farewell?" said Tristan lamely, daring to peek down the dark, columned corridor.
Jess sauntered forward, slipping the credit card into his pocket along with a small black case of tools and a short wire.
"System disabled," he grinned, lighting another cigarette.
Tristan shook his head in amusement.
"I don't know whether to thank you or to smack you silly," commented Rory, glaring at him balefully. All three looked up in silence at the frightening, gothic campus structure.
"Are we in a Stephen King novel?" said Jess uneasily, glancing around.
"This won't take long," said Tristan bravely. "Let's say bye to our beloved Chilton."
"And the newspaper headlines will say, They had Such a Bright Future," sighed Rory. "Let's go."
The trio proceeded.
"Oh shit," cursed Tristan. "I left my phone in the car, let me run get it."
The other two nodded, and sat on a cold stone bench, as Rory began telling Jess some Chilton urban legend.
Back at the car, Tristan pulled his phone out. Startled, he stared at the bright green display as it started to glow. The eerie sound of the few lonely, digitalized notes emanating from the phone chilled him; quickly, he answered it.
"Hello?"
After a dramatic pause, the voice on the other end spoke sweetly.
"Hello, Tristan darling."
He felt his fist clench as his heart skipped a beat.
"What do you want?"
"This time, not your body. I want to know where he is."
Tristan snorted, knowing all too well who "he" was.
"So you can fuck with his mind? Right. Friends don't let friends do ....Maggies."
"So funny, so charming," the British accent lilted. "Perfectly droll. Put him on the phone."
"No."
"Tristan!" hissed the voice petulantly, pleading, now sweet. "Please, babe?"
"Maggie....I don't think I should have to explain this agai-"
"I'm in Hartford," she suddenly interrupted, and he was frightened by the suddenly tired, vulnerable tone. He drew in a sharp breath.
"What the hell are you doing in Hartford? You're supposed to be in London, heading to Italy for your summer vacation right now. Matter of fact, shouldn't you be in Naples right now?"
The feminine voice on the other side sighed, a sigh that conveyed raw emotion.
"Tristan, for bloody chrissake, quit dicking around and put him on the phone, please," she said in a quiet, resolute voice.
Tristan leaned back, stunned.
"You're serious. I can't believe it. You flew all the way back here for this. You're serious."
"Will you quit babbling like an idiot?" the contralto sharply pierced the phone.
Leaning against his hood, Tristan breathed deeply, and made a decision.
"We're at Chilton. I'll wait for you, you have map navigation in your Aston Martin, don't you?"
"Yes," she said, and he could hear the relief that laced her voice, even through the shaky connection.
"Alright, bye," he said quietly, and listened to the click.
Swearing at himself, he lightly punched the hood, and then ran his hand through his hair; biting his bottom lip, he prayed he'd made the right decision for a moment. Unsure, he tossed the phone and caught it; standing up, he resolutely shut the door and walked away.
"What took you so long?" queried Rory, a little cross. "We're sitting here, in mortal fear of getting our blood sucked out by the ghost of some chemistry teacher and you're taking your sweet time....
"You value Jess' protection that little?" joked Tristan, still uneasy.
"How bout a walk?" said Jess, getting up restlessly.
Tristan looked around, uncomfortably.
"Sure, uh, why not. Let me lead a guided tour, matter of fact. By the way, you took care of that security camera right around the corner, correct?"
Jess saluted.
"Alright then, no problems. This way, gentleman and lady. Welcome to the fabulous Chilton...." Tristan announced, stepping into the dim hallway.
Outside, in the Chilton driveway, the gravel crunched under expensive tires. Stopping, the car shut off it's lights, disappearing in the darkness.
The door open, and a lithe, svelte figure stepped out, carefully and warily slamming the door shut; she jumped a little at the sound, nervous. Examining the less-than-inviting surroundings, she took a breath and bravely stepped forward into the courtyard. Hearing voices coming from down the hallway, she headed determinedly in that direction. Stopping for a second, she smoothed down the signature khaki Burberry raincoat that tied around her waist and pushed her hair back from her face, subconsciously biting her lip. Taking one second to square her shoulders, she proceeded into the darkness.
Ahead, Jess lagged a bit behind the two as they shared some obscure memory buried in the mysterious archives that marked the begging of their relationship; examining a picture on the wall of the dimly lit hallway, he read the caption, not seeing it. The hallway was a pool of shadows in-between pale spots of light. It was no small wonder that he did not see her at first.
She stood there, watching him from a shadow; unable to wait any longer, she stepped forward into the dim light. Harsh shadows and angles where cast over the stunning features of her face. He froze, slowly turning his face to her.
Nervously, she stood there, waiting for some sign of recognition, some reaction. Slowly, he advanced, until he stood directly over her, eye to eye.
"You came back," he said evenly, his voice calm and dispassionate.
"Yes, I did," she replied, unsure.
Neither said anything; he examined her eyes, her face, searching her, turning her inside out. Ashamed of her decrepit psychology and reasoning, ashamed of what she knew he was finding, she defiantly looked at the ground.
When she looked up, his eyes were soft with......forgiveness. She breathed sharply. She didn't understand, and then, suddenly, she did.
He leaned in slowly, terrifyingly measured, tantalizingly careful; she stood still, afraid to breathe. To her surprise, his lips landed on her cheek, a soft gentle kiss. She shook a little, afraid of the waves breaking over her. His hand cupped her jaw with the gentlest of motions; his lips were soft and warm on her skin. His gentle, unexplained action was so terribly intimate, so casually heartbreaking that she buckled completely under it. Emotions swallowed and drowned her, and she was lost in the urge to cry. Pulling away, he put both hands on her shoulders, observing her heaving chest and downcast eyes, the quivering mouth. Slowly pulling her to his chest in an embrace, he let her shiver there, like a lost, broken bird tossed out of a storm into his hands.
"It's alright," was all he said, and all he needed to say.
In front of them, Tristan and Rory watched the two tortured beings, tangled in their hate and desire and intelligence, irreversibly fucked up, who'd found peace in each other. The couple in the hall holding each other took no notice of their stare. For Jess and Maggie, the world was closed within a small space filled with damp tendrils of blond hair, a warm breath, a small, soundless sob; centimeters of space, closed by skin, by touch, by emotion.
Maggie stood back, looking at him, meeting the same sad knowledge in his eyes.
"I just wanted to let you know you've ruined me for life," she whispered with a shaky smile. He nodded, sweet bitterness flooding him.
"Same here," he said dryly, struggling with the words.
"Will I ever see you again?" she said, and he understood everything, circumstances, the turning of the universe and the meaning of life in that second. Half a second later it was lost on him again.
"I'm waiting," he said simply, and she nodded.
"When the time is right," she whispered, and he understood.
She backed away, two steps, three steps.
"I can't forget you," he said so softly she barely caught it.
Four steps, five steps. Six.
"I would bloody hope so," she quavered, her face tragic and still with shadows clashing. The raincoat swished around her long, lithe, bare legs, the thin heels tapping slowly as she continued backing away, facing him still.
Seven. Eight, nine, ten.....
"Bye," he mouthed silently, and she read it.
"Goodbye," she mouthed back, and disappeared around the corner.
She was gone. The hallway was empty, filled with pools of pale light and shadow; he was alone again.
Rory and Tristan silently slid into Mr. Medina's, filled with their own thoughts, their own memories. Sitting down at a familiar desk, Rory propped her feet up nonchalantly; with a smile, Tristan flopped into the seat next to her.
"I remember sitting here," she said lightly, watching him in the dim darkness. "You stared at me."
"All the time," conceded Tristan. "I thought about doing it on his desk too."
She giggled, and Tristan raised an eyebrow.
"Rory Gilmore, I can't believe you. Seriously, for chrissake..."
But she had already dragged him up front, and jumped up on his desk; pulling him between her legs, she tangled him up in her mouth, her fingers, warm and rough. He slowly pushed her down to the desk, his hands under her skirt, breathing in between her lips, running the tip of his tongue over the roof of her mouth.
"This is better than I'd imagined," he whispered. She grabbed his tie and roughly shut his mouth with hers, her other hand sliding down his stomach to his belt. A paperweight fell to the floor; neither one noticed.
Wandering out in the hallway, slightly more rumpled than half hour ago, they ran out to the courtyard. Jess appeared from the darkness, his face saying everything they needed to know.
Hugging him, Rory slowly absorbed his pain, rocking him back and forth like a baby.
The three looked up at the school again, remembering everything for one last time.
The lockers. The taunting. The projects. The work, the mind numbing classes, the small journey of a damp tongue over dry lips, watching her. Waiting for her. A piano bench......a short talk in the courtyard.....a laugh.......then autumn....
Where do you wanna go? He'd asked, numb. Rory was talking to him.
Anywhere, she had said, and that's where they had gone. And here they were, back again.
Slowly walking out the gates, they both whispered their final farewell, saying goodbye forever.
In the early hours, before light even crept over the darkened sky, turning midnight into gray, the older Lorelai climbed into Rory's bed.
"Rory," she whispered, shaking her daughter.
To her surprise, Rory rolled over, her eyes wide open.
"When did you get in?" asked Lorelai, surprised. Rory sighed.
"We dropped Jess off about an hour ago. Then I crept in. I didn't want to wake you up, but...I couldn't sleep. I feel too full...of everything....it's just spilling over the sides of me," whispered Rory, looking at the ceiling.
Lorelai cuddled into her daughter, grabbing the stuffed hen.
"You slept with him," she said, and it was more a statement than an accusation. "I can tell. You look rosy. Rosy is a telltale sign; we both get very rosy. Glowy too. We don't even need a nightlight in here, matter of fact, you light everything up-"
"Alright," interrupted Rory, half embarrassed, waiting tensely for her mom's response. She received only a contemplative silence.
"I knew it was going to happen, I was just hoping it wouldn't, you know? You're eighteen, Rory. I can't keep you under my thumb anymore and make you wear sparkly princess dresses anymore. You're leaving and going to college soon. But I want you to know, you're my daughter and I love you. I don't want you to make mistakes like I did, that's all," Lorelai continued. She took a deep breath.
Beside her, Rory relaxed a little.
"Do you think you'll be alright....with everything?" asked Lorelai, finishing the lecture.
"I'm in love. I don't know what I'm doing." whispered Rory in a plaintive tone of voice.
"Poor baby..." grinned Lorelai, hugging the girl. "Now the dirt. If you're old enough to do it, you're old enough to share the juicy details."
"Mom!"
"Just playing, just playing," muttered Lorelai.
Silence filled the room for a moment.
"No you're not," accused Rory suddenly.
"So! Is it that wrong to want to know! Not even one little detail? Maybe, a general rating, or..."
"No!"
"Why!"
"Because I said so," said Rory flatly, and rolled over.
A disgruntled silence fell between the two.
"We did it on Mr. Medina's desk," giggled Rory in the darkness, eliciting a gasp.
"That is wrong in every kind of way possible!" wailed Lorelai, clutching her arm. "Now you have to tell me! You are cruel and horrible and-"
"Goodnight, mommy." said Rory, and closed her eyes. A frustrated Lorelai grumbled a few unintelligible and uncomplimentary things under her breath, and turned her back.
As the first rays of the dawn broke over the town, the two fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. At his house, Tristan put out his last cigarette and climbed into bed, smiling a little as he closed his eyes. In his bed, Jess slumbered fitfully, tossing and turning.
Outside, the world waited, waited for them; they were young, bright, and full of passion, deeply entwined within complex memories and feelings, between dark and light, between friendship and love, between terrible secrets and finally cleared pasts.
The first rays broke over the horizon.
There it was, in all it's horrific, sappy glory. The Epilogue. And I hope ya'll enjoyed reading this entire story, and now, I ask for opinion; leave it, or put it together? Also, I've left some loose ends, in case I join it, so I can tie them up nice. I'd appreciate it if readers dropped a line, just to let me know what you thought...a little review..something...anyway, adios.
luce