Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine. Even the basic plot isn't mine. It's based of a musical titled "Mary Lou" (only in Israel ;)), with a change of some things to suit the plot and characters better.

A/N: This is an AU (Alternate Universe) story. Some characters are not where they are supposed to be or not how they're supposed to be or not in the place you're used to see them at. You'll see.

Again, sorry for the no updates. I need inspiration. I might go to watch the musical again next week. It might help.

Reviewer Seehoo, you rock. ;) I know what you mean about the summary… I hate long summaries. I love my summary. But you're right. I guess I'll add a little to it. ;)

Tye, you crack me up. :D I love stalkers. ;) Um, the name is basically Alexis Leigh, which is a name I love, and Mariano, which is, uh, well. ;) I have a complex with updating, but I'm planning to get back to "Everything it Wasn't" after I'm done with this and um, another fic that is not posted here. :$ But Thankies. You rock mucho socks. :D

I Say Jump, You Say "How High"

He placed the tray on the dining table.

"Pizza." He announced with a grin, sitting opposite of her on the kitchen table.

"Oh, god." She growled playfully. "You're taking this way too far."

"What?" He smirked. "I say I'd feed you Pizza." He said matter-of-factly, folding his arms and leaning them on the table.

"Every single day?" She raised an eyebrow.

He nodded, confirming it as he echoed her, "Every single day."

"To tell you the truth, I'm getting pretty sick of it." She half-grinned.

"Yeah, well." He stood up and walked to the refrigerator, placing a kiss on Rory's cheek as he walked past her. "You'll live."

"Or I'll strangle myself with the box." She disagreed, turning to look at him. He glanced at her with raised brows and she smiled sweetly in reply.

"You gotta stop doing that." He shook his head, pulling a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. Her smile drove him crazy.

She drove him crazy. They drove each other crazy, both in the good and in the bad senses of the word.

But they've dealt. They've settled.

They became closer. They became one.

It's been a little more than a week. Just a week, but still, it changed them. They managed to learn a lot about each other, from annoying little habits to their deepest secrets. Well, some. A nightly routine of Truth or Dare games helped bring some facts out. Along with occasional 'I dare you to kiss me' bits.

They spent some nights, just talking. About his loss, about her past, about his dreams to reopen his dad's bookstore, a dream that was revamped after his dad's death, as before, he just wanted to help with it. She told him about her big dreams. Too go to Harvard. To see the world and to live to tell about it, as someone who matters. A journalist. An overseas correspondent.

They managed to avoid the obstacles. Like Sasha. But she didn't get even anywhere near the room, for the obvious – and not so obvious – reasons. He managed to get her to not care. Well, not for long. There were nights Rory went to her dad's, just so the three of them – Rory, Jess, Sasha - would be able to get some rest. Not minding the fact that only one of the three needed it.

But he knew. Even if something was to go wrong, he would fix it. They would fix it together.

The day went by quickly. Too quickly. But they couldn't avoid the sunrise. This one, or any of them, marking the new day. Marking the end of the time they've spent together. A few days and she'll have to go back home.

He went out for a few minutes, asked her to wait for him at the house. She was going through his CD collection, loving the fact that they share the same taste. As long as it's not too much of it.

She grinned and shook her head. If he went out to get Pizza…

She dropped the last CD she looked at back on its pile, and sat down near his small table. She opened his second drawer and took out the paper he told her. What he wrote. She loved reading it.

She smiled, resting it on the desk beside her. She just smiled. She returned it to the drawer and closed it shut. She looked down at the blank piece of paper. It caught her attention. Although it was blank. It was blank and it caught her attention.

She grabbed a pen. It was calling her name. The pen, the paper. She started writing. Everything. All that she's been through in the last few months required it. It required her documentation. And she wanted to remember. Not that she'll even manage to forget.

Time had passed. He was still away.

She was thirsty. Knowing that she's home alone, she climbed down the stairs and headed for the kitchen. The day she got her, Jess told her to 'make herself at home', and she did just that.

She looked around. It surprised her. Even though he lived there all his life, the house was so tacky. So not Jess. With all that he told her, she figured Sasha took over this place as well. She despised her for him. It was second-handed.

Entering the ceramic-designed kitchen, she paused. A stranger was sitting in the kitchen.

"Ex…cuse me?" She asked hesitatingly, not knowing what or who or… what. Her mom told her to never talk to strangers. Well, she didn't, really. But she knew it was wrong.

The stranger turned in his chair. He looked too… weird, to be dangerous. "Yes?" He asked.

"Who are you?" She kept on. It felt weird. It wasn't her house yet she was asking questions.

"Here." He replied.

"I get that." She laughed nervously. Oh, what the heck. Jess told her to make herself at home. "But, who are you?" She repeated.

"Oh." He paused, before reaching to offer her his hand. "Gleason. Kirk. Kirk Gleason."

It took her a few moments, but she just gave it. It's just a handshake. "Rory." She said.

He released his hand. "What are you doing here?" He asked, turning back to his former position.

"Uh…" She was about to answer when she mentally slapped herself. "You. Right back at you."

"I'm just waiting for the Mrs." He said casually, bending forward to smell a flower.

"The… Mrs.?" She asked, and he replied. "Sasha. Club issues."

She nodded understandingly. "Okay then." She sighed. "I'll just…" She headed for the fridge and took a bottle of water out just as she opened it. Without saying a word, she went past him and followed.

He looked at her suspiciously. It was after a few moments of staring that he rose up and followed her.

She was back at the desk. Sitting. Drinking. Writing. Steaming.

He stood at the entrance and stared.

She kept writing. About her. About him. About how she met him. About how she knew he met her. The same way, hey. About them. Them. About… was someone looking at her?

She turned around, jumping in place as she saw the figure of that weird stranger. "God!" She exclaimed, her hand unnoticeably rising to hold her chest.

"Sorry." He said. Not meaning it, of course.

"What are you doing?!" She asked, more than a little freaked out.

"Watching." He said plainly.

"Why?" She asked, feeling like she should run away.

"Just…" He shrugged.

"Stalking?" She tried to complete his sentence, but he shook his head, giving no specific reply.

"What are you doing?" He asked, moving forward to check the paper her spotted on the desk before her.

"What is it to you?" She asked, trying to defend it – and her – with voice.

"What are you writing?" He asked getting closer.

"Nothing." She replied nonchalantly. Well, she wished it was nonchalant.

"Never knew so much pain could lead to a whole different kind of pain," He quoted the only line he managed to read, "Well well well."

"Stop it!" She ordered.

He got closer. She tried to protect it with her hands, but he moved them. She just sat her as he read her. Read all that she felt, all that she was.

"If it wasn't all that sappy, I'd say you write pretty well." He said, impressed.

She was silent.

"Ever done that professionally?" He kept asking, snatching the paper from her to get a closer look at it.

She sighed, defeated. "Writing?" She asked, and he nodded.

"No." She replied.

"You should." He told her.

"I want to." She admitted.

He placed it back on the desk. He started walking, saying nothing. The silence was eerie to her.

"I bet I can arrange something." He said.

"Arrange?" She frowned.

"A job. A good one. Somewhere." He told her.

"You?" She frowned again, and he nodded.

"I'm an expert," He smirked lightly, "Dear. I have connections everywhere."

"You're going to get me a job?" She asked, not knowing if he meant it. Not knowing if to believe him. Not knowing if to trust him.

"With talent like yours, I can get you everywhere." He said.

She didn't know if to be flattered or if to be scared.

He just kept walking.

"Well…" She sighed, too curiously to back away. "Where?" She asked. "New York, Hartford…?"

"Are you kidding?" He cut in her words. "Think big, girl!" He ordered. "I'm going to start with LA, get you on a plane to Europe!"

"I'm just 18!" She cried defensively… although if what the guy was saying is true… it was more that quite appealing.

"So?" He asked.

"So?" She asked in reply. "I'm a minor! I have school! I have a family, I have…"

"You have talent!" He cut in her words again. "You said you want this! Go ahead and get this! You can leave everything behind, you should! This is what you are."

She sighed. She didn't know what to say. He took it as a sign.

"Wait until you graduate if you want to." He sighed, pulling a card out of his pocket, glancing at it before presenting it to her. "Call me when you ready." He said before he turned to walk away.

She stared at it. There was so mistrust in her eyes, some doubt, some fear. But a lot of interest.