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.
Thank you Ali (Holly Gilmore) and Megan (Innerspace) for helping me with ideas. They shall be used. At the meanwhile, read their fics. They rocks all of my socks. Some of my brothers', too. Thank you daddy, for suffering through my endless rants and coming up with great ideas. Oh, and thanks to everyone who has ever helped. My stars-hollow.org betas, my everyone.
Still
2004
It was a bit chilly outside. The skies, usually light blue at this time, were painted gray. Some of the trees surrounding him gave in to the blowing wind, letting some leafs drop from the branches and get sweeped away. The branches danced in rhythmical motions to the sound of silence.
He stood, motionless.
All that was around him treated him as a stranger. He wasn't surprised. It's been a while since he had been there. It seemed like time stood still in this place. Like nothing was changed in it and like it changed nothing.
That was so wrong.
He hated it there. Well, who didn't?
Everything around him was so… quiet. So still, so dead.
Not surprisingly.
He stared down at those letters. Those eternal letters that were carved in stone, forever to remain where they were. 'Elizabeth Mariano, 1962-1995''.
He hated how simple those letters looked. Like it was nothing, like it didn't matter.
It's been nine years since his mother died. Nine years. Nine freaking years.
Nine. Small but a big number. Turn it around and it's six. Add one and it's ten.
So he stood there, motionless, his arms crossed against his chest, partly to shield himself from the cold, partly because he just had nothing to do with his hands. He had to do something with his hands.
He had no idea what he was supposed to do. Was it okay to just stand there and let vague memories flood his mind? Because honestly, he hated being reminded of things he preferred to suppress.
Was he supposed to get a single red rose to place on the grave? Was he supposed to talk to his dead mother, wishing she would talk back? Was he supposed to cry over her grave and wish for her to pop out and hug him, telling him everything's going to be all right?
He actually considered doing one of those, just to silence his endless trains of painfully annoying thoughts. But he declined the idea. He wasn't that pathetic.
He visited his father's grave earlier. He considered himself lucky to have those two graves pretty close one to the other, to spare him some energy.
Funny. He never thought he would consider anything including a cemetery or the death of his parents something to feel lucky about.
His attention fell back on the grave in front of him. He noticed that the letters were beginning to fade. He would have to contact someone about that before it would be completely erased by the rain.
He wondered how it was down there. If it was quiet, if it was peaceful. If it was better than it was up here.
He never thought he would make it. And not only to this place, in its actual meaning. But in its spiritual meaning. He was surprised how well he was holding on.
Well. Right.
His hands uncrossed and went down into the pockets of his jeans. Something to do with his hands.
He sighed.
He glanced at his mother's name one more time before he turned his head away, turned his body away, and walked. Walked away.
A figure was standing outside, leaning against a metal fence, arms crossed. Waiting.
He passed by her and stopped, his eyes wandering around, looking at everything and nothing.
"Ready?" She asked him, trying to catch his gaze.
And she did. The indifferent yet pained glow in his eyes told her it was time to go. She draped her arm around his shoulders and walked him back into the car, on to wherever it was. Where it was better.
She was beginning to like that sound.
One step, two step, three step, four.
She walked through the corridors of the building she hated the most. Whoever designed it was either blind or just really insane.
Five step, six step, seven-eight-nine.
She liked how powerful it made her sound. How noticeable. Not to the crowd, though. To herself.
It's not like anyone noticed her, or knew who she was, anyway. She was ought to have something to keep her mind quiet.
She pushed through a horrifying see-through door with overdone golden… ugly things on it.
She walked through it, letting it slam behind her.
Ten.
She was surprised after all the times she allowed it to slam against its doorframe, how it was still whole. How it never broke, never cracked.
She wanted it to break. Just once.
Her shoes kept thumping as she realized she was there. Even though she walked through that very same road at least once a week, she still didn't know it by heart. Her mind always found something to think about while she was walking. She would get distracted and pay no attention to where she was going. She actually got lost a few times.
She straightened her sweater and ran her hand along the smooth lines of her skirt.
Her legs changed their direction and she turned, heading for a door. Her eyes quickly scanned that 'Gleason, Kirk' name that was written so niftily on the door. He didn't deserve it.
She pushed it open. She secretly wished she could do the same thing for the actual person.
"You wanted to see me?" She asked, her eyebrows going up. Walking into the room, she saw that Kirk, who was sitting with his hands entwined looking as ridiculous as always, wasn't alone. There was another ridiculous-looking man in there. Yippee?
"As a matter of fact…" Kirk leaned forward, "Yes."
Big surprise. Especially when considering the fact he said that like a million times before. That very same line. Clever, it was.
She glanced over at the other man, sitting on a different chair with his legs crossed, his arms crossed, his face… well, not crossed.
He looked… tired. A bit sleazy, rather? As he looked at her, his eyes reminded her of a snake. That wasn't very relaxing. But he looked serious. More serious than Kirk ever looked to her.
"Ms. Gilmore." Kirk started again. His hand rose to motion over at snake-guy. "Rob Cohen."
He remained as he was. Rob the snake guy, that is. His eyes still pierced through the fabric of her outfit.
"Hello." She greeted halfheartedly with a slight nod of her head. Snake guy was still as he was before.
The room was silent. She hated it. She hated to have uncomfortable silence in a place she was already uncomfortable to be at.
Kirk's chair made a noise that broke the silence. Not the mood, though.
"Mr. Cohen here is in charge of the Politics and Government section." Kirk added. Snake guy was still staring. It started to freak her out. "Anyway…"
He rose up from his seat and started pacing a step forward, a step back. Some pacing. "He was impressed. He wants to try you out."
It was so simple, yet so… meaningful? If she wasn't to find it flattering and somewhat exciting, she would probably be offended. But… she wasn't big. She wasn't even small. She wasn't a name or a status. She was an object, hidden behind a curtain of false hopes and some naiveté.
"How was he impressed?" She asked, her eyes once again moving to the guy who still didn't move. "I was never even credited for my work." She reminded him, her voice hinting the bitterness she felt.
"I leaked." He said, simply. His tone was displeased, almost, and she was confused in terms of what to make of it. She didn't know if to frown or roll her eyes. "He did some research." He continued, making a small hand gesture. "And here we are."
Kirk sighed and went back to his chair while snake guy sat still. He was studying her; she felt it. She tried not to be caught glancing at him as he was glancing at her, and that was almost none-stop. She was beginning to wonder if he was even breathing.
She had no idea what to say. A small voice in the back of her head was screaming of joy, and she did her best to silence its enthusiasm, fearing it wasn't real.
Eventually caught staring, her eyes as they locked with Rob's sent a wave of confusion over her. As she woken up from that sudden daze, his face was completely different. He was leaning back now, his lips curved to something that on some countries would be considered a smile. His arms were still crossed, and she figured his legs were too, but that frightening look in his eyes was erased as if it was only a sketch.
He was able to tell that she was still confused. That she didn't know what to think. He wanted her to know what she wanted, but not what she needed.
"Would you care to leave the two of us alone, Gleason?" Rob's deep voice was heard for the first time, his eyes not leaving her figure.
Not happy, Kirk silently got up and exited through the door she walked in through.
Then Rob stood. Rory looked up at him. He was tall.
"You did nothing." He said, and her eyebrows creased with confusion.
"What?" She asked him, and he chuckled. His arms were crossed, still, even while standing.
"You seem like you're able to handle more than fashion shows." He said while examining her. She didn't know if to be flattered or afraid.
"I… I can." She muttered.
He nodded. His legs leaded him around the table and across the room, and she followed him, curious but not.
"I'd like to see what you could do." He said with his back to her, stopping, turning. "In my section. With your name."
She raised an eyebrow. That was… something new, something interesting. Something real, with substance. Something she would get recognized for. "I'm going to get credited?" She asked. It seems so foreign to her.
"I don't see why not." He retorted.
She crooked a small smile. One that she barely knew about.
It was tempting. It was the real meaning of promotion. It was politics, only a few steps away from overseas matters. It was what she was looking for. She didn't hesitate. "I just say yes?" She asked, hopeful. "Would it be alright with Mr. Gleason?"
"If it wouldn't, I'll make it be." He said a little too quickly, a little too harshly. But it wasn't enough to keep her back. She found that feeling refreshing. She'll no longer be someone's puppet. And people would know her name. And she would love her job. Again, she wishes there was a way to silence her enthusiasm.
"In that case…" She took a deep breath, "I'm just saying yes." She said coolly, excitement in her eyes.
Rob suppressed a smirk, replacing it with a sole nod.
"I'll bring the papers by tomorrow." He said, heading for the door.
She watched him as he walked out, shutting the door behind him.
And she allowed herself to smile.
