Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

Notes: Part two of at least seven. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and read, even if they were weirded out by the pairing.

Part Two: Unlikely Friends

Dave. Lane's guitar playing boyfriend/bandmate. Former bandmate almost. Lane, headed off to a bible college, was going to resign her position as drummer. She didn't think it would be fair to the band were she to stay, given the veritable prison she would be going to in the fall. Rory knew this. Dave didn't.

It was strange how she cared about that little detail. Technically, all she should care about was Lane and her feelings. She did, of course. It upset her that her friend was unhappy. She also felt guilty, like she should tell Dave. Let him know that he was losing a drummer. Maybe more.

That was strange because up until two weeks ago Dave wasn't her friend. He was Lane's boyfriend. They'd never had a prolonged conversation. Whenever they'd been in the same room Lane had been present. They'd been polite, exchanged pleasantries.

Then two weeks ago she'd been awoken by the sounds of band practice. She'd just crossed the Atlantic Ocean the day before and she was more tired than she had ever been before. She'd stalked (more like stumbled, really) to the garage ready to raise some hell. Or at least give someone a stern talking to.

She'd pushed the door open harder than necessary and it had banged against the wall, making her wince and Brian, the bassist, jump at least a foot in the air. He had turned to her, a panicked look on his face. She felt bad then. She had forgotten how excitable he was.

They had all looked surprised to see her. Dave was the first to recover, "What are you doing here?"

"I live here."

"I know. I mean, what are you doing here right now. You're in Europe. Well obviously you're in Stars Hollow but you were…"

"We got back yesterday," Rory said, cutting off a ramble. It was endearing, that was. "What are you doing here?"

"Band practice," Zack interjected.

"At 9 am? That's not very rock and roll."

Zack bristled visibly at her insult to his rock and roll-ness, "I have to be at work at 11:30. Besides it's 9:17."

Rory rolled her eyes, "Wow. When do the strippers and crack get busted out?" Zack bugged Rory. She got the impression his main goal in life was to take advantage of some poor groupies.

"Anyway," Dave piped up, "we thought the note your mom left us said you were getting back on Thursday and since today is Wednesday… We're sorry."

"My mom's writing is harder to decipher than a Doctor's isn't it?"

"I would have said ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, but yes. Yes it is."

"Well than it's not really your fault. I'm going back to bed."

"We'll leave. Quietly."

"Thanks."

When Rory woke up a couple hours later their were half a dozen donuts and a politely worded note written by Dave but signed "sincerely, Dave, Zack and Brian" thanking them for the use of their garage while they were away. No wonder even Mrs. Kim liked him.

And thus began the unlikely friendship between Rory Gilmore and Dave Rygalski. The band (still nameless) had returned the next day (though at the much more reasonable hour of 4:00 PM). After they had finished rehearsing (sans drums) Rory, now rested and far more agreeable, had, on a whim, gone out to the garage. Dave had been the only one left, tidying the garage, since another of Zack's "show moves" had gone awry. She had told him that they sounded good, much improved since she had last heard them play.

He had thanked her. There had been a silence, only a little awkward. She had broken it, asking if he had heard from Lane. He had lit up briefly, then dimmed almost immediately. That last flash of a burned out bulb when the switch is flicked. He told her about the post card he had gotten. He had added, hesitantly, eyes averted that Lane had sounded different, more distant than usual, than hurriedly backtracked saying that she was probably just in a rush, and that he was psychotic, really, to read so much into an insignificant little postcard.

Rory was unsure of what to say. She knew that Dave probably wasn't reading too much into anything. She also knew that it wasn't her place to tell him that.

Lane was far more complicated than anyone realized. She loved music. She loved her mother. She wanted nothing more than for her mother to be proud of her. Lane's love of music did not make Mrs. Kim proud. So Lane hid it, in her closet, under her floorboards, through adjustments and half-truths. It was a never-ending internal tug of war within her. The drums, the band, the c.d.'s on one side, Mrs. Kim, the Bible and Korea on the other. The guilt was winning out. Lane had chosen her penance, the college her mother approved of. That choice would affect other things in Lane's life. The band. Her relationship with Dave. So the distance was probably deliberate. Lane, instinctively kind, was trying to spare Dave inevitable pain. Rory's heart, so recently broken, broke a little more for them.

And so she said nothing. She knew any words of comfort would ring false and Dave, more perceptive than your average eighteen-year-old boy, would hear it as clearly as she did.

Again silence stretched on. Dave, perhaps uncomfortable (he was, after all and eighteen year old boy, sensitive guitarist or not) with what he had revealed, asked her about Europe. Rory lit up and stayed illuminated. Words bubbled out of her. How beautiful and wonderful and fascinating it all was.

And for the first time, prodded by a little voice in the back of his head, Dave noticed how beautiful and wonderful and fascinating Rory Gilmore was.

They got along strangely well and fell into an easy rapport. Both were tended to be quiet, shy wallflowers and so they got along as equals neither monopolizing the conversation. Dave, who utilized nonsensical tangents as his favorite pattern of speech, had no trouble keeping up with Rory. They bonded over the fact that neither ever used the first names found on their birth certificates. Dave explained that he had, from the time he was four years old hated being called David and refused to answer to it. He had fully intended to change it sometime but with a last name like Rygalski your choices of first names were limited. Rory had giggled as the possibilities rolled through her head. She had called him 'Slash Rygalski' at every opportunity until he got a little huffy. She loved that changing his last name seemed never to have even crossed his mind. Rory had explained, and Dave had understood after hearing stories about the first Lorelai, and knowing the second, that two Lorelai's were almost more than the world could handle. And so she was content to be a Rory.

They talked of movies and music. Dave confessed to loving Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and Rory wondered how it was possible for him to be any cooler. The liked the same music but by a mutual and unspoken agreement Lane was never mentioned over the course of these conversations. Lane was never, save for that first one, mentioned at all.

In fact, the only sticking point was food. The first time (five days after she had returned, a week before the kiss was to happen) they shared a meal was at Luke's. They had garnered a raised brow or two. But with Rory being Stars Hollow's favorite and most loved daughter nothing improper was suspected or implied. She had ordered a cheeseburger, French fries and coffee, as per usual. Dave had ordered a chicken sandwich, salad and a milkshake.

Rory had raised her eyebrows and asked, "Which one of us is the girl, again?"

Dave had blushed slightly and chosen not to reply.

Undaunted Rory had continued, "I mean a salad? At a diner? That's appalling and wrong."

"Don't listen to her, please. She's going to have a heart attack at the age of thirty-five, the way she's going," Luke had said gruffly, setting Rory's coffee in front of her, "tonight you're only getting one cup of coffee. And I mean it this time." Luke fled before Rory could protest, his resolve holding, for now.

"He'll crumble," she said confidently.

"How can you even drink that," Dave had asked, watching the mug with distaste.

"Easy," she had replied, already half way finished.

They had bickered for the rest of the meal, easily and without rancor. Those within hearing range smiled, indulgently and with genuine amusement at their conversation.

Rory had explained to Dave that one didn't actually need to eat vegetables, only allow for their "essence" and use a lot of ketchup. Dave had cheerfully labeled her a crackmonkey. Amazingly, Luke, (bolstered by Dave the anti-coffee, 'junior nutrition nazi' as Rory had in turn labeled him) held to his word and Rory had just that single cup of coffee.

When they left the diner Rory's hand found Dave's arm. It stayed their and neither even noticed, as it seemed perfectly natural. They had walked back to Rory's house like that, touching, looking distinctly like a couple of teenagers in love.