A/N: I heart summer, don't you? Chapter title is a song (the Jeff Buckley cover). One chapter remains in the story after this one. (Yes, I'm shocked too.)
To Marissa and Lia, two of my favorite people.
Chapter Eleven: Hallelujah
They had thrown her a party. She had no idea who had originally conceived the idea, although her mother and Luke had been struck from the list of possibilities. Lorelai had assured her that the events had already been put into action before she had even caught wind of it. But someone in town had decided that Rory Gilmore's engagement was a celebratory matter, and had rounded up her neighbors and friends and stuck them inside her living room. Food and drink were carefully arranged on the coffee table and extra trays, all affectionately provided by Sookie.
And there was noise. Her house was brimming with laughter and conversation and gossip. People could not stop with the congratulations, spoken in overly cheery voices. Everyone was just so, so, excited for her, proud of her for moving forward in her life. It was all very delicately phrased, always walking on eggshells around her as if she were still eighteen and only a breath from breaking.
To her, the whole experience felt fake and overstated. She played along however, going through the motions, doing her best to ignore the artificial flavor. She wondered if she was the only one who felt like this, if any of the townies had picked up on it. They were trying hard, too hard, to make this an enjoyable night for her. They were overcompensating.
She found herself hanging back in the kitchen, away from the din of the party. Once in a while someone would amble in for a cold drink, smile and voice their best wishes before walking right back out. For the most part though, she was left alone. Sam had been roped in by Babette and Miss Patty to sit and lay out the course of his and Rory's relationship. They wanted to know every detail, unsatisfied with the small tidbits they had been collecting since Rory had begun dating him.
Without any kind of warning, a figure quite literally flew through the kitchen, made a sharp angle before he could slam into her, and ended up in her bedroom. Rory stood, recognizing the familiar flash of light brown hair, and entered her room, shutting the door behind her.
"Sam?"
"I excused myself to use the bathroom."
"There's no bathroom on this side of the house. Just my bedroom and the kitchen," she explained.
"Do they know that?"
"Who?"
"Your neighbor, Babette. And Patty… the one with the grabby hands."
Rory inched further into her room, stopping just short of where Sam sat on her bed. "Were they sexually harassing you?"
"Something like that. They were asking a lot of questions. I kept expecting them to shine some kind of bright light in my eyes."
"Well, were you compliant? You shouldn't give them a reason to use force."
Sam reached out and grasped her hand, tugging her forward. Hesitating for only a second, she allowed herself to be pulled into his lap. She readjusted herself so she was kneeling on the bed, straddling him. Sending a backwards glance to the door, she found it safe and securely shut as she left it. Turning back to her fiancée, she leaned into him; he kissed her neck. Exhaling, she tried to release the tension that had rolled up within her. It stayed strong.
"I was very good. I answered all their questions."
"All?" Rory asked.
"All," he confirmed. "Although I may have made a few things up."
"Like?"
"We first met after I saved you from your dorm. It was on fire."
"Perfect," she rolled her eyes.
Instead of a response, he moved across her skin to the spot right beneath the curve of her jaw. Absently, she let her hand wander into his hair. Her eyes fluttered close, but she was immediately displeased with the images that danced on the other side. Brown eyes, dark, darker than Sam's. She recognized the fresh flow of guilt, hardening in her veins. She did her best to ignore it.
Using her fingertips, she tilted his chin up, guiding him to face her. See her. She wanted to see him.
"I've decided we're going to invite absolutely no one to the wedding," he said.
She smiled and leaned forward, kissing him. Pulling away, she responded, "That seems unfair. I don't get to invite anyone from my hometown?"
"I didn't mean that exactly," he kissed her again. Once, twice. "I meant no one would come, including my parents. A big empty church."
"You have this all planned out," she commented.
"Are you kidding? Little boys dream of their wedding from age six and on. I'll be dressed as G.I. Joe, and you'll be in pink stilettos."
"As long as we have a plan."
His grin faltered slightly, as he cupped her cheek, running his thumb over her bottom lip. "Are you okay tonight?"
She frowned, surprised at the sudden change. "Of course, I am," she lied. "Why?"
"You've been acting… I don't know, just strange."
"Oh, now this is actually the real me. The town brings out my kookyness."
"Not kooky," he said. "Just not yourself."
He knew her well, inside and out. The only thing he didn't know about was Jess, and that specific part of her life. She had glazed over her senior year of high school when they had discussed their pasts. He couldn't figure out the problem now, because he didn't have the key fact. She wasn't ready to share. She didn't know how.
"I'm fine," she assured him. "I'm sorry."
"Maybe it really is the town. I've never been here, it's different. I've never seen you here, so…" He paused, and gently tugged on a strand of her hair. "I suppose, we should get back out there."
Again, she glanced back at the door, unhappy with his decision. In here, sitting on his lap, the world didn't seem to spin quite as fast. It was quieter, more relaxed. If he kissed her long enough, maybe everything that lay outside this room would fall away, and she wouldn't have to worry anymore. There would only be the two of them, isolated but happy. It was how they had existed before, back in New York.
"I guess we should," she responded.
She slipped off his lap, and stood, keeping her hand entwined with his. They both began to walk for the door, Sam a step behind her.
"You run funny," she commented.
"I was running for my life, don't poke fun."
Quickly, he brushed his lips against her temple before opening the door and walking into the kitchen. She hesitated, standing in the frame of her bedroom.
"Coming?" Sam asked, looking over his shoulder.
"In a second," she replied.
He nodded and disappeared back into the noise, while she paused by the counter, leaning on the surface. She blinked back tears, surprised by the sudden burst of emotion. Her throat ached, throbbing with her refusal to let it out, and she took a deep breath, waiting. It would pass, it would pass. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced up and found Luke standing in the entrance of the kitchen.
"Hi, Luke," she said. Her voice came out heavy and cracked. If Luke picked up on it, he didn't say.
"Hey, Rory. I just came in her to grab a drink for your mom," he gestured toward the refrigerator as if she needed a diagram to understand. "But I also wanted to say congratulations, so, well… congratulations. Sam seems like a nice guy."
"He is," she said. "He really is."
"He's a lawyer, right?"
"He works at his dad's law firm," she confirmed. "He's on his way to being one."
"Right. Your mom told me that."
Rory nodded, uncomfortable. A strain borne of years of avoidance and awkwardness permeated the air around them, making her desperate for his exit. He could have been one of the few people to understand how she felt after the accident, but instead, she found herself shrugging away from him, the diner, the town. She had the same urge to get away right now. She looked back down at the counter, needing a place to rest her eyes.
"He's closing up tonight," Luke suddenly added.
"What?" Her head shot up, startled.
"Jess closed so I could come tonight. He said he'd stop by, but I think that was his way of getting me to stop asking questions, and leave."
"Oh." Her mouth opened and closed, but at first, no words escaped. "I wish he'd come. I'm leaving tomorrow."
"Tomorrow night?"
"Uh, no, early. Probably morning."
"You could stop by before…"
"If there's time," she answered, noncommittal.
Luke nodded as if he understood which, Rory was almost positive, he did. He made a move to go back out sans drink for her mother, but she didn't point it out. She wanted him gone.
"You were one of the first things he remembered."
"I'm… I'm sorry?" Confusion appeared on her face. She suppressed the immediate thought that he was referring to Jess, praying he couldn't mean that. Why couldn't Luke just leave?
"His mom was first. She kept coming up here to visit, and shoving photo albums in his face. And one day it just kind of… clicked. He kept remembering things about New York, asking about people he had known there and some of the pranks he pulled. Then, he asked about you, if you had lived nearby."
"He thought I was from the city?"
"He didn't know where you were from. He just remembered a lot about you. And he assumed because he had lived in the city for so long that you…"
"My mom's waiting for her drink," Rory said, clenching her fists behind the cover of the counter. "She'll start bugging you if you don't bring it in soon."
Breathe, breathe. In out in.
Luke looked surprised for about half a second before he turned to the fridge and pulled out a beer. He then went back into the living room without another word.
She turned and leaned back against the structure behind her. Dutifully, it held her up as she wrapped her arms around her midsection, feeling the burn in her throat worsen. He had thought she had been from the city. He had thought he had known her for so much longer. Oh god, he had remembered so much about her, he had just assumed that she had been a bigger part of his life than she actually had been.
It hurt. This constant needle pushed further and further into her, immobilizing her. Five years of suspended animation, and he woke up with a clean slate. After replacing everything, doing his best to repair the cracks, he had still kept her, building her up in his mind. The memories returned, the feelings didn't deplete, and he had asked about her. She wondered what he asked, what Luke and Lorelai told him. If he had seen pictures of her, gone through her books to see notes he didn't remember writing. She wondered if he had missed her.
"Sweetie, is there any more ice in here?"
Rory spun around to find Babette standing only a couple of feet away.
"Ice?" Rory asked, blankly.
"Oh sugar, are you crying?"
"Wha – no. I… we're out of ice?"
"I think so," Babette said carefully, "I'll just ask Luke —"
"I'll get it," Rory interrupted.
"No, no, I'm sure Luke won't mind. I think it would be better if you —"
"I'll go run out. Can you just tell my mom where I went?" She turned and exited through the backdoor before Babette could answer.
----
Even though she had walked along the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, on the path that would lead her to Doose's, she knew she would cross it. It was ridiculous trying to convince herself that she had really gone out for ice, trying to be helpful. She wanted to get away, and just breathe, but now that she was out here, so close to him, she had to see him. Say something. Tell him she was sorry.
The sign read closed even though it was at least an hour before the usual time. But the streets were deserted, most of the townspeople either in her living room or their own at home. She knocked on the glass, startling him from where he stood behind the counter, going through the receipts. He frowned for a moment, before returning to his usual stoic stare. He shrugged. Closed, he was trying to tell her. We're closed.
Again she knocked, defiant. He dropped the scraps of papers he held in his hand, and headed toward her, stopping in front of the door. He tapped the sign, and she knocked, feeling childish. Finally, he pulled the keys out of his pocket, and unlocked the door. Instead of opening it, he returned to his former position behind the counter. She let herself in.
"We're out of ice," she declaredly blankly, somehow loosing the original thread of what she wanted to say.
"I'd try Doose's. They actually sell bags of it. Creative, I think."
"I wanted to talk to you first." There, back on track.
"You don't have —"
"You didn't let me say what I wanted to. You have to let me explain."
"You're engaged, Rory. It's fine. It's not as if I would have expected you to wait."
"It wasn't immediate. I didn't meet him until a couple of years after. And we were friends first. There was only one other guy, but once again, that was in college, and a really bad experience."
"You don't have to explain your history to me. It wasn't wrong."
"But it felt like it was! Jess, we never… we never broke up."
Up until this point, he had been idly flipping through the receipts, looking up at her when he spoke. But here he paused, setting everything down.
"We never really ended," she finished. "It just… stopped, like we were put on hold. I didn't know how to just… stop with you. I wasn't supposed to."
"Rory…"
"You were gone for five years, but I wasn't. I know that it's different, and I know you've been through hell, but you have to understand what it was like trying to… get past it. You. It was…"
All her thoughts were finally drifting to the surface, fragments here and there, the words she wanted – needed – to say. She was trying to piece it all together, to make him understand.
"Rory," he tried again, coming around the counter. He stopped a couple of feet away.
"I was in love with you," she stated, "and I don't know if that ever really went away." She swallowed, feeling the familiar pressure behind her eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about him."
"Where did you meet him?" Jess asked, surprising her.
She blinked. What kind of question was that?
"You said you met him later… did you meet him in college?"
She nodded, not yet following. "Yeah. In Boston."
"Harvard," Jess clarified.
"Well, that is where —" She cut herself off abruptly. "Jess, no…"
"You wouldn't have met him if you had stuck to Yale. And you would have stuck to Yale if I hadn't…"
"You can't do this, twist it around like this."
"Rory, it was me or him. If we had stayed together, if nothing had happened, it would have been me. You wouldn't know him now."
"Jess…" But there were no words anymore, the flow was cut short. She was left floundering, lost. She could feel the sharp sting of tears slowly receding as they slipped down her face.
"We would have broken up. You do know that?"
"What are you talking about?"
"We would have been over before you finished your freshman year," he explained.
"You can't say that… You can't know that!"
"Look, what I do know is that we are not together. We haven't been in years. But if you are so hell-bent on 'what if's' then you need to understand that we wouldn't have lasted. We were not meant to last, Rory."
"I chose Yale for you, I wanted to stay close for you! I thought we would. I knew we would!"
Jess looked away from her, momentarily falling back against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced up at her, watching her cry. "Have you told him yet?"
This question was a curveball so unexpected that for a second, she had no idea who or what he was referring to. But then, "Sam?"
"Yeah. Luke said you guys were having a party, and… You don't do well with guilt."
"No, I haven't." She paused, eyeing Jess's reaction. He wasn't giving too much off. "I don't want to hurt him," she elaborated.
"Then don't."
She looked crestfallen, trying so desperately to hold herself together. She studied the floor, deciding that maybe it was time to excuse herself and buy that ice. She needed to get out of here.
Glancing up, she found Jess moving toward her. He stopped, and gripped her upper arm with his left hand, allowing his right to touch her face. He was slowly settling over her skin, cupping her cheek.
"We would have broken up. There is nothing else to think of. Either way, no matter what, we would not be together now."
"You don't know that," she repeated, her voice coming out muffled, laden with burnt out hope. He didn't know, he couldn't know. For all she knew, right now, somewhere else, the two of them could still be together. His ring on her finger, his bed that she shared at night.
He leaned forward and kissed her gently. He felt like air, drifting, fading as fast as a memory. He was barely there, barely tangible and real; he was as soft as a dream. She felt him sifting through her fingers, scattered dust that left no impression. He was so gone.
"There's nothing to know. We are where we are," he said, pulling away.
And then she got it. Standing in front of her, his breath on her face as he spoke, his hands, warm and strong on her shoulder, her neck… she remembered. The two of them, in his kitchen, stumbling into the bedroom, falling onto the mattress. The feelings came rushing back, tangled together, but there, nonetheless. She had been suppressing this since she woke up this morning, drowning beneath the betrayal and guilt. But here it was, dancing through her, tingles and memories all wrapped in one. She pulled him to her, still remembering. She wanted him to remember too.
This time, she made him real; skin, and lips, and taste. He didn't protest when she pressed against him, leaning further, further. Instead, he pulled her, his arms around her lower back, doing his best to hold on.
It was a saline kiss, the salt from her tears slipping through, almost bitter on her tongue. She was trying to make this moment last, stretch on and on, so she wouldn't have to deal with the ramifications, the choices. She didn't know what she was going to do.
Jess finally broke the kiss, but surprisingly, he didn't move away. She leaned against him, her forehead resting on his, thinking of similar moments that were lost now. She brought her hands to his chest, her fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. She waited.
"You need to go," he stated firmly.
She looked up at him and met his gaze. Brown eyes, dark, darker than Sam's.
Sam.
She took a step back, touching her lips. Looking away, she felt a new wave of tears wash over her. It was a proverbial crack straight through her, tearing her apart. She was in love with Sam, here and now, and ready for the future. She was in love with Jess from high school, her past, her once upon a time. The past and future were tugging at her from both directions, and she couldn't tell which was real, which was stronger.
He turned and headed for the apartment upstairs. He was about to disappear. She felt as if she should say something, reassure him. Tell him the truth.
"I love you."
He froze at her words but didn't look back at her. "You don't even know me anymore."
"You're still you," she said quietly. "And I'm still me."
"It's been too long, Rory. Just let it go."
He moved behind the curtain, and padded up the stairs. She stayed still.
----
Rory stood in front of the sink, washing the dishes from dinner. Distracted, she stared out at the window in front of her, her eyes resting on the brick wall of the adjacent apartment building. She had been home for three days, but she had yet to slip back into the flow here. Something felt off, different, and she knew it was her own fault. She had been uncharacteristically quiet and rather avoidant of Sam. He had picked up on her awkward behavior, but so far had been quiet about it.
"Rory?"
His voice startled her, and thanks to her already absent mind, she paid no attention to what her hands were up to. She dropped the plate she had been washing, and it shattered in the sink.
Sam looked down into the sink, quickly grabbing her hands to make sure she hadn't cut herself. Turning over her soapy hands in his, he found her unscathed.
"Rory," he repeated.
She slipped out of his grasp and washed off the soap in the sink. She turned off the water and dried her hands, before looking back up at him.
"I guess we should talk," she finally said.
He nodded, and both sat down at the kitchen table.
"What happened?" He asked, if only to get the conversation started. He didn't know if anything specific had happened, or if her feelings had simply… changed. He just needed to know.
"You have to let me explain. All of it. Because, I swear, this had nothing to do with you, with – with doubting you, or how I felt about you, or my saying yes to you. It was all bad timing, okay? I swear."
"Rory…" Oh god, he didn't like where this was headed. He had thought maybe she had… but he couldn't…
"When I was in high school, I dated this guy. I was in love with him and had that whole this-is-forever kind of feeling about him."
Sam opened his mouth to speak, but then faltered and let her continue.
"We never exactly broke up. He was in an accident near the end of my senior year, and he ended up in the hospital. He didn't wake up."
"Coma?"
Rory nodded, feeling the light brush of distant memories, the tendrils of pain grabbing at her. "He woke up a few months ago, and my mom decided it was better that I didn't know. But when I called home to tell her about us, about you proposing… he answered the phone. I didn't… I mean, it was just hours after you asked, and he was there, on the phone."
"And," Sam said, prodding her.
"I slept with him."
Sam recoiled in his seat, shrugging away from her.
"I'm sorry, you don't know how sorry I am. I just had to…" She trailed off, unsure. "It was like he died, and then suddenly, he was back. Another chance. He… I'm sorry. It was wrong, and I —"
"Give me the ring."
"Sam…"
"The ring, Rory."
She slipped it off her finger and dropped it into his outstretched hand. "Do you want me to leave?"
"No, I just… I'm going out for awhile."
She didn't protest as he moved away, and walked out of the kitchen, and out the door. She buried her face in her hands, and began to cry.
----
He came home later. Much later. Rory had draped herself across the couch, so he could have the bed. Somehow, she guessed he wouldn't want to sleep next to her tonight. She was awake when he arrived, but she stayed still, deciding to leave him alone for now.
Sam surprised her, however, when he kneeled down next to the sofa, trying to see if she was awake. She opened her eyes.
"Do you love me?"
His question caught her off guard, but somehow, she should have guessed it. "Yes. I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
"Do you regret saying yes to me?" He asked.
"No."
"Are you still in love with him?"
She closed her eyes again, wanting to hide. "I… I don't know."
In the dark of the apartment, she could barely make out the features of his face. He was staring down at his knees. She wanted him to look up.
"A few days ago, there was no doubt. From me or you. But now…" He sighed, and handed her the ring. She took it, unsure of what to do. "It's still yours if you want it. But you can't be half in this, Rory. You can't."
He stood up and disappeared into the bedroom. She stared at the ring.