Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls. I know, shocker.
Spoilers: Anything up to season 4 is fair game.
Rating: PG, to be safe. Mild language...and reflection on the season finale...
Summary: Paint a picture of me. Draw it in your mind, let the details come alive. Don't forget me.
A/N: I know I said this was a one parter...I lied. But this really is the last chapter. Thank you all so much for the feedback, I hope this fits what you wanted in a sequel...
Reality"What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the words I have read in my life."—Walt Whitman
Rory had never been good at being spontaneous, especially it when it involved him. It seemed that nothing good ever came out of it. Well, nothing completely good.
So she was actually quite proud of herself right now. Or maybe she was just scared out of her mind.
Why could she never seem to tell emotions apart anymore?
Because they were too pure.
She shook her head. Never mind that. She was a woman on a mission.
She hadn't even picked up the phone. It was impossible for her to know it was him. Yet, she did know. She couldn't explain it, but she had just felt so relieved...it had to have been him.
But even so, she couldn't know if he planned to forgive her or yell at her. Probably the latter. He should yell at her.
She's not sure if she wants to be forgiven.
So she was driving to New York at three in the morning, on a trip completely based on doubts. She wasn't even sure what she was looking for. And on top of it all, she was still wearing her pajamas. That had to be a sign of insanity, right? Taking a road trip in pants adorned with monkeys?
She brushed away that thought. It didn't matter if she was insane. What mattered was that she had been right.
Hearing his voice hadn't been enough. She wanted more; she owed him more.
She had been prepared for a long, agonizing drive, but it had seemed she had only been driving a short while before seeing the trademark skyscrapers. Probably because his cloudy image was still haunting her. She wanted it to go away, but she didn't want to forget. She was stubborn that way.
So, of course she ended up in front his apartment, almost afraid to go in. Almost, but not quite.
Somehow, she made it to his front door, even as the doubt began to take over. That was thing with the Rory Gilmore brand of spontaneity. It didn't always get completely followed through.
But she had made it this far. All she had to do was knock. She'd figure it out from there; take baby steps.
On the count of one...
Two...
Slowly, she took a deep breath and timidly knocked her knuckles against the wood. Gaining confidence, she knocked again, louder.
As she braced for a third knock, the door swung open, not in the angry manner you'd expect when someone was knocking in the early morning, but a quick movement that was almost hopeful, wanting to see a certain person on the other side.
She couldn't read his expression, couldn't tell if she was whom he wanted to see.
He doesn't do anything. What can he do?
But she is frightened. She can't follow his lead now; she has to do this on her own. So she just studies him, this new image laid before her.
She frowns slightly when she sees that her previous picture does not quite match. The skin is paler now, as if it were actually afraid to let the color in. (It had done that once before, and look where it got him.) Every crease is somehow deepened. She can almost see the burden weighing them down. The browns in his eyes, once shining so vividly, are now muddled together, clouded by distrust.
And the smirk is gone.
She wants to run now, knowing the cause of it all.
Her.
He is still standing there, frozen. He just stares at her. A questioning stare; a fearful stare.
A hopeful stare.
She says nothing. Her heart is beating much to fast. Time is moving slower, or is it faster? She can't be sure, but whatever it is, her thoughts seem to be nonexistent. Perhaps it is for the best. Thinking in this situation has such dangerous potential.
At last, there is movement. Slowly, as if underwater, her hand moves toward his jaw line. After what seemed like an eternity, skin brushed upon skin.
She wasn't quite sure what she had expected. Maybe he wouldn't really be there.
But he was.
There was no shock; just the cool, smooth skin underneath hers. But she was satisfied with the simplicity of it.
She let her fingers trace down to his chin, lingering a while before releasing her touch.
His eyes bore into hers now. Something held her gaze with his, perhaps the intense shine that had appeared. She couldn't remember ever seeing his eyes look so...alive.
His hand reached out to meet the back of hers. What a contrast it was, the coarse skin rubbing against the velvet one. Much like themselves actually. The hands were of completely different textures, but it was skin all the same. They didn't clash, they just...were.
They stood there like that for a long moment, scarcely breathing. They were nearly a foot apart, barely touching. Yet, Rory couldn't help but think that this was the most intimate of all moments shared between them.
The slight connection of their bodies evoked the rawest emotion she had ever experienced.
Love?
Love.
She let out a small breath of relief.
This was her moment of pure reality. She knew she would no longer be content with the images that faded when her eyes opened. Not when she could have, did have, the real thing right in front of her.
That is, if he lets her. If she lets herself.
They both move to grasp the other. She grips his arm tenderly above his elbow, and he slides his other arm around her waist, drawing her just slightly closer.
His face remains solemn, but he gives a slight nod of his head.
And Fate seems content now.
You see, she didn't run away this time. She merely smiled.
This was real.
END.
So, how was it? Please tell me what you liked and didn't like about this piece so I can know for future reference!