Disclaimer: Living all on my own now, my riches have not increased in number or worth and I am certainly not fortunate enough to be able to call myself the possessor of anything GG-related. Not even the DVDs have made it to my neck of the woods, so: I don't own anything. And I mean it. Sad, sad, I know.
A/N: Oh my, it's been quite some time since I posted the last chapter. Pray forgive me, whoever may be reading this. A first semester university-student's life is stressful, I can tell you. But now I simply decided to take the time for the next chapter. My own inadequacy would have driven me nuts otherwise… With this chapter I took the liberty of working in some season 5 material (one object, to be precise), but read for yourself!
Not Meant To Be - Chapter 10
With a click barely audible to the average human ear, a crucial screw falls out of its place and onto the floor. Seconds later he curses for the umpteenth time in the last two hours or so: "Damn!" Ouch.
Another heavy piece of furniture falls apart just in the wrong moment of its disassembling and - of course – another sharp-edged piece of wood collides with his shin.
He really feels like giving it up right then and there. It doesn't seem that anything good is going to come out of his work on this day anyway. But he knows giving up is not an option. He is not going to leave the room like this, a chaotic mess of wood and screws, of pillows and curtains, of toys and clothes, of broken dreams and pain. And he is not thinking of his black and blue shins here.
After all, he gave her his promise. Only under the condition that everything would be gone by the time she came back she let herself be urged out of the house this morning.
And he is so ultimately glad she dared to take this step out into the world, back into what they used to refer to as their life. It's only Sookie's house and perhaps one or two of the stores in town, but still. Considering that during the past six weeks she never left the house except for their visits at the cemetery and for doctor's appointments, he now feels as if a heavy weight has been lifted from his shoulders.
Is there a direct connection between one's shoulders and one's heart? The minute she was out of the door it sure felt like it.
Sighing deeply, he goes about picking up the panels and metal parts that made up a dressing table only half an hour ago. Then he carries them over to the other side of the room where the parts of what used to be a crib, a couple of shelves and a rocking chair already sit, waiting for their transport to God-knows-where.
Indeed, he hasn't really thought about this part of the operation yet. Where is he supposed to store what is left of Julian's existence? There isn't enough room in the attic for all of it. With the attic being the only place in the house not ever frequented by her (an irrational fear of everything even remotely spider-y keeping her away) this is a true shame.
They never talked about what was to happen with the crib, the dressing table, the rocking chair and the baby-size linen.
"Make that I don't have to see them any more. Okay?"
"Yes."
"You know, it's not that I don't want to see them any more, it's just that – I can't. Somehow. I don't know. Do you-"
From where he stands in the hallway he can see her hands flying through the air, lost in aimless gestures.
"Shh, don't worry, Lorelai. I'll take care of it. Promise."
His arms slowly encircle her waist from behind, he feels her leaning into him a little and once again it occurs to him how very wrong it all went.
To people who don't know about it, it is hardly visible any more that two months ago there still was a baby. She got her figure back remarkably quick. His guess is that this is what refusing to eat and being unable to sleep do to you.
He is almost sorry now that the in-laws have not mentioned resuming Friday night dinners yet. Perhaps she would eat something then. For the sake of appearance. Hell, he'd be glad to go out and get her a fat-dripping burger and chili fries right now. Ten times a day. Whatever, whenever. Like he did when-
Her sigh makes him blink and suddenly he's back downon earth. Standing there behind her in the doorframe, looking at what was not meant to be.
"I love you. Don't you ever forget that."
"I love you, too." Then she turns around and with her back to the nursery begins wiping at her eyes. When she looks up at him there is one last black trail of wetness on her cheek that she has missed and he makes it disappear with a well-aimed wisp of his right sleeve.
"Guess I shouldn't have put on any make-up after all. No use, apparently." A thin smile breaks through the sad façade of her features as she speaks and then starts descending the stairs.
The kiss she places on his lips before she disappears through the front door to take on the challenge that is Stars Hollow feels like sandpaper on his lips, but nevertheless he kisses her back, clenching his left hand in a painfully tight fist behind his back.
Hopefully, the day out in the world will help the dark circles below her eyes pale a little.
Hopefully, Sookie will find the right words.
Hopefully, by the time she gets back he will have figured out what to do with the furniture.
There still is the garage. Of course he could put them in there. But ever since they emptied the room for the baby she goes into the garage once every week, looking for whatever it is her caffeine-deprived mind tells her to look for. Or at least that's what she used to do. Before.
And isn't the garage a tad too humid for brand new furniture like this? But is it at all important what happens to the wood?
Who knows whether they'll ever need it again?
There is only one thing he is sure about: He doesn't want to put her under any kind of pressure, doesn't want to suggest she forget entirely about their son, that she get pregnant again any time soon, that they never have another child.
The saying is that you 'cannot not communicate', but right now he would prefer it if the opposite was the case and his actions did not convey any message, whether it be intended or not.
They should have talked about it. But talking has never been his strong side and somehow it isn't hers any more, either.
A great fatigue invades his limbs and he sits down next to the pile of wooden parts. For the past weeks he has been walking on nothing but black ice. Never sure whether with the next step he would fall. He doesn't want to fall, never having been keen on being forced to take another person's hand so he can get back to his feet.
A look at the clock tells him it is time to make a decision. Fast. The big parts of the rocking chair, the dressing table and the shelves go up in the attic. The rest he will have to store in the garage, whether he wants to or not.
Balancing the awkwardly shaped pieces up the steep ladder that leads up into the kingdom of everything eight-legged doesn't take as much time as he thought it would. And so he finds himself standing in front of the garage door sooner than he likes. On his shoulder rests the headboard of the crib they bought some time after Christmas and in his hands he thoughtfully weighs the key.
After setting down the heavy headboard, he finally unlocks the door and it falls open with a quiet creak. What he sees still takes him by surprise every time. His father's boat, right there, in the middle of the garage, still as unfinished as it was when Lorelai bought it from Mrs. Thompson a lifetime ago.
He doesn't remember the garage being this crammed. There is not even one free corner. His gaze falls upon his father's boat once more.
What he does next comes unexpected, especially to him.
The headboard fits into the internal space of the boat nicely, with it still lacking seats and everything else a boat should have. And there is room for more.
When he has shoved the last wooden part into the boat and is resting his hand on its side, an odd kind of comfort comes over him. Good thing he kept the boat. Hadn't she told him so? Of course back then she could not have known how the boat would be of use one day.
And then, out of the blue, he feels himself fall despite the fact that he is still standing securely on both of his feet, next to his father's boat.
"Mom!" leaning out of the side window of her car the girl yells over to her on the other side of the street.
A small smile curls her lips as she recognizes her daughter. She waves back at her and then makes her way over to where the car has meanwhile come to a standstill.
"Want me to give you a ride?" The passenger door is already open and she says yes.
"How's your week been?"
"Okay, I guess." She would love to say more, to tell Lorelai about the A she got on her Literature paper, about the fun night she spent with Marty at the movies yesterday, but instead she keeps silent, planning to save the good news for when she knows what mood Lorelai is in today.
"Okay."
Then there is silence for the rest of the way.
"Here we are", she announces unnecessarily after killing the engine.
"Thank you, sweetie." Her mother's hand briefly strokes her cheek and then she is out of the car.
"Sookie says hello, by the way", Lorelai offers hesitantly when she is standing next to her as she unloads the trunk, "I was on the way home from her house when you picked me up."
"Really?" she doesn't care to hide the gladness in her voice. Sookie's house!
"Yeah. It was time to get out of the house again, I guess", Lorelai replies with a lopsided smile on her face.
"Oh, Mom." She takes her mother's hand and picks up her bags, beginning to move in the direction of the house when she sees that the door is ajar.
"Is Luke home?"
"Yes. He's clearing out the-"
"Oh." She can interject before Lorelai has to say the word.
"Yeah. Uh, listen, why don't you bring in your stuff and I go and get Luke? Haven't been in the garden forever." She doesn't miss the hint of artificiality behind Lorelai's cheerfulness, but simply obeys.
"Alright. Call if you need me."
"I will."
She lifts her bag from the ground and slowly trots up the porch steps and into the house just when she hears her mother's voice from the garden.
"You in there?"
What is he doing in the garage? She would have thought that there was enough room in the attic for all the… stuff.
The closer she gets to the door, the better she gets an idea of what he is doing in there.
The bow of the boat is the first thing that comes into view when she opens the door fully and then a streak of light from outside falls on his bent over figure leaning against the boat.
He is crying. Crying like she has never seen him cry before.Has she ever seen him cry?
With the speed of light she is next to him, wrapping her arms around his trembling shoulders and pressing her cheek to his. The mixture of wetness and stubble she feels there reminds her of their trip to the beach last summer, of the sand between her toes and his refusal to put on the swimming trunks she got him.
When his hand leaves the side of the boat and reaches out for one of hers, she lets him take it, in a way very grateful that now she gets a chance to bethe strong one. He squeezes so hard it almost hurts, but she bears the sensation. Somehow it feels good to finally feel something again.
She has always liked to be in control and perhaps an occasional reversal of roles is something that can help them regain just that over their life together – control.
Neither of them notices Rory who some time later comes looking for them and who, after having satisfied her need to find out whether they are okay, returns to the house under the impression that their chances to really be okay again one day have at least doubled.