Thank all (3) of you for the wonderful reviews. I'm glad that you liked it.
Since I didn't do a dedication or anything yet, this is my chance. So, I hereby dedicate this fic to all of the Lits (listed, or not) at stars-hollow.org for just being so amazing. I love you all.
And I just have to say this before you read: This chapter is unlike anything that I have ever written before, and I think that I like writing like this so this will hopefully be the feeling of the rest of the fic. I figured out that I really do like angst. lol
Enjoy.
-J.
Chapter 1: Home
Rory sighed as she pulled her nondescript silver car up to the driveway that had once been familiar to her. Looking at the dark house, she shook her head and chewed on her bottom lip, a nervous habit that she had adopted from one of her previous characters and never actually let go.
She looked around at the small part of the town that she could see from her cocoon. The white snow that covered every surface, the bright pink of Babette's house...she could even make out the tip of a bright red clay hat poking through the snow at the front of her old neighbor's steps. The place looked as if it had stopped years before—like the earth had stopped spinning, and the town had been suspended in time. Everything that she had seen so far was the exact same as what she had left behind five years ago.
She sighed as she looked back at her old home, the large porch that she had played on as a young girl and the window that she had looked out of dreamily as a teenager. Seeing the house that had once been her home brought sadness into her heart. She knew that when she walked in the door, the family there would stop and stare at her, as if she were a stranger. The long lost daughter and sister whose only contact would be a weekly phone call and a bimonthly invitation to visit—an offer that had never been accepted.
She hadn't wanted her relationship with her family to be so stilted, but through the passing of time, and distance, it seemed to stop being the fun, carefree, I-know-everything-about-you connection that she and her mother had had throughout her teenage and earlier years. It had turned into one of a distant relation, or a recent acquaintance. She had become a stranger in her mother's life.
She knew that her mother had hoarded anything and everything about her, whether it be true or false. The name 'Lorelai Leigh' tended to pop up in many gossip magazines and in the remote back pages of respected publications such as 'People' and 'Vogue', the glossy pages either flinging about untruths, or just subtly shifting facts to suit their own purposes.
They used to call each other on the phone whenever they read something about her, laughing away the miles between them, and do nothing but rack up a very impressive phone bill. That was the way it had been. The way it had been before fame came calling and phone tag seemed to be normal. Before one thing or another came up every time that they said there would be a weekend visit, or a well deserved weeklong vacation. Before the other became an afterthought.
The last time that they had seen each other had been over a year ago, at the wedding. Luke and Lorelai, finally together. She hadn't been witness to the awkward courtship, hadn't been privy to the tiniest details of the first date, the first kiss. She found out about her mother's impending marriage not by an excited phone call, but by a small invitation that had been tucked in with a box of fan mail that she had received. Discovering the card the day that the flowing font carefully picked by her mother had informed the holder to RSVP by, she had actually hesitated about going.
In the end, she had taken a day off, and flown to her old hometown where she had stood quietly in the back, unnoticed by most. She had briefly stopped at the reception and given her mother and new stepfather her congratulations and a kiss on the cheek, on her way back to the airport. Her wedding present to them: tickets to Ireland. Something that she had discussed with her mother when she had been younger, and strangely had never forgotten.
She never knew if they actually went on the trip, one that would find them in a small B&B in an even smaller town that had been a backdrop to one of her movies. She had wondered if they had gone, and stayed in the same room that she did when she had been there. She wondered if her mother knew the significance of the gift itself, the two roundtrip tickets and travel plans in her mind practically screaming 'I haven't forgotten everything'. She wasn't sure if she really wanted to know.
Only months ago, she had received a letter from Luke, telling her that she now had a baby brother. She hadn't even known that Lorelai was pregnant. The phone calls that they shared tended to be short, and awkward. Never delving deeper than 'how was your day' and 'fine', and then switching the roles, and ending with the same result. She could have been hit by a car, and the answer at the end of the day would still be 'fine'.
Blowing out a breath, Rory shut her eyes, hoping against hope that the memories would fade in the self-imposed darkness. Reaching blindly into the purse beside her, she pulled out the slim package of cigarettes that lay inside, hurriedly taking one out, and then returning her hand into her purse in search for a lighter. Swearing, she opened her eyes, and brought the purse into her lap, turning the small overhead light on at the same time.
Finding the silver and enamel lighter, a gift from one of the many directors that she had worked with over the years, at the bottom of one of the designer bag's many pockets, she finally lit the tip, and inhaled the acrid smoke that still burned the back of her throat, even after over a year of regular use. The tension seemed to flow from her, and she took the cigarette from her lips, and exhaled, the bluish gray smoke curling upwards.
Licking her lips, she could taste the menthol of the filter on them. When she had had to play a chain-smoker in a film, she had foolishly though that if the cigarette were minty, she'd be able to get used to it faster. Even after the film wrapped, the craving for that taste, that sharp bite into her lungs, hadn't stopped. So, she bowed to the desire, and promised herself that she'd only have one more, and that every one that she had after that would be her last. That had been eleven months ago.
She frowned suddenly, and violently stabbed out the almost full cigarette, remembering words that her mother had said to her long ago. Something about 'nobody that stays in my house can smell like an ashtray'. Looking back at the house, she knew that she would have to quit if she wanted to stay, especially with the new baby, and that only hardened her resolve to quit smoking.
Sighing again, she focused on the digital clock on her dashboard. 2:46 am. Looking back at the dark house that had one been her home, and now hopefully served as her refuge, she knew without a doubt that all of the inhabitants would be sleeping, like any sane person would be at that time.
Taking her keys out of the ignition, she leaned back and grabbed her always present 'one night' bag that she used as her carry-on and kept behind the seat of her car just in case she was stranded with no luggage at an airport, or lost in an unfamiliar city. With the bag in her lap, she took one more breath of the warm air of the car before she put her purse over her shoulder and opened the car door.
The cold immediately bit into the exposed flesh of her face, putting more natural color into it than had been there in months. Stepping out of the car, she closed the door as quietly as she could, as to not disturb the pristine silence. Pressing the automatic lock button on her keys, she heard the familiar bleep, and started to walk, her designer boots sinking into the crisp snow with every step. Finally making it to the steps, and then onto the porch, Rory walked up to the door that she once felt free to open and close at whim, and hesitated.
She knew that if she opened that door she would be back in the secure fold of her family. She knew that that was what she needed, but she was still wary of going back into now unfamiliar territory. Taking one more deep breath, she savored the sting of the cold air as it filled her lungs, and then slowly turned the door handle. It opened easily under her hand, a thing she wasn't sure if she was relieved at or not.
Walking softly into the entrance, she shut the door behind her, still being sure to be as silent as she could. What she could see in the dark was almost identical to what she would see every time she walked into the door over five years ago. The familiarity of it caused tears to flood her eyes, and she had to bite her lip to prevent the sob that was caught in her throat from surfacing.
After taking a moment to regain her composure, Rory continued into the house, turning herself into the kitchen that looked the same as it had years before, if you didn't count the various baby products that were sitting on the table, and all of the baby-safe covers that covered every hard edge in sight. Turning to face the door of her old room, she didn't know what to expect when she opened the door. She reasoned in her head that they had probably converted it into a guest room long ago, or they were using it for storage. She hoped that there was still a bed in there as she reached for the knob, because the energy that she had stored in her was rapidly depleting.
Whatever she was expecting, it definitely wasn't what she got. Instead of the many boxes of storage, or the unfamiliar colors of a guest room, she was confronted with the past. The room that she had left behind all those years ago at first glance hadn't been changed. As she stepped in, she looked at what she could see through the moon that was shining through the sheer curtains that she herself had chosen when she had been seventeen. Eleven years ago.
She noticed that the things hung on the walls were mostly still there, but for one wall. The wall that had been home to the entire Harvard gift shop, and then the Yale one, had been changed. No more did it hold the dreams of a high school girl; now it held the past of a woman. Publicity photos, movie posters, and a few select pictures from award ceremonies now took the place of University banners and sweatshirts. The tape cover of her first starring role took the place of a postcard, and a picture of her accepting an award was in place of pictures of Fez that she had tacked onto the wall for good measure.
Waking over to her old bed, Rory sat down on the familiar quilt, and let the tears that had been precariously close to the surface fall down her cheeks. Hugging herself with her arms, she let the familiar embrace comfort her, the only embrace that she had allowed herself to have in years.
She didn't know how long had passed when she was composed enough to sit back up from the fetal position that she had instinctually tucked herself into, and remove her boots. She unzipped the leather and set it beside the bed before she slowly stood and closed the door until it was only open an inch or so. Returning to the bed, she pulled off her leather gloves, and shrugged out of her warm jacket, setting it on the chest at the foot of the bed.
Climbing under the covers, she closed her eyes, and sighed one last time. She was finally home.
I know, 2000plus words of absolutely no dialogue. But fear not! There will be conversation! I just wanted to give you some idea of the things that have gone on.
So, I hoped that you liked it, and please, let me know what you think.
Thanks for reading,
-Jayde
