Standard Disclaimer: These characters belong to the WB & AS-P.
Dedication: This is for jeepgirl259.
Spoilers/Timeline: No spoilers, set in Season 5, after "So... good talk". Not episode-centric, just set after they break and make up.
A/N: Do read and review. This was re-submitted after eighty9octane alerted me to the no-lyrics policy of this site. Personally, I think the warning goes out to all who just copy-and-paste an entire song with two lines of dialogue and a mise-en-scene explanation, like "they went dancing and this song went on", but well... Since this was a fic that was going to be based around the lyrics of the song, I don't see how I can continue in a coherent manner without violating copyright. I've always held that ten percent of the work can be used without permission (so ten percent per chapter was alright in my book), but I suppose it's better to be above-board in ambiguous cases. Apologies to all; this was going to be my first serious multi-partner. (Who said that copyright isn't killing creativity?)

Mermaids Cry Too
Chapter 2: Peace of mind

I had heard of her before she came in that first day. Hey, we officially met eight years ago, but as long as you were within the vicinity of Patty's studio, you were bound to know when news breaks in Star's Hollow.

I was about 18 at the time, just as things were going belly-up at home. I'd try to be at the store for my dad, but sometimes, just sometimes, when his sadness got too heavy for me to handle, I'd take a walk to the playground across the road, beside Miss Patty's studio, where she would hold impromptu court with anyone interested passing by. And that was when I first heard.

"... so I take some time to go up to the inn, and there she is, dressed in a uniform and all, pushing a chambermaid's cart to the storeroom."

I sat on one of the park benches, idly rolling my skateboard under the bench with my right foot. I tune out the conversation, and start to daydream about moving away from here. I knew I'd never leave Dad, but it was a nice daydream to visit with occasionally. A pity I didn't perk my ears up more. It's 1986, and I'm oblivious to the seismic shift that has occurred in the geography of my small life.

. . .
Now you wonder who is she
. . .

Small-town life is full of history. Not stupid stuff like what Taylor's museum tries to glorify - who in their right mind would want to listen to the story of the Jebediah family? No. Small-town life is full of your own history. People know you. They were there when you were born, took your first steps, cut your first tooth, TP-ed the gazebo, skateboarded through the town square. That kind of history. It's the kind of history that lets you reminisce happily when you're old and grey, thinking about "the good old days" when life was easier.

It's also the kind of history that allows an old family friend the right to request the repair services of a young man, and offer dinner in return for the favour.

"Ah, there you are. Your father said I might find you here."

I stood up, brushing my hands on my apron. "Yeah, he sent me here to straighten all the nails that were ever bent since the beginning of time, I think. And I'm sweating like a pig because ventilation in this storeroom's a real bitc...pain." Pushing my hair out of my eyes, I look at her. "Did you need something from back here?"

She looks over the rim of her glasses. "Not exactly. I need some help with something at the inn, and I was wondering if your father could take a look at it before I called in a hopelessly expensive repairman. Your father said he wasn't feeling up to it, and told me to come ask you instead. So here I am. Asking you." She smiles, a kindly smile that makes my heart ache for my mother.

"Sure, but what do I get out of it?" My tone is flippant, covering up for the sudden onslaught of emotions.

She raised one of her eyebrows. "What do you get out of it? My word, Luke, when did you get to be so cheeky?" And she reached forward to pinch my cheeks. Seeing the attack, I dodged quickly.

"MIA! You promised you wouldn't do that anymore!" She laughed, a tinkling sound that sounded dead in the still air of the storeroom.

"That I did, that I did. I'm sorry. Now would you get those tools and let's get going. I've got a dripping air-conditioner that I need you to look at, and I'm offering dinner in return. Is that a fair trade?" Without waiting for my answer, she called into the main hardware store: "William, I'm having Luke stay for dinner at the inn, okay?"

I smile, take off my apron, and look for my toolbox. Some things were inevitable.

We walked to the inn in companiable silence, each content to just enjoy the summer's day in quiet. As we entered the inn, to my surprise, we walked past the large air-con compressors, and towards the stables. We rounded a corner, and ended up at... the potting shed. Mia pointed out the single unit compressor to me.

"That one's been leaking for two weeks, and we can't seem to find out what's wrong with it. Normally when there's a leak, there's a problem with the filter, or there's a blockage in the water pipe. We've checked for both problems already, but it's still leaking." She bent and pulled out an algae-coated hose. "Of course, we might not have checked the pipe very thoroughly..."

I smiled a wry smile. "I'll get right on it."

She stood up and brushed herself off. "Good. Come in when you're finished, and we'll have dinner." As she turned to leave, I asked, "Mia? Why do you need me to fix this anyway? Isn't this just full of pots and gardening stuff? Why'd you need to air-condition the place?"

She turned back. "Because there are people staying in there now, and I don't want them to suffocate to death in the summer heat." Making another smart turn of the heel, she left. I thought no more about it, and got to work on cleaning the blockage out of the pipe. Dinner was scrumptious.

. . .
Hopes destroyed, she wanted to find certain death, peace of mind
. . .

I tell her that all these near-encounters with her before we actually meet - they were like Peter Parker and Mary-Jane Watson in the original Spider-Man comics: Aunt May keeps wanting to set him up with her, but until the actual first date, we never see Mary-Jane because she's always drawn with a huge flower display hanging just over her face, or her profile is being blocked by another person.

"So what you're saying is that you're really a super-hero in disguise?" she teased.

"No, I'm just saying that you're my Mary-Jane."

"And I have the same awful family background to prove it, too."

"Mary-Jane didn't run away from her family with a baby in tow."

"Well... you know that story. It was either leave them and stay sane, or stay there and commit suicide, giving Rory the perfect excuse to go on Oprah and conjure up my spirit with an ouiji board just to say that her life was my fault."

"Rory on Oprah. That's a scary thought."

"You think that's freakier than my spirit being conjured up?"

I kissed the side of her forehead. "Well, I'm glad you're here now."

She smiled and snuggled closer to me on the sofa. "I'm glad I am too."