Title: Losing Left and Right, Finding In Between
Summary: Never in a million years did he expect to find her on his doorstep. Her, of all people. And truth be told, she never expected that it would be him she was running to.
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. Credit for that mess goes to AS-P and The WB.
Notes: Wow. It's been a while. I have no idea why this chapter gave me so much trouble. I've been working on it for months, but let me tell you, when I sat down today, it just flooded out. I hope everyone likes it!
Chapter Six: A Town Consensus of Sorts
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News of Rory's affair with Dean and her subsequent departure spread through the town faster than any other piece of gossip in Stars Hollow history.
Faster than when Trevor Stevens hooked up with his deceased wife's sister. Faster than when June Pratt married her second cousin. Faster than when Michael Fullmer had a sex change operation, became Michelle, and moved to Jersey.
Not to mention the fact that this, by far, was considered to be the juiciest.
The town princess had leapt off the pedestal that had been graciously given to her and chucked it back in the faces of her beloved townspeople. It was outrageous! Ungrateful! Yet, so very intriguing.
Everyone had their own theory as to why she did it. The town buzzed day and night, friends and enemies meeting at corner stores to discuss these theories, to share information. Phones rang late into the night telling of new developments, new connections. Remember when he showed up here a couple weeks back? Didn't they have a conversation in the street? Did anyone hear what was said? And where had Dean disappeared to? Lindsay was gone too; definitely peculiar. And, of course, everyone had compiled their own list of answers; a town consensus of sorts.
Yes, he did in fact show up a few weeks back, apparently to pick up his car. "But why after all this time?" Babette questioned. "A piss poor story if I've ever heard one." No doubt he was here to see her.
Yes, they did have some sort of confrontation in the street. No one to date knows what was said, but it appeared that Rory did the majority of the talking; hopefully tearing into him about leaving her all alone, only to show up again and send her life spiraling out of control. "It was about time that girl let off some steam," Miss Patty speculated. "Keeping it bottled up after all that time must have been killing her. I'd seen it in her eyes. Hadn't you seen it in her eyes? It was there all along, but I didn't want to pull the girl into a conversation she wasn't ready for..."
And yes, Dean and Lindsay had disappeared. Where to? And undisclosed location. But it was obvious that she had heard of the affair, slaughtered him in a fit of rage, dumped the body, and high-tailed it to Canada. Obviously. "What other explanation could there be?" Andrew argued. Taylor called this accusation ludicrous, but even he was seen looking over his shoulder at night, no doubt watching out for the ax-wielding blonde. No one knew where she was, after all. "It's always the quiet ones," Joe concluded.
But, as to be expected, no one took the news harder than Lorelai Victoria Gilmore II, her counterpart and confidant disappearing from her life in what she described as "A poof of smoke without the smoke."
No one had seen her in days, a statement on her part that only fueled the rumor mill. Everyone had assumed she come out soon enough; "Leave her be. She needs time to process. To adjust," Gypsy reasoned.
Okay, let's face it. Gypsy doesn't reason. She orders in an intimidating tone.
Nonetheless, this secluded behavior had far surpassed the expectations of those around her. Babette had tried to invite her over for tea, but their was no answer when she called. Kirk tried to lure her out of the house with a heart shaped box of chocolates, but not even that could stir her from her hibernation. And when a Gilmore refuses any type of sugar for any reason, something is terribly wrong. Even Emily Gilmore would scale the tallest mountain for the perfect piece of chocolate. She'd do it with an entire team of guides pulling her to the summit whilst she lounged on the padded bench of a carriage, but the humidity at that height would wreak havoc on her hair (and split ends are nobody's friend).
The point is, the kind patrons were getting incredibly worried. Yes, worried. Not gossip starved. Not at all. And, as that one dude once said, "Drastic times call for drastic measures."
Which is why Sookie was shifting from foot to foot on the weathered porch trying to figure out how she had gotten herself into this.
"Sookie, Lorelai needs you. This town needs you." Taylor waved his arms frantically, counting out each point one by one. She had never noticed how well manicured his fingernails were before. Odd.
"She hasn't been outside for days, which means she probably hasn't been eating."
Point one.
"She has undoubtedly parked her hind end in front of the television watching that godforsaken 'OC' or 'Iguana Beach'"
Isn't it 'Laguna Beach'? How would Taylor know about 'Laguna Beach'? Oops, that was point two.
"She needs a friend right now, Sookie. She won't respond to Babette, and Kirk is beginning to go to extreme measures. Stalker-like measures, which means that he'll end up getting hurt in one way or another. I swear to god, if he doesn't stay out of that tree, he's going to loose a limb."
Is that supposed to be point three?
"You're our best bet right now. Just try to talk to her. Make sure she's alive, for crying out loud. And then report back here of course." Taylor concluded with a flourish, of course, his hands resting on his hips in a very David Caruso-esque manner.
"Wait, Taylor, you lost me. Is this about Lorelai or Kirk?"
He sighed in an exasperated manner, "Sookie." The name was drawn out and impatient. He wanted an answer.
"Look, I just don't know if it's such a good idea. Lor'll come out when she's ready, just wait." Sookie patted him assuredly on the arm. Taylor's gaze didn't waver.
Oh, right. Taylor Doose is a very scary man.
Then again, so is Lorelai Gilmore. Or, woman. Whatever.
It's not that Sookie wasn't concerned. Oh, no. She had tried to get in touch with Lorelai. But if Lorelai didn't want to talk, Lorelai did not talk. Sookie had known her long enough to realize that the girl would need space.
Still, it might not hurt if she peeked in. For just a few minutes.
Bypassing the doorbell (that hadn't gotten any of the previous visitors anywhere), she tried the doorknob, not surprised to find it unlocked.
She felt as if she was Neil Armstrong taking those first steps on the moon, discovering a place no one had ever seen before - or, at least, not for a while. Upon closer inspection, however, the house looked relatively the same. Except for the unassuming lump on the couch.
"Go away."
Behold! The lump speaks!
Sookie closed the door behind her, letting the lock click into place before approaching the living room.
"Lorelai, it's me. You, ah, haven't been to the inn in a few days, which it weird, 'cause you're kind of the co-owner and all."
The lump spoke again, "There's been a tragedy. A death in the family. I need eight weeks off."
"That's sad and all, but I need you there." Sookie gradually got closer to the couch, finally sitting tentatively next to the mass of blankets and Cheeto bags.
'At least we know she didn't starve.'
"Everybody's talking. I know they are. Hell, after my scene in the diner, I'd be talking about me." Something shifted, and a bag of Red Vines fell away, revealing a clump of dark brown hair, unkempt and untamed in wild curl and frizz.
"That was a very egotistical sentence," Sookie tried, nudging the cushion that had become her best friend. When Lorelai didn't reply, Sookie spoke again, "Oh, sweetie. Are you ready to talk about it?"
This offer elicited more movement from the blob, and Lorelai's head finally emerged from the cocoon, hair wildly piled on top of her head, face free of makeup, eyes tired, cheeks puffy.
"Does everyone know?" Her eyes were downcast, lips set in a thin line, already knowing the answer.
Sookie nodded reluctantly. "But forget about that. How are you?"
"How am I? How am I?I...I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't think. Well, I can eat, and of course I can sleep, but I really can't think! I can't concentrate on anything for more than five minutes before my thoughts drift to her. Is she okay? Did she make it there? Is her body lying in a ditch somewhere? And if it isn't, is she with Jess? Are they still in New York? They could be in Istanbul by now! Or is it Constantinople? God, how does that song go?"
"I highly doubt they've made it that far," she reasoned.
"I can't even get off this couch, Sook. I have no motivation. I'm sitting here, watching a Touched by an Angel Marathon on USA Network!"
Sookie looked towards the TV. "Why?"
"Aren't you listening? No motivation!" She gestured to the heap surrounding her.
"What does having no motivation have to do with Touched by an Angel?"
"I'm watching Touched by an Angel because the remote is all the way over there!" Lorelai groaned as she pointed to the end table next to the chair. Sookie sighed and reached for the remote.
"Okay, sweetie. It's time for an intervention." She clicked the power button. "There. No more Touched by an Angel. See; that wasn't so bad, was it."
Lorelai whimpered an buried her head underneath the covers. Sookie gently rubbed her back as a muffled voice drifted up through the afghan.
"Forget Rory; I'm still trying to get over that it was with Dean. Married Dean. I always worried about Jess. Come on, Dean's a respectable guy. He says please and thank you. And when he bags your groceries, he always puts the bread on top."
"Honey, you never buy bread."
"I did once."
"She'll call, Lorelai."
"What if she doesn't? Or what if she does, but I'm not here, and she doesn't leave a message, or-"
Sookie interjected, "Are you going to live as a recluse for the rest of your life?"
"But if I miss her call-"
"Then she'll leave a message. Or she'll call again."
"What if she doesn't do either. Then what?"
Sookie didn't have an answer.
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In less than a week, her life had changed in more ways than she ever could have imagined. She was not only living on her own, but she was living with a boy. A trivial fact to some, but this was a huge step for a girl of her disposition. She had walked out on everything and everyone she had ever known and loved. And, god, was it liberating. For the first time in her life, Rory Gilmore was not second guessing herself. She was confident in her decision, confident in her future. She felt like she could take on the world.
Things had been great the last few days. Jess took time off of work, and they immediately began apartment hunting. There was no rush, no hurried actions, just lazy days wandering the city, enjoying each other's company, looking at a few places here and there.
The one they chose was found by sheer luck - or fate, depending who is asked. The events leading up to the huge find were simple, really. The two, after just concluding lunch at small bistro, reached the end of a block. In order to liven things up, Jess merely asked Rory, "Left or right."
A smile danced on her lips as her eyes sparkled, eyeing each direction, silently contemplating the options. Finally, she let out a groan.
"Do I have to choose? I want to go everywhere. This is too much pressure." She looked up at him with the most serious face she could muster, noticing a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Sorry Gilmore. This is the end of the line. Only you can choose."
She put on a face of mock surprise, the carefully began contemplating the options once more. Jess let out and exaggerated sigh; in reply, she reached back and hit his arm.
"Left or right, huh?" she mused again.
"Don't make me start humming the Jeopardy theme music," he poked her side in exchange for a squeak.
"You wouldn't."
"I'm not above it."
Her eyes were wide; his were daring.
Rory took one last look at the intersection before nodding her head.
"I choose in between."
"There are no in betweens in life, Ror." His face was serious, but his eyes were smiling.
"Well, there is this time."
With that, she interlaced her fingers with his and pulled his across the street, not left or right, but into the in between known to most as Bleecker Street. It held a few of the regular, non-descript apartment buildings found all over Greenwich Village; weathered from decades of abuse, natural and otherwise, but strong and comforting from decades of stories, of history.
This particular building was seven stories, with vacancies on both the third and fifth floor. The owner was a graying woman in her early sixties with long, wavy hair and a brightly colored, billowy print dress. After Jess explained the type of cash range they were looking for, Laura, as they learned she was named, ushered them up to the apartment on the fifth floor. She was extremely kind as she showed the couple around, going on and on about the great atmosphere of the block and all of the sights near by. "This is the Bohemian capital of the world!" she exclaimed triumphantly. Never had Rory seen a such a truer hippie, and this woman was in her element.
The apartment - 503 - was small, but very well kept. Upon entering, it had a living room that, toward the left, faded into the kitchen. On the same side was a short hallway, if it could even be called that, that gave way to two doors on either side; the bedroom and the bathroom. There were three stools underneath the countertop and a coffee table left behind by the previous tenants.
A window in the living room let in the outside world, Bleecker street proudly staring you in the face. Laura said that every night one of the tenants from the second floor would go out on the sidewalk and play his violin from about seven to eight. This apartment would allow them a front row seat. Rory, of course, was more interested in this than Jess was. However, the apartment was perfect, the landlord polite, and the price relatively reasonable.
They signed the initial one month lease that day and began moving in the day after. Laura wasn't one for paper-work or first and last month's rent. She collected a $300 damage deposit and was fairly lax on everything else.
"She sells beaded jewelry in a shop down the street. Isn't that cool?" Rory had gushed. Jess shook his head but smirked anyway. Her excitement was starting to rub off on him.
That moment of adrenaline passed, however, and two days later she found herself sitting alone in the bare living room of their new apartment, as all of her initial fears and doubts creeping back in.
She had no idea what she was doing. She wasn't used to this responsibility, these choices. Her life before had been simple. Light vs. dark. Good vs. Evil. (Dean vs. Tristin, respectively). She painted herself into a world of yes and no, of right and wrong.
Jess was the first shade of gray that had entered her life. And it still scared her. She had been snugly nudged into the comfortable predictability promised by this black and white existence.
Now, she was in this in between apartment with this gray boy, and she had no clue where to go from here.
What she didn't know was that Jess felt the same way. He had led a black and white existence before her as well. To him, though, she was Technicolor. And it was terrifying.
She was still sitting on the floor when he got home. She looked up at him with ocean eyes, and he wondered if she had been crying or if she was about to. Not knowing what to say, he set his bag by the door and sat across from her, carefully taking her hands into his and tracing circles along her palms. She watched him as he watched their hands, almost afraid to meet her gaze. When he did, she knew it was going to be okay.
"We're ready for this," she said with conviction.
She leaned forward and kissed him softly before crawling closer until she was straddling him. It was then that he realized exactly what she meant.
Minutes later they reached the bedroom. He could barely make out her outline in the darkness, the only light coming from the dim streetlamp.
"Are you nervous?" he whispered against her neck.
"A little," she breathed.
"Yeah, me too."
Over the next few months, they had many encounters, and she took on many forms.
Sometimes she was saltwater, playful, tasting like the ocean, but with a slightly sweet tang tickling the back of his throat.
Other times she was freshwater; cleansing and pure, refreshing and perfect in ways he couldn't even imagine.
A few times, though, she was brackish, bitter and rusty, leaving a metallic taste in his mouth.
But that first encounter; it was freshwater and everything that goes along with it.
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It seems like things change.
But they don't.
The fact is, things don't really change at all. No matter how much time passes, when it gets down to it, things relatively stay the same. People relatively stay the same.
Does that mean he will hurt her again? Not necessarily. Because the thing is, he's always had good intentions.
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Notes: I'm not sure about the ending. Oy vey! PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!! You have no idea how much it would make my day!