Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Gilmore Girls, actors, characters, plots, etc, that would be the wonderful people at WB. Although if I did, I'm pretty sure they'd be some big changes coughChadcough. Anyway if you do feel inclined to sue me, some people have strange urges and we must accept them for who they are, I'm currently flat broke so all you will get is a used textbook, on organic chemistry.

Summary: Tragedy strikes, leaving Rory adrift. The only thing that can save her is a return to her past, but will those from her past want to save her? After all, everyone has hidden scars… Trogan (do I do anything else!)

Chapter 1

It was hours since her alarm clock had gone off and it was even longer since she had woken up from her fitful sleep. She could imagine what her grandmother would say if she saw her. She would probably demand to know why her granddaughter was still in bed, still in her pyjamas, her hair a stringy mess, dark circles under her eyes.

She didn't know which was greater, the hollowness in her body or the hollowness in the heart. Her mind, like her body, moved sluggishly, where once it had been quick witted she could barely form a thought.

Inhaling deeply, she moved toward the bathroom, slowly she opened the faucet and cupped her hands in the flow of the fast running water. She splashed the lukewarm water on her face, more out of habit than any great need to wake herself up.

The feeling of cool metal against her cheek caused her to retract her hands quickly. She stared at her hands like they were foreign entities, her eyes were drawn to the slender white gold band on her left hand. Closing her eyes, she could feel tears welling up behind her eyelids.

"No," she murmured silently.

When would the tears stop?

--

She stood there on a train platform at Grand Central Station, people hurried around her, buffeting her body. The hiss and woosh of trains coming and going filled her ears and her mind until that was all she could hear. She couldn't remember which train she was supposed to catch, it was more instinctive than that. A train would arrive, the train she was supposed to get on to take to where she was supposed to go, and her feet would know.

"Are you all right?" someone asked her in a gentle, warm voice.

She turned her head just enough for the speaker to appear in her vision. An elderly man with a saxophone in hand stared at her with concerned expression.

"I'm fine," she replied without thinking, it was her standard reply.

"Perhaps I can play you something?" he persisted, waving the saxophone slightly for emphasis.

"Oh, I don't know," she answered with a polite half-smile.

He continued to stare at her expectantly.

"Um, I don't mind, anything," she said reluctantly, unused to being subject to this kind of attention.

"Suit yourself," the man shrugged.

He took up his position, took a breath and started playing a tune. A bright happy tune. It took her a second to realise what he was playing, 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' and a rare smile graced her lips.

A train pulled up and instinctively her feet stepped forward, this was her train. She had no change for the busker, instead, on an impulse, she slipped the white gold band off her finger and dropped into the hat in front of the old man.

"God bless you," he said when the ring landed amongst the coins and notes with a 'clink'.

She boarded the train, glancing back at the saxophonist, she found he was still staring at the spot she had being standing. It was then she realised he was blind.

--

"Rory!" someone greeted her, Stacy Rakin, the receptionist who had been there the day she had started work at the firm, "How are you doing, honey?"

Would people stop asking her!

"I'm fine," she gave a tight smile.

She ignored the rest of her co-workers, giving them automatic greetings, they all asked the same questions anyway.

"Gilmore?" Mitchell Stanley, her boss, booming voice, beer-belly, Giants fan, "What the hell are you doing back? You're not supposed to be back for two more weeks."

"I couldn't sit around doing nothing any more," she was thankful he didn't ask her how she was doing.

"Well what I wouldn't do to be doing nothing," he sighed, not realising the irony of his statement.

"Anything for me?" she asked, desperate for something to do, but hoping all the same there was nothing.

"Nothing much, actually, slow news day," he shrugged.

She relaxed a little inside.

"Okay, well, I'll head over to my office."

"Yeah, check you're emails, check out the new coffee machine," Mitchell nodded.

"There's a new one?"

"Yup, just this week."

"That I gotta see."

"Good, good," Mitchell nodded absently, heading to his office.

--

She was back at Grand Central Station, having disembarked from her train after only an hour at work. The emails were all the same, 'How are you doing?', in fact the new coffee machine had held her interest longer. She loitered, not wanting to go to her apartment yet, there was nothing soothing about it's cold emptiness. Automatically, her fingers reached to fiddle with the white gold band, only to find it missing. The blind saxophonist. A sudden urge propelled her forward and she rushed to the platform she had been standing on that very morning. Desperately she searched for the busker, but he was gone.

"No," she whispered softly, her knees buckling, "No, no, no…"

"Ma'am?" someone was speaking to her, but she ignored them, "Ma'am, are you alright?"

"No, no, no, no…"

"Ma'am, is something wrong?" the person persisted.

"I need to go home," she whispered, finally looking up, two station workers stood over her, concern apparent on their faces.

"Okay, where is your home?"

"It's…" she had no idea who to respond, the apartment wasn't home, it hadn't been in a long time, maybe it had never been.

"Ma'am?"

"Stars Hollow," she answered finally, her voice regaining its strength, "Stars Hollow, Connecticut."

--

AN: Another new story, I'm on a bit of roll! We'll see where this one goes. Review, pretty please.