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.
AN: I seem to specialise in sad stories and for that I'm sorry, but I can't resist reading a tear-jerker and I think my subconscious is trying to tell me something through what pours onto my screen.
Rish: Thanks darling. Hope you're still interested.
Photoboothromance: Thank you for reading and reviewing.
Ali: Well, thanks for reviewing. Sorry for taking forever to update.
Mrmp: I'd love to throw you bone, but unfortunately you're going to have to take a new chapter instead. Thanks for reading and sorry about the delay.
LoVe23: I'm updating, but sorry about the delay. Hope you still want to know what's happened. Can't reveal too much yet. Thanks for reading.
Fallen Heart: Just between you and me, I'm not entirely sure where I'm taking this either, I mean I have some idea, but… Anyway thank you for reading, sorry about the delay in updating.
Troryforever: Thanks for reading and reviewing. I apologise for the delay, but hope you're still interested.
Chapter 2
Her movements were slow and robotic as she boarded a train bound for Stars Hollow. The station workers had helped her purchase a ticket before accompanying her to the appropriate platform, all the while they murmured soothing words, and somehow she made it on to the train without any further hitches. It wasn't until the train pulled away from the station, with her on board the third carriage, middle window seat, that the tears arrived once more. Frustrated and annoyed, she tried to brush the salty droplets away with her hands, but it was futile. For each tear she brushed away, another three slipped from her eyes.
"Here," a fellow passenger pressed a pristine white handkerchief into her hand.
She stared at the bright, white cloth.
"Don't worry, it's perfectly clean," the stranger assured her.
First the blind saxophonist, the two station workers and then the kind passenger. This was the third act of seemingly random kindness from strangers, all on the same day.
"Thank you," she whispered meekly, dabbing at the tears.
"You're welcome," the gentle smile apparent in his voice, "It wouldn't be proper to let a beautiful lady cry."
After she managed to stem the flow of tears, she stared at the now damp handkerchief in her hands.
"Keep it," the stranger said, as if sensing her confusion.
"Thanks," she said again, this time with a little more confidence.
Carefully, she folded the handkerchief into a small square only to discover the owner's initials embroidered in gold on one corner. 'T. J. d G.'
"So, would it be rude of me to ask what caused you to be so upset?" his voice was warm and inviting, but cautious all the same.
"I…" she stopped, unsure of how to respond.
Everyone who knew her, knew what had happened, with varying degrees of truth. No one had asked her specifically what had happened, usually she would start to explain and their immediate reactions to her first sentence would steam roll right over her. Why would a stranger care?
"You know what? It is rude of me to ask," he shook his head slightly.
"No, it's not that – " she felt a sudden need to apologise to him, but her cut her off quickly.
"No, really, I'm sorry," he flashed her an apologetic smile, but because she still had not looked up, she missed it.
Their short conversation stopped then and she wished she could wrench it back on track. She had nothing, but her purse with her and its contents wasn't particularly inspiring. The last thing she wanted was to be left alone with her thoughts, that would only lead to more tears.
"Where are you headed?" she asked, her voice wavered slightly as if she hadn't used it in while.
"Hartford," her fellow passenger replied without missing a bit, as if there had never been a lull in their conversation, "You?"
"Stars Hollow," she answered.
"That's that town about half an hour out of Hartford, right? There's like only one set of traffic lights in it."
"Ye-ah," she was taken aback by his knowledge of her home town, "Have you ever been there?"
"Yeah, a long time ago," he nodded, "It feels like a lifetime ago."
"There are two sets of traffic lights, now," she informed him.
"Ahh, the way the time changes everything," his tone was warm and filled with genuine humour, "I should visit some time, see what else has changed. Maybe you could give me a tour."
"I'd like that," she blurted out, before she couldn't comprehend what she was saying, she could feel the blood rush to her cheeks.
"Well that's settled, then," he nodded slightly, she caught the movement in her peripheral vision and she finally looked up.
Her travel companion was a man who looked to be in his mid-twenties, blonde hair cut much like a regulation military style. In fact his build was a lot like someone who would be in the armed forces, except for his well-cut suit, pinstripe and expensive. His face looked youthful, a boyish expression, soft blue eyes, unprejudiced and open.
"How will you find me?" she asked and then she wanted to slap herself.
What kind of stupid question was that? If they were serious in their plans, surely they would exchange names and numbers.
"A beautiful lady like yourself? I doubt it will be difficult," he grinned.
Coming from someone else, his response would have sent alarm bells ringing in her head. The New Yorker in her went on stalker-alert, but somehow she felt an instant, comforting connection with this seemingly perfect stranger.
"Question is, would you remember me?" he grinned before giving her his best impression of puppy dog eyes.
"With eyes like those, how can I forget?" she couldn't help but smile back, the muscles in her cheeks almost sang with pleasure as her lips curved into a full grin, they had spent too much time turned down in a grim frown.
"So you like my eyes," his lips twisted into a playful smirk, his expression was like a little kid who had been given the biggest piece of chocolate cake, innocence.
"Maybe this is bad idea," she tried to look regretful, but the look of absolute rejection in his eyes, his cake denied, was too much, "I'm kidding."
"Oh, thank God," he sighed melodramatically, "The thought of rejection… unbearable."
"I haven't felt this good in ages," she revealed, as a feeling resembling contentment bubbled in her heart.
"I have a knack for making people feel good," her fellow traveller smiled, his response could be misconstrued for arrogance, but she could not shake the image of a little boy and his cake.
"I bet you do," she replied quietly.
A disembodied voice announced that Hartford was the next station and she and her new friend gathered himself to disembark the train. As they got off, he was the perfect gentleman, opening doors for her, letting her pass in front of him, hailing a taxi for her. It wasn't until she in the taxi and he, a mere speck in the rear window that she realised she didn't know his name. She slipped her hands into her coat pockets, wrapping the heavy wool around her body, her mind conjuring up what could have been. Her fingers brushed against a square of soft material, taking it out, she traced the initials. T. J. d G. Who are you?
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AN: I bet you have more questions after reading this chapter, hit me with them! Tell me what you think. But if you haven't been inspired/moved/bored into reviewing, here's a little question from me: In a fight, who would win, Logan or Dean? Logan doesn't exactly come across as athletic, but I imagine Dean would be a swing-and-miss kind of guy.
