Fly Into The Sun

Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Author's Note: Very sorry for any formatting issues on this one. It's bounced around a few different computers and word processors, and my screen reader doesn't always pick these things up.

Part One: Freshman Year

Chapter Four: Exit Lane, Stage Right

Lane is scheduled to leave Stars Hollow a few days before Rory. It'll take the smaller girl a lot longer to get to Palo Alto, and the plan is to spend a couple of days with her dad before she's expected to move into the dorms. College is something they've been anticipating and preparing for all Summer, but before either of them are truly ready for it, the evening before Lane's departure arrives.

In the setting sun of late Summer, Rory approaches the Kim's small apartment with a bag full of contraband candy, a portable DVD player and the BBC's 'Pride

and Prejudice' series box set . It'll be the last movie night they spend together for some time - though much of it will be spent helping Lane pack up

the last of the things hidden in her Wardrobe of Contraband - and the knowledge is bittersweet.

Lane has been Rory's best friend since Kindergarten. As little girls, they bonded over Disney princesses and piano lessons and the shared experience of

having single mothers in the kooky, cookie-cutter town of Stars Hollow, and the rest - as the saying goes - is history. Over the years, the only time they've ever spent apart is the summer vacations they've spent with their respective fathers, Lane's every other Christmas in Seoul, and Rory's semester abroad at the end of 10th grade, but change is unavoidable, and neither of them are exempt from

this truth.

"It's crazy," Lane marvels, "It feels like just yesterday we were praying for boobs, and now here we are."

"College," Rory concurs.

"Not particularly blessed in the boob department," Lane adds, rueful. They both laugh.

They're seated on Lane's bed, surrounded by the smaller girl's extensive collection of CD's and a handful of durable CD wallets. Rory's helping Lane transfer the discs into the wallets in question, and though the task is tedious, it also offers the pair of them an opportunity to reminisce about their past and

to talk and dream and hope for the future. In this endeavour, they're accompanied by the tones of Carole King's Tapestry album - chosen intentionally because its Mrs Kim approved - and it's a pleasant, peaceful way to pass their last night together.

"A lot's happened since then," Lane reflects, "Where has the time gone?"

Rory smiles. "We grew up."

"I'm going to miss you like crazy," Lane admits, teary-eyed behind her square-framed glasses, "You've always just been a short walk away, and now we'll

be on different sides of the country."

"I'll miss you too, but it'll be okay. We've done it before."

Rory isn't concerned that their friendship won't survive the distance. Thus far, it's transcended time, different schools, diverging interests, plans,

dreams, and Rory's 10th Grade student exchange program. They've grown up together, bonded over boys, bands, and broken hearts. College is just another

chapter in their story, geography another hurdle to overcome. They've experienced too much for it to be anything else.

"Are you nervous?"

"Terrified," Lane replies, "I keep thinking I've lost my mind. I mean, Stanford, really? What was I thinking?"

Lane flops backwards onto her mattress with a dramatic sigh and stares blankly at her bedroom's textured ceiling. There are glow-in-the-dark stars stuck up there from years ago, an ill-advised attempt of self-expression by Lane that was aided and abetted by Rory. They were 11 at the time, and Mrs Kim, true to form, blew a gasket when she found out.

In retrospect, Rory expects Mrs Kim's outrage had more to do with the fact that their home is a rental and less to do with any attempt on Mrs Kim's part to quash Lane's spirit, but neither of them realised that at the time, and they've long-since moved passed their adolescent sense of injustice besides.

"You were thinking that Stanford is an opportunity you'd be nuts to pass up, and that California is a long way from Mrs Kim."

Dave's college choices were probably a contributing factor, as well, but Rory doesn't mention that. Things are in a weird place between Dave and Lane, caught somewhere in a not-quite, quasi long-distance relationship thing. Rory doesn't get it, but she

hopes Lane's matriculation at Stanford - where Dave will also be - allows them the opportunity to figure things out. In the meantime, though, mention of

Dave comes with the risk of stepping on an emotional landmine, so Rory avoids it when she can.

"Right."

"You can always change your mind," Rory reminds her.

Lane scoffs at the very notion. "Never. I think my parents would actually kill me."

Lane's dad is some kind of Software Developer hotshot in Silicon Valley, and he's beyond pleased that his daughter will be relocating to the West Coast.

After a lifetime of Summer visitation only, Lane is similarly excited to have the opportunity to spend more time with him

Mrs Kim, meanwhile, has particular plans and expectations for her daughter and remains determined that Lane does not deviate from the course her mother

has set for her, so it's no wonder why the other girl wants to get as far away from Stars Hollow as geographically possible without simply upping sticks and relocating to South Korea (which, realistically, would probably just result in Mrs Kim following her) - It's simply self-preservation.

"You'll do great," Rory assures her, "Stanford won't know what hit it, and just think, you can be as rock and roll as you'd like."

"I am looking forward to that," Lane concedes, smiling despite herself, "I'm already planning on colouring my hair."

"What colour?"

"Not sure yet, but I'm leaning towards purple. Maybe blue."

The mental image is incongruous against the backdrop of Lane's bedroom, decorated to Mrs Kim's exacting standards, but Rory can picture it, and she is

excited for her friend, and for what the move will mean for Lane's ability to express her truest self.

"You'll have to send me pictures," she insists, "It'll be so cool."

"Naturally," Lane concurs, "What about you?"

"You know me," Rory replies with a self-deprecating shrug, "Nervous, excited, terrified."

"You'll kill it," Lane says, unfaltering in her confidence, "You're the smartest person I know."

"Thanks," Rory smiles, half-hearted.

"At least you can come home for visits," Lane adds optimistically, "That should be good."

Rory pulls a face. "Maybe."

Lane winces. "You still not talking to your mom?"

"Not really."

It's not that Rory and her mother are avoiding each other, because they're not. It's just that encounters between them are stilted and awkward, mired by their argument (such as it is), and by all the things they've left unsaid. Neither of them are willing to compromise, however, and so they are at an impasse.

In light of this fact, Rory's spent an uncomfortable amount of her time at home walking on eggshells, but mercifully, she hasn't actually been home much.

Her work at the Gazette and at Luke's Diner, her volunteer work with the DAR, and her college related errands have kept her out of the house for much

of her waking hours, and when she has been home, Lorelei - herself inundated by preparations for the inn - usually has not been.

Of course, the next week will be very different. Her internship at the Gazette has come to an end, as has her volunteer work the the DAR. She'll continue working at Luke's until she leaves, assisting with training her and Lane's replacements, but that still leaves Rory with a lot of time to spare, and not much by way of excuses to avoid her mother.

It's not ideal, and certainly not how Rory expected her Summer to end, but it is what it is, and it's fine. Rory is dealing with it.

"It'll get better," Lane assures her, "You two always make up eventually."

Rory smiles half-heartedly. "I hope so."

In the past couple of weeks, Rory has been subject to a side of her mother she really doesn't like, and although Rory has always been conscious of it to some degree or another, there's a huge difference between knowing about it, and actually being a target of her mother's pointed barbs, by the attacks on her character, and by the bitterness and resentment that suddenly festers in every corner of their home. As such, and as dramatic as it seems, Rory doubts that things will ever be the same between the two youngest Gilmore Girls, truce or no truce.

In any case, Rory's tired of talking about it, and thinking about it - and living it, frankly - and more to the point, Lane's pastel bedroom isn't the place to hash it all out. Again.

"Never mind that though," she insists, "I'm already upset enough."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay…"

They turn their attention back to Lane's vast array of CD's. She really does have a lot of them. No decade and no genre is spared, and many of them are accompanied by fond memories of Lane and Rory listening to them together, dissecting tone and lyrics and composition, swooning over handsome, tousle-haired singers, lip-syncing into hairbrush microphones, rocking out with air guitars and air drums, dancing around in their pyjamas.

"Gosh, we were so lame," Lane reminisces, her face flushed from laughter, "We had fun though, didn't we?"

"We did," Rory agrees, smiling fondly.

Lane pulls a face, resigned and melancholy with it. "I guess all good things have to come to an end eventually."

"Only for better things to come along," Rory replies.

Lane rolls her eyes. "Cheesy."

Rory shrugs unapologetically. "I try."

Eventually, Lane's extensive collection of CD's are transferred into her new CD wallets, packed away in her 'Unpack First' box, the CD cases disposed of in a trash bag Rory had smuggled in for the occasion. Pride and Prejudice is slid into Rory's portable DVD player, the two girls sprawl out on Lane's small

bed to watch it for the umpteenth time, and for a few short hours, they lose themselves in the story of Darcy and Elizabeth.

Rory guiltily prays that the evening never ends, but of course it does. She leaves passed midnight, to sleep in her own bed, but she's up before dawn, clad in pyjamas but no less determined to see Lane on her way.

Mercifully, Mrs Kim obliges them by stopping by Rory's house before they leave for the airport. It's so early that the stars are still out, sunrise a slight

tinge of grey along the Eastern horizon.

Although she's seen through many an all-nighter, Rory can't remember the last time she went out of her way and actually woke up to see the sunrise, but as Rory and Lane hug for the last time, sunrise is the last thing on her mind.

Saying goodbye to Lane is honestly more devastating than Rory expects it to be. They've parted ways before, but they've always known when they'd be reunited. As young adults though, truly leaving their childhood homes behind for the first time, their future is uncertain and terrifying. For Rory, the thought of facing that future without her best friend by her side? Heartbreaking.

More selfishly however, is the reality that Rory's never been the one left behind, and it hurts.

"I'll miss you," Rory says through a throat clogged with feelings, "You better not forget me."

"Never."

Rory cries. Lane cries. They hug, they promise to stay in touch, to return home for Christmas, for the Summer, to call every day, and it's a spectacle, but Rory doesn't even care.

And then Lane is back in her mother's car, and Mrs Kim is pulling out of the driveway, and the taillights of Mrs Kim's sedan have faded into the pre-dawn

gloom.

Left bereft and alone with the morning dew, Rory slips forlornly back into her mother's house, and under the covers of her twin sized bed, Stars Hollow feels suddenly and inexplicably lonely, and Rory cannot wait to leave.

-!- -#-

In the wake of Lane's departure, Rory drifts aimlessly through her days, feeling oddly unmoored. She attempts to stay busy, visiting her assorted family members, but she's packed for Yale, she's completed all of her errands, and free time has never felt so unwelcome. She reads, she watches movies, she wanders through Stars Hollow, determined to soak in every sight and sound and smell of her hometown to take with her when she leaves, and it is fine – pleasant even – and still, Rory has an abundance of free time on her hands, and she is restless.

On her last Friday in town and with nails freshly painted periwinkle blue and sparkly, she finds herself at Luke's for lunch, flicking absently through a Staples catalogue. She'd been feeling oddly naked without the presence of a camera in her hands – familiar after a Summer spent with one from the Stars Hollow Gazette essentially attached to her person – and the thought had occurred to her to perhaps invest in one of her own. In perusing the catalogue, however, Rory had quickly come to the conclusion that she's a little in over her head, and that perhaps some research would not go a miss before making such a purchase.

As she scopes out what's on the market, and makes a list of terms to research later, Rory's distracted by the sound of someone entering the diner. It's Dean, surprisingly not in the company of Lindsay, and dressed in his Duce's uniform - Evidently, he's on his lunch break.

When Dean notes Rory's presence, he approaches her table with a hesitant smile. Rory returns it, feeling awkward and confused. Dean has avoided her assiduously for literally years, so this sudden and unexpected deviation from his previous behaviour is puzzling, to say the least.

"Hi, Rory."

"Hi," Rory returns, "What's up?"

Dean shrugs. "Not much. Can I join you?"

Rory casts her gaze over the dining area, nonplussed. It's two o'clock on a Friday, and the afternoon sun filters in through the restaurant's bay windows. A few patrons linger over their food or their drinks, and Kirk hovers conspicuously by the front counter, but otherwise, Luke's diner is hardly bustling, and as such, there is an abundance of empty tables Dean can claim for himself if he were so inclined.

But then, Rory supposes, maybe he just doesn't want to eat alone.

"Sure," she acquiesces, because Rory Gilmore has never been good at disappointing people.

"Thanks," Dean acknowledges. He makes himself comfortable across from her, fusses absentmindedly with the menu, and casts his gaze across the diner in search of their server. Their knees knock awkwardly below the table, and Rory regrets her decision immediately. "So how've you been?"

"Pretty good," Rory replies, "How about you? Have you guys started wedding plans yet?"

At 18, fresh out of high school and about to embark on a four-year college degree, it feels like an odd question to ask someone else her age. Rory doesn't feel remotely ready for such a huge, ideally lifelong commitment – in fact, most days, she doesn't feel old enough to be leaving home, or voting, or owning a credit card – and it's crazy to her that her one-time boyfriend – endearing, occasionally temperamental, frequently awkward Dean Forester – is in a place where he's ready for that kind of commitment. Baffling as it is, however, it's certainly not Rory's place to judge them, and in some respects, Rory supposes she admires them for their courage – She can't imagine their decision had been universally well-received.

"A little bit. I'm pretty much just leaving it up to Lindsay though, so don't ask me for details."

"I guess that's pretty standard," Rory acknowledges, unsure what else to say, "I bet she'll do a great job.

Dean does an awkward, combination nod-shrug thing, drums his fingers on the table, and casts another restless glance across the restaurant. Their server has made an appearance, but she's attending another table, and so Rory and Dean persist in their shared agony.

Why had he joined her? He's not exactly giving off the impression that he wants to be there, and frankly, Rory was quite content with their previous status quo. They'd been in a relationship for a few months when they were 15, young and in love and sure they'd last forever, but that ended years ago, there's no lingering friendship, and no unfinished business to resolve. Their story is long over, and Rory has no interest in creating a sequel.

"I guess you're going off to school soon."

"Yeah; On Monday."

"Are you excited?"

"You bet," Rory confirms, "I heard you're enrolled in an Auto Tech course? Are you looking forward to that?"

Dean nods. "Yeah, it should be good. I've always liked cars, and Gypsy said she'd take me on as an apprentice when the time comes, so that's pretty cool."

"That ispretty cool," Rory agrees, "Will Lindsay be studying too?"

"She's enrolled in a Bachelor's of Nursing at West Haven."

Rory smiles politely. "It sounds like you guys have it all figured out."

Their story sounds like the quintessential American Dream, too: High school sweethearts, a mechanic, a nurse, a small town their families have lived in for generations. She can picture them a decade from now with a white picket fence, two kids and a dog, and it sounds so very humdrum. Ordinary. Boring.

Something inside Rory withers at the very idea of it - of that life - and Stars Hollow, with all of its characters and comfort and quirks suddenly feels suffocating.

Dean laughs, self-deprecating. "I wouldn't go that far."

Their server makes an appearance, sullen and bleary-eyed. Her name is Morgan, all of 16 years old and annoying as anything, and Rory won't miss her in the slightest – Training the girl has been a nightmare! Nevertheless, Morgan's clearly learned something - or maybe she dislikes Rory as much as Rory dislikes her - because she takes their orders without issue, and quickly makes herself scarce immediately thereafter.

"You shouldn't sell yourself short," Rory placates.

Dean shrugs again, smiles half-heartedly, and changes the subject quickly. "Will you be studying Journalism?"

"That's the plan."

Dean huffs another laugh. "No surprise there."

Rory smiles too, and she hopes it doesn't look as fake as it feels. "I guess not."

Dean turns the conversation towards their Stars Hollow peers - many of whom Rory hasn't spoken with in years - and their plans post high school. Grace Billings is pregnant, poor thing. Chase Adams has a scholarship to Connecticut State. Justin Wallace enlisted.

It goes on like that for the length of Dean's lunch break, half-remembered names and faces of people Rory's only seen in passing and barely thought of since Junior High. There are segues into reminiscing and stories and awkward pauses, and it's fine - pleasant, even - and Rory's guiltily relieved when its over.

"I'd better go," Dean says, and he sounds reluctant, disappointed that his break is over "Taylor will kick my ass if I'm late."

"Yeah," Rory agrees, "Thanks for the company. It was nice to catch up."

"Yeah," Dean agrees, "We'll have to do it again when you're home."

There are few things that sound more excruciating, but she smiles regardless. To decline would cause offence, and she certainly hasn't forgotten about Dean's hair-trigger temper.

"That sounds great," she says instead, and prays that Dean never feels inclined to follow through, "Good luck with the course."

Dean nods his acknowledgement. "Thanks, you too. Try not to miss us too much while you're gone."

"I'll do my best."

Rory watches Dean walk out of the diner, squinting into the afternoon sunshine. She's nonplused by their unexpected meeting, surprised by his civility, not surprised by her own indifference, and largely uncomfortable with the gossip their encounter will cause. She wishes him all the best - truly, she does - but their paths had diverged a long time ago, and reconnecting with the dark haired boy - young man, she supposes - is more trouble than it (and he) is worth.

Rory just hopes Dean agrees with her.