Chapter 1
"What Lorelai didn't realize, what Rory couldn't explain, was that she didn't know how to deal with anything. She knew how to run away, so that's what she did." Rory's sophomore year at Yale.
Summary: Rory's sophomore year at Yale, after a summer of running from her problems. (One hundred percent guaranteed to not be a romance involving Dean, Jess, or Tristan, though Dean may make a few appearances throughout the course of the fic. Spoilers for all four seasons.)
Disclaimer: Dudes, if it were mine, Dean wouldn't look like a creepy unwashed pervert. Viva la Season One CuteDean!
~*~*~
but I'm not a miracle
and you're not a saint
just another soldier
on a road to nowhere
Rory stood in the doorway of her British Literature class, staring at the twenty or so empty seats. Pathetically early as always, huh, kid? She pulled a face.
Shut up, you.
Even when Rory was at Yale, miles away from Stars Hollow, Lorelai managed to voice her opinions. She was annoying that way. Rory could see Lorelai now, sitting in one of the chairs, mercilessly mocking her only child. Despite the strained formality of their current relationship, the image made Rory smile. She supposed some things would never change, even though others did. Rory would always be early to the first day of class, and Lorelai would always find humor in the situation.
Deciding a chair facing away from the window was her best bet, Rory made her way around the large oak table and sank wearily into her chosen seat. She pulled a notebook and pen from her bag, bent slightly over the table, and began to write.
To-Do:
1. Sabotage Paris's craft corner ASAP
2.Take new suitemates out for coffee
3. Call Doyle re: first newspaper meeting
4. Call Grandma re: Europe photos
Rory's hand hesitated before writing the fifth item: Call Mom. Talking to Lorelai had never been something she'd needed to schedule or remind herself to do, but she figured that with the state of things, a small note couldn't hurt.
They'd spent precious little time together that summer. The first few weeks had consisted of Lorelai running around the Dragonfly and Rory lounging at Lane's. When they were together, the Gilmore women spent their time normally – dinners at Luke's, movie nights at home. They avoided mentioning any men in their lives save Michel, Zack, and Brian. Rory pretended not to notice the first time she saw Luke and Lorelai kissing on the porch, and Lorelai feigned ignorance when Rory would take her cell phone into the privacy of the back yard. On the surface, everything was fine.
But surface appearances were just that - on the surface, giving no indication of how things were underneath. Rory learned that the first time she saw Dean and Lindsay stroll into Luke’s. Lindsay had her arm wrapped around Dean's waist, a happy smile on her face. Dean's arm was across Lindsay's back, his hand tucked into her back jeans pocket. Rory watched from her table in the corner as they greeted Luke, ordered dinner, and sat on the opposite side of the room. Murmuring excuses to Lorelai about forgetting something at home, Rory grabbed her purse and walked slowly, deliberately, out of the diner. She made it around the corner before the dam burst, causing her to crumple against the brick wall.
This hurts. I knew he wasn't mine, but seeing it...oh, God, this hurts like hell.
Two days later, she dipped into her savings and booked a flight for England. She called Paris in London, who, though surprised, agreed that Rory could stay with her and Asher in their rented flat for a time. Mom, I'm going to London, she told Lorelai, with as much ceremony as she might say I'm headed to Doose's or I'll be at Lane's. Uncharacteristically, Lorelai said nothing. Rory offered no time frame for her trip and Lorelai asked for none. They packed Rory's two large suitcases in relative silence. On the day of her departure, Rory accepted Lorelai's offer of a ride to the airport. They said their goodbyes at the security checkpoint, where Lorelai spoke her peace.
You've got to deal with this on your own and I respect that. You've always been more adult than me, but now it's the real thing. You're a big girl, and you're going to do whatever you need to do no matter what I think. So go on, babe, do your thing. I'll be waiting when you're done.
What Lorelai didn't realize, what Rory couldn't explain, was that she didn't know how to deal with anything. She knew how to run away, so that's what she did.
She spent two weeks touring London with Paris while Asher participated in his conference. At the beginning of the third week they were joined by Emily, who had been delighted to learn that Rory wanted to "do Europe the right way." The two Gilmore women spent the rest of the summer touring France, Germany, Italy, and Greece. They chattered about European art and music, had breakfast in expensive hotel rooms, and discussed nothing of consequence. Life was a whirlwind of activity upon their return to Connecticut, and before Rory knew it, she was back among the impressive buildings of Yale. In truth, she was glad to be back. Yale meant classes and reading and tests, things Rory knew well. Nothing so murky as a broken heart or shattered innocence to be found here. No, here she could bury herself in facts and figures, and forget that such other things even existed.
Maybe she wouldn't call her mother after all.
Rory continued to add items to her to-do list, paying no heed to the sound of chairs scraping the hardwood floors as more students joined the room. Chewing on her bottom lip, she jumped when a voice close to her ear said "Hey, Rory."
"Jeez!" She turned her head to the right, in the direction of the voice. "Marty." She held one hand to her chest, willing her heart to slow its rapid beating. "You startled me."
"Oh, I'm sorry." He seemed genuinely apologetic. "I was just so psyched to see someone I actually knew in this class." His lips quirked up in a lopsided grin.
Rory smiled slightly back. "It's fine." She looked down at her list, which bore a long ink streak where her pen had scraped across the paper. "My to-do list might not be as forgiving."
"Sorry about that." He took a seat in the chair next to her. "You mind?"
Rory shook her head. Looking around for the first time since she'd entered, she noticed that no one in the classroom, save Marty, was even remotely familiar to her. "Okay, I officially recognize no one."
"Right? All of these crazy English majors coming out of the woodwork." Marty pulled out his textbook, placing his backpack on the floor.
"I guess so. You're an English major too?"
"No. I'm taking Brit Lit for fun." She raised an eyebrow, which elicited a nervous laugh from him. "Yes, I'm an English major. I plan to go into editing. You?"
"Journalism."
"Yale offers a journalism major?"
"No, I'm English, but I want to go into journalism."
"Let me guess. Diane Sawyer?"
"Close. Christiane Amanpour."
"How is that close?"
"It's not, but you don't know me that well. I was giving you sympathy points."
"Ah. Thanks very much for that." Marty leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms over his head. "Yeah, I guess we haven't hung out much since..."
"That party at the Harvard-Yale game," she finished for him. And whose fault is that, Miss "I have no time for anybody"? Rory inwardly groaned. There was Lorelai's voice again, in all its taunting glory. She hated to admit it, but the voice was right. She'd spent so much of second semester at home or locked in her dorm room that she'd rarely had time for anyone save her mom or Paris.
"Right. Man, spring semester was killer."
"Completely. What class did you in?"
"Chaucer. If I never hear another word about the esteemed Geoff, it'll be too soon. How about you?"
Rory wrinkled her nose. "Game Theory. I think it's safe to say econ and I just don't get along. I almost dropped it."
"You know, econ has nothing but nice things to say about you," Marty scolded.
Rory rolled her eyes and was about to respond when the professor walked in, his teacher's assistant following closely behind. Focusing her attention toward the front of the room, Rory allowed herself a small, if imaginary, pat on the back. For a good few minutes, she had been able to just chat without thinking about...everything.
Right. Everything. And we're back. She sighed, propping her chin on her hand as she listened to the professor discuss the syllabus. Throwing herself into Brit Lit might not be the cure, but it certainly couldn't hurt.
Posted by Carrie on 06:45 PM