Disclaimer: nope still not mine.

A/N: Hello dear readers, I'm back (not that I left lol) with a new GG story and I think it's pretty original. I've read a lot of stories who dealt with a similar situation but the one I'm starting today is very different from what you might have read before. It's very AU and even though it starts with a tragedy, I plan on making it a light story. You see, I'm not really good with angst or drama so I'll stick to what I'm good at. I could tell you more about it but it will spoil the story so I'll just leave you with the knowledge that it's a Literati story so only good can come out of it.

I really hope you'll like it, please let me know what you thought I would really appreciate it.

A/N2: huge thanks to my lovely and nice beta Hallon :) you're the best :D

Chapter one: Predictability and accidents.

Life never turns out way you planned. I know that, I always have, and even though I tend to be somewhat of a control freak I enjoy the spontaneity life throws my way. Accidents happen, we all know that. That's what makes us learn, grow up and prepares us for what's ahead. Life has its ups and downs and throughout the years you learn to deal with them. It's frustrating, tiresome, sometimes it sucks and most of the time it's really hard, but it's also in that fluctuation that the beauty of life lies. I wasn't in my mother's plans, but she never regretted given birth to me at sixteen. Twenty eight years later she's really happy with the life she's leading and her strength has always been an example for me.

That being said, I also like to be in control of my own destiny. As much as I like spontaneity, I always find comfort in predictability. I planned my whole life. I wanted to go to Harvard and that's where I went. I wanted to be a journalist and that's what I am. I wanted to live in New York and I have a nice little apartment in Manhattan. I wanted to work for an influential paper and I work for the New York Observer. Yup, my life is exactly how I wanted it to be. I'm my mother's pride, hell I'm the whole town's pride.

People say change is inevitable; it's the only constant in life. History has proved me that ten times over. I used to be afraid of it. If something was working well, why change it? Change was my own boogeyman, hiding in a closet waiting to destroy all the good things I was building. I eventually grew out of that fear because despite its bad reputation, change doesn't always involve destruction. No, it's quite the contrary in fact. What you may have seen as a disaster often turns out to be the best thing that could ever happen to you. At least that's what I thought until yesterday.

Twelve hours ago all my beliefs and convictions were shattered and I'm afraid I won't be able to get them back. It's amazing how your whole world can be turned upside down in the blink of an eye. One minute I'm watching the Ellen Degeneres show, laughing while Ellen is interviewing Masi Oka, and the next I'm crying my heart out, feeling as if the only way to stop the hole in my heart from growing is to rip it out myself.

A phone call, that's all it took to alter my life and all its predictability forever. Now I'm standing in front of my childhood home and I curse myself for answering that damn phone. If I had ignored it, like I wanted to, I wouldn't be feeling this angry and sad. Ignorance is bliss they say. Not answering wouldn't have changed the reality, but at least, I'd still be blissfully ignorant. I shudder and close my eyes, thinking that I always loved knowledge in any form or shape, something I'm now starting to reevaluate.

I don't know how long I've been standing on the front porch, willing myself to open the door and go inside. All I know is that the never ending cascade of tears that I have so desperately been trying to stop since yesterday have now dried and that the cool autumn breeze is making me shudder. I know I should go in and I will; I'm just too tired to even lift my arm. My brain is barely functioning and I wonder how I made it to Stars Hollow. I called mom earlier this morning and she convinced me to come, not that it took much effort. She even proposed to come and get me, but I declined her offer. I was already feeling so low; I didn't need to feel like a child on top of that. Although, to be completely honest, I never felt so small or so young in my entire, quiet life.

The door suddenly opens and mom appears, looking even sadder than I feel. Without a word, she envelops me in a comforting hug and we cry together like we haven't done in years. How can there possibly be any tears left in me, I wonder. She rocks me gently whispering words of comfort and sorrow. I try to control them but my sobs overpower me and my legs buckle under me. Thanks to mom who is still holding me tightly, I land softly on my knees. The tears that were falling silently are now accompanied by loud raspy groans. I try to catch my breath, but my throat is extremely dry and my lungs hurt too much. I grip my mother's shirt in my fists and clench at it for dear life. I thought I knew pain, I thought I knew it very well. Oh, how wrong I was.

"They're gone," I gasp.

"I know sweets," mom says kissing the side of my head. After a few more minutes of violent sobs, Luke appears behind mom and we both look up at him. His gaze holds so much sympathy I can barely take it. Mom tries to get me up, but my body refuses to respond. Luke bends down and gently picks me up, carrying me like a child, holding me tightly. Mom gets up as well and we enter the house. Under any other circumstances I would have felt incredibly embarrassed, but I'm too exhausted both mentally and physically to process anything. I let Luke carry me to my old bedroom and he softly lays me on my bed. He kisses mom on the cheek and heads out, leaving us in an eerie silence. I lay in a position and she climbs behind me. I snuggle close to her and she encircles my waist with her arm. No words are spoken; we just lay there together while I keep on crying.

I can't remember how, but I fell asleep. When I wake up, I'm no longer wearing my coat or my shoes, I'm tucked under the covers and mom is no longer behind me. I hear muffled voices coming from the kitchen.

"Who broke the news to her?" Luke asks.

"Jess," mom answers and I don't think I've ever heard her voice sound so hollow and tired.

"When's the funeral?" he asks and I bury my head under the pillow, not wanting to hear mom's answer. I try to fall back asleep, but images of wrecked cars and accidents keep crossing my mind and I feel the tears forming in the corners of my eyes. I squeeze them shut and the tears spill.

Enough. I've had enough, I can't keep on crying. I just can't. I need to get a hold of myself, if just for a little while. I resurface from under the pillow and turn on my back. I look around my room and nostalgia overwhelms me in a matter of seconds. My eyes land on a picture of a cute little baby and I feel my throat turning dry again. Sam. She's so young, so sweet and innocent. She can barely walk and life is already showing her its worst side. God, how could this be happening? I can't look at her anymore, it hurts too damn much.

Coffee. That's what I need. I get up and slowly make my way to the kitchen.

Two days later, Mom, Luke, Luke's nephew Jess and I are sitting silently in the front row of a large New York church, not far from Central Park. In front of us are two closed caskets surrounded by flowers and fronted by an oversized picture of two of my best friends, smiling on their wedding day. Sam is securely seated on my lap while silent tears are falling down my cheeks. The church is full of people who came to pay their respects, crying just like me and all I can focus on is that the boogeyman is back.

I close my eyes and plant a kiss on Sam's small head. She doesn't seem to be affected by everything that is going on around her and I thank God for that. Jess, who is sitting beside me, on the other hand looks like he's been through hell and come back a dozen times in the last 48 hours. He's wearing a black shirt with equally black slacks, but he hasn't shaved in at least three days and big black circles are evident under his brown eyes. Saying that he looks tired would be the understatement of the century. He was the one the police called first. He was the one who helped Jillian and Matt's families with the funeral. He was the one who called me, his voice almost shaking with fear and tears, to tell me that they were gone.

He looks at Sam and she smiles at her godfather. He doesn't smile, but his eyes are so full of concern and softness that I can feel my heart melt. He leans in and kisses her cheek. She holds his face with her tiny hands and I can see the corner of his lips turn up ever so slightly. He looks up at me and even though I barely know him, at that instant, I feel like he's the only one who understands me.

A/N: I know it's a very short and very sad first chapter but I swear my next update will be longer and less morbid. I know you have a lot of questions but don't worry, they'll be answered soon. So now, please review and tell me what you thought. If you have any questions, please do ask, I'd be glad to answer.