"Fall for the want of You"
Genre: Humor, Drama
Time Frame: Pre Series to Post Series
Characters: Luke/Lorelai, Rory/Jess, Enesmble Cast
Summary: In which the weather outside is frightful, snowmen are felled, Taylor is thwarted, and Lorelai gets her most wonderous time of the year.
Notes: This is also for my year spanning 50 Sentence Challenge. Which is a challenge that will span the length of the year - prompting one to write four stories a month based on a set of fifty prompts. The fifty prompts each result in one sentence each, and then a whole story is formed from the snapshots provided in those sentences. Obviously, this challenge will slaughter grammar, and bring out the seldom seen fandom from the muse - but is a fun and curious thing that has already been incredibly interesting. If you wish to, you can track my progress in my profile.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, but for the words.
"You have to understand – there's something magical about this time of year; endings and beginnings and snow and mocha's – dear God, Luke, but I have got to introduce you to the sheer joy that is chocolate and coffee in the cold, and look – I told you it would start snowing – I am never wrong about these sort of things."
She is something half mad, and that was all that he could think past the haze of sleep that still clung to him – something half mad and gushing in a breathless voice about snow and all its wonders while tiny flakes clung to her skin and melted on her eyelashes . . . he ranted about the hour and the chill in the air to avoid staring too openly.
Rory awakens to see a sheet of white blanketing the world outside of her dorm, and she strides through the snow rather than the just shoveled walks for that something nostalgic in her that couldn't quite shake off a yearning for home.
"Luke Danes, you mean to tell me – and I quote accurately, so that the snow Gods know just why they must smite you – that you have never: sledded, caroled, ran around aimlessly with your tongue out to catch snowflakes, or tasted the almighty power of Miss Patty's eggnog?"
The first time it snows after their marriage, she runs downstairs, pulling her snow boots on the whole way, when she found a note underneath a pair of warm wool mittens saying: Larry on channel four beat you to it this year – enjoy.
Her daughter was just turning her second month when Emily Gilmore stands by the frosted window to watch the snow fall – her daughters first, and something almost warm flourished inside of her when she whispered to the swaddled infant: "You'll simply adore this when you are old enough to appreciate it."
Rory had not one pair of matching mittens – but that was not her fault, seeing as how the all powerful monster who lived in her dresser and ate her socks and her woven hand-me-down sweaters was only ever interested in eating one mitten of a set – but she was having a hard time convincing her mother of that.
"Lorelai Gilmore, one more verse of jingle bells, and I swear I will replace your coffee with herbal tea for a month – do you hear me?"
She made a face, and took her mug of coffee with a look of absolute shock and outrage on her features, "Some service you have here, buddy."
She let out a surprised eep of surprise as a the snow that hit her struck the unassuming pages of her book, melting and smearing the black and neat letters like a drop of watercolor onto a wet page – when she looked up, Jess looked anything but repentant.
"I'm not cold," he insisted for the fifth time as he looked down at the poor defenseless book that she had wrapped in his coat for safekeeping – as it served him right, she had insisted.
"Is it bad that the best part of the holiday season is watching Taylor try to hang lights on the diner?" Lorelai asked thoughtfully, her stool at the counter obnoxiously turned so that she could watch Luke wrap up the cords of lights while Taylor stubbornly unwound the opposite end – with or without explicatives, she couldn't tell from her vantage point.
"The path to hell is paved with slippery moments like these," Rory said sagely, but her chair was turned as well, so Lorelai at least took comfort in the fact she'd have company in the afterlife – and from the looks of it, Luke was already long done worrying about his final resting place.
Paris places a small box on her bed their first Christmas at Yale, and when Rory raised a brow, her roommate simply rolled her eyes and said, "No one else appreciates the pure ineptitude of Ayn Rand quite like you do, and so a first edition would be almost sad in anyone else's hands."
"You know, if you keep surprising me with moments like these, I won't be able to call you the Grinch anymore," Lorelai says to him matter-of-factly as she laced up her skates, looking on in awe at the ice rink that now dominated the front of her yard.
He supposes that Lorelai's unnatural attachment to something as silly as frozen precipitation was worth it when her joy gives her eyes a glow that nothing else could quite counter . . .
. . . and then again, it wasn't the joy of the snow, so much as it was her planning on throwing it at him that gave her that joy; in all honesty, he should have seen that one coming.
"Oh, this year, we will win – mark my words - we will be the Auguste Rodin of snowman sculpting – pure passion and fiery lines, but you know . . . less manly – ah! Camille Claudel we will be then – and damn, there goes the head."
"Nope, no one will notice that," Rory said dubiously at the scarf that was holding a much deformed head to the top of their snowman.
They pause in their tour of Europe to hit a peak in the Swiss Alps, and the sun glinting on the blue and silver slopes was something Rory would remember for the rest of her life.
"You know, mom, you could make icicles with that stare, I am just saying," Lorelai said a little awkwardly into her wine.
She was standing on the bank of the Seine in one of the most romantic cities in the world, with the guy she has waited for since she was sixteen . . . and still, her heart was a thousand miles away in Connecticut when she says, "I Do."
She takes Jess sledding to get away from the town and the stares and Dean with his Lindsay, and at the top of the hill with a mug of cocoa – that was actually his idea to bring – Rory could almost forget about everything but him.
Jess has the kind of eyes that one could drown in, and a mind that she would like to wrap herself up inside, but her mother had warned her about boys like him, and so she does her best to keep herself from falling.
At the bottom of her suitcase for Yale is a quilt her mother made from all of her old baby clothes, and Rory smiled at the gesture before folding it, and placing it on her bed.
There are times when she is angry – at herself, seventeen and alone – to the point where she hates her reflection in the mirror, but then her daughter cries for her, and Lorelai has no time to waste away on her self pity.
She looks dubiously at the juice – juice for God's sake! - that had replaced her much needed coffee, but Luke merely rolled his eyes and said: "It's that seasonal crap you like to go on about, so just try it before you give me that look."
Lorelai spends the Holidays after running away alone with her baby girl, her fingers carefully fingering the gold ribbon of her mother's invitation with something almost like longing in her veins.
"You know mom, I think that this would make my dress complete," Lorelai said cheekily, picking up a plastic tiara and modeling it dainty – enjoying the shock that appeared on Emily Gilmore's face at even the thought that her baby girl would add that to her bridal finery.
The next day, Lorelai finds a box on her kitchen table, and within there is a dainty crown with diamonds that glittered and white gold that had been polished by hands that had brought it out many times to smile and remember – the card simply said: "If you wish to look like royalty at your wedding, you shall not do so with plastic."
"Mister Danes, I will have you know that there is no such thing as overboard when it comes to decorating – there is tacky and silly and oh-dear-god-I-will-regret-that-in-the-pictures, but there is never overboard."
Jess notices blue eyes everywhere he goes (judged against hers and found wanting), and pretends he doesn't – this journey was supposed to be forgetting so much as it was moving forward, and so far it's done nothing for him besides get sand in his shoes.
Her mother sends her coats and hats and gloves while on the campaign trail; and she was pretty sure that the multi-colored scarf that looked to be straight from Doctor Who was intended as a joke, but Rory wears it when reporting on Obama's speech in Delaware anyway.
She eyes the meager decorations that Rachael was permitted to add to the diner, and wondered why she had that low and twisting feeling in her gut – in the end she blames it on the festive feel making the coffee taste different, and that was something truly annoyance worthy.
The first time Lorelai entered his diner – a mad and spinning thing desperate for caffeine, even the bell over the door managed to sound different, even though he would not reflect so until years later.
"You see, Luke Danes, it is still winter – until tomorrow, at any rate, and then that ungodly spring thing will happen, but as it is still winter I claim the rules of hibernation that allow me to sleep in at least ten more minutes – now leave me be!"
Obama's party was caught in Philadelphia due to a bad storm that just wouldn't leave – and it was one of those determined sort of phenomenons that seemed to have a point, prompting Rory to bite her lip as she dialed a little used number on her cell phone – certain that he'd welcome her, even after all the time that had passed.
"She smells pink," Emily said, trying to voice the wonder that was flowing through her as she held her little girl for the first time, and at her side, Richard looked fondly on them both, making a rare smile stretch over the whole of her face at the perfectness of that moment.
They light the fire only but rarely in the winter, and yet those were the Friday nights that were made more bearable as Lorelai remembered small things about her childhood – her father reading Shakespeare to her, and her mother braiding her hair – that made her not completely dubious about her future with her parents.
"Too fast! Too fast!" Rory exclaimed as Colin and Finn pushed her down the slope – and much to her horror and ire, Logan stood there and laughed as her feet fell from under her as the wind whooshed by her like something possessed.
Jess makes her pumpkin pancakes with cinnamon butter when she crashes with him (thank goodness for snow storms and impulses), and made her promise under the pain of death not to tell Luke that he had stolen the recipe.
Rory is declared the official she-who-must-supply-the-bride-with-caffeine in the days before her mother's winter wonderland wedding, but most of the time, the groom-to-be beat her to the punch.
" . . . and that is why Santa isn't real," Rory finished, much to the horror of her fellow kindergarten students.
"So – here's how we'll do this: Al's everything-Italian pizza will be consumed during Goodfellas, Sookie's lasagne during the first Godfather, and the Swedish fish during Sofia's death scene, and the cannoli's during *the* cannoli appropriate scene . . . leaving the biscotti and the marshmallow-Hershey-syrup sauce for Scarface . . . sometimes, I amaze even myself"
She likes to think of her life having many limbs, off shooting and vital to the whole of her, but nothing as sustaining as her daughter – which was the root and rise of her entire being.
"Ooooh, so that's what the little green flaky things are for – you know, I was always wondering about that, and oh fine, Luke – I'll back away from the pot, I know how sauce acts when I even glance at it, sheesh."
"And that is why I love you, Luke Danes," Lorelai breathed fondly, waving her hand back and forth over her plate as if doing so would make the meal that much better.
She knows that everything will be okay when she takes her daughter into the snow for the first time at their new home behind the Independence Inn, watching as Rory's tiny fingers reached out to try to catch the flakes out of instinct.
"You and me babe, in for the long hall," she murmurs into her coffee mug – the one constant of her life through and through – tall, dark, and strong, just how she liked it.
She's standing out alone in the snow, watching it fall, and when another arm wraps over her shoulder gently, and she decides that this might just be one of those moments that was made out of sheer perfectness – like that first buzz from coffee, and wishes on stars, and finding that perfect pair of shoes kind of perfectness. . . a feeling she's only ever found all combined in him.