Gilmore Girls fic: Star Bright [for apocalyptothon
Disclaimer: not mine
Notes: Written for aliaspiral for the apocalyptothon. She requested Gilmore Girls, with the note that her heart belongs to Kirk, and maybe Ms Patty. Set during season 1.
Thanks: To alliecat8 and hkath, who read an early version of this.
Star Bright
by eponine119
July 15, 2007
It's Kirk who makes the discovery. A large chunk of metal and ice that's going to fall from the sky and kill everyone. It will be the meteor's finale act, as well, as it catches fire on contact with the earth's atmosphere, then plunges deep into the earth, sending up a shockwave equal to a large atomic blast and leaving a crater big enough to be seen from outer space. If there was anyone left to go to space to see it.
Kirk moves a ball of Silly Putty from hand to hand. It's slightly sticky and warmed to his body temperature from handling. He remembers the excitement of the discovery, his heart afire in his chest as he kept one eye pressed to the glass of the telescope. Now he wonders if it would have been better to have kept the telescope level and steady, pointed at the windows across the street. He wonders if it would have been better not to know.
He's accomplished everything he ever could have hoped for in life. His face was on Time magazine's cover; he was on CNN. Everyone in the whole world knows his name.
He had hoped to marry. And move out of Mother's house. But there hasn't been time.
He thinks about his namesake, the brave man who explored new life and new civilizations, going boldly where no man had gone before. He thinks about Superman, borne here by a meteorite that didn't kill anyone.
He thinks about Katie Couric calling him "the destroyer of worlds." Like a god. Like a small, sad god.
If he's wrong, they'll call him the man who was wrong. They'll laugh, but then he's used to that.
Maybe he was wrong. He doesn't think so, though.
He thought this would finally make his mother proud of him.
He was wrong about that.
…
They lie in the grass in Dean's backyard, small faces turned up to the stars. Her hand fits so neatly into his.
"You okay?" he asks.
"I'm just looking," Rory says. But then she scrunches her shoulders again in that way that made him ask. "The grass itches." She looks up some more. So many tiny white bursts of light. Each one of them is fire, and cold, and life. "My dad didn't call."
"Oh." Dean can't imagine what that's like. His dad is in the house right now, sneaking leftovers out of the fridge while his mother knits in front of the TV. His little sister is asleep in bed. He's never not known where they are or what they're thinking.
"I just thought he'd call. Is all." Rory tries to fill the awkward silence, making it more awkward.
Dean doesn't know what to say, so he squeezes her hand. She squeezes back. He called Beth. His old girlfriend, from before Stars Hollow. He can't say that to Rory.
"I'll never go to Harvard." It's like it just occurred to her. "The one thing I worked for my whole life. Why did I work so hard?"
"Because you're Rory." He brushes his thumb back and forth over hers.
"I'll never read Proust. I'll never write…oh, god, and Faulkner, I kept putting him off…"
He turns his head to look at her in the starlight. Her eyes are wide and blue and still focused on the heavens. "Is that stuff really what you're worried about?"
"Yes," she says determinedly, and he knows that she's shutting out the other things, the real hopes and dreams: having sex, getting married, babies, being called "Grandma Rory" someday. There is no more someday.
He turns his gaze back up to the sky. "You could call your dad," he suggests.
She's quiet for too long before she speaks. "No. I can't."
When he glances at her again, she's closed her eyes to shut out the terrible stars.
…
"Why don't you do something?" Lorelai taps her fingers against his counter.
"Like what?" Luke asks, because this banter is theirs, it's what they do. She should already know that he would go up there and destroy that thing for her, that he would catch a meteor in his bare hands if he thought it would help. But Luke Danes has always been a man who understood futility.
"Like smoke a cigarette. Or eat red meat," she says, and then Lorelai's blue eyes dance. "Or drink coffee."
He watches her as he lifts the obscenely large mug from the counter and drains it. It's warm in his hands, the way he knows she would be.
She claps and squeals excitedly. "Do it again!"
He wants to indulge her, and yet… "Pick something else."
"How do I decide?" she smirks.
He beats her to it, stalking out from behind the counter to the corner table where Miss Patty is sitting. "Cigarette," he says. She gapes. "Please." She complies.
"My dear boy," she says, as she lights it for him.
Death coats his lungs but he doesn't cough. It feels good to finally let it inside.
Lorelai touches his arm as he passes by her to return to his side of the counter. He crushes out the cigarette as she rises to her feet in a perfectly unchoreographed dance. "Kiss me," she says, and he would have done it even if she hadn't asked.
He sweeps her into his arms and she feels good there. Right. They kiss.
In the unfocused daze when it breaks, she says softly, "You taste like cigarettes."
"Yeah. Well. You taste like coffee."
But she doesn't. She tastes like tears.
…
On the last night, Kirk takes his pillow and his blanket out to the gazebo in the town square. He wants to see it coming.
Taylor is out in front of his store, sweeping the same patch of sidewalk over and over. He looks fearfully at the sky.
Kirk can smell Sookie's cooking. It's the risotto, the magic risotto.
Miss Patty dances. She wears a spangled showgirl costume and the years and the cares melt away as she leaps and bends and twirls and dances, a tribute, an offering, to the sky above.
They are all waiting.
End.
Notes: Written for aliaspiral for the apocalyptothon. She requested Gilmore Girls, with the note that her heart belongs to Kirk, and maybe Ms Patty. Set during season 1.
Thanks: To alliecat8 and hkath, who read an early version of this.
Star Bright
by eponine119
July 15, 2007
It's Kirk who makes the discovery. A large chunk of metal and ice that's going to fall from the sky and kill everyone. It will be the meteor's finale act, as well, as it catches fire on contact with the earth's atmosphere, then plunges deep into the earth, sending up a shockwave equal to a large atomic blast and leaving a crater big enough to be seen from outer space. If there was anyone left to go to space to see it.
Kirk moves a ball of Silly Putty from hand to hand. It's slightly sticky and warmed to his body temperature from handling. He remembers the excitement of the discovery, his heart afire in his chest as he kept one eye pressed to the glass of the telescope. Now he wonders if it would have been better to have kept the telescope level and steady, pointed at the windows across the street. He wonders if it would have been better not to know.
He's accomplished everything he ever could have hoped for in life. His face was on Time magazine's cover; he was on CNN. Everyone in the whole world knows his name.
He had hoped to marry. And move out of Mother's house. But there hasn't been time.
He thinks about his namesake, the brave man who explored new life and new civilizations, going boldly where no man had gone before. He thinks about Superman, borne here by a meteorite that didn't kill anyone.
He thinks about Katie Couric calling him "the destroyer of worlds." Like a god. Like a small, sad god.
If he's wrong, they'll call him the man who was wrong. They'll laugh, but then he's used to that.
Maybe he was wrong. He doesn't think so, though.
He thought this would finally make his mother proud of him.
He was wrong about that.
…
They lie in the grass in Dean's backyard, small faces turned up to the stars. Her hand fits so neatly into his.
"You okay?" he asks.
"I'm just looking," Rory says. But then she scrunches her shoulders again in that way that made him ask. "The grass itches." She looks up some more. So many tiny white bursts of light. Each one of them is fire, and cold, and life. "My dad didn't call."
"Oh." Dean can't imagine what that's like. His dad is in the house right now, sneaking leftovers out of the fridge while his mother knits in front of the TV. His little sister is asleep in bed. He's never not known where they are or what they're thinking.
"I just thought he'd call. Is all." Rory tries to fill the awkward silence, making it more awkward.
Dean doesn't know what to say, so he squeezes her hand. She squeezes back. He called Beth. His old girlfriend, from before Stars Hollow. He can't say that to Rory.
"I'll never go to Harvard." It's like it just occurred to her. "The one thing I worked for my whole life. Why did I work so hard?"
"Because you're Rory." He brushes his thumb back and forth over hers.
"I'll never read Proust. I'll never write…oh, god, and Faulkner, I kept putting him off…"
He turns his head to look at her in the starlight. Her eyes are wide and blue and still focused on the heavens. "Is that stuff really what you're worried about?"
"Yes," she says determinedly, and he knows that she's shutting out the other things, the real hopes and dreams: having sex, getting married, babies, being called "Grandma Rory" someday. There is no more someday.
He turns his gaze back up to the sky. "You could call your dad," he suggests.
She's quiet for too long before she speaks. "No. I can't."
When he glances at her again, she's closed her eyes to shut out the terrible stars.
…
"Why don't you do something?" Lorelai taps her fingers against his counter.
"Like what?" Luke asks, because this banter is theirs, it's what they do. She should already know that he would go up there and destroy that thing for her, that he would catch a meteor in his bare hands if he thought it would help. But Luke Danes has always been a man who understood futility.
"Like smoke a cigarette. Or eat red meat," she says, and then Lorelai's blue eyes dance. "Or drink coffee."
He watches her as he lifts the obscenely large mug from the counter and drains it. It's warm in his hands, the way he knows she would be.
She claps and squeals excitedly. "Do it again!"
He wants to indulge her, and yet… "Pick something else."
"How do I decide?" she smirks.
He beats her to it, stalking out from behind the counter to the corner table where Miss Patty is sitting. "Cigarette," he says. She gapes. "Please." She complies.
"My dear boy," she says, as she lights it for him.
Death coats his lungs but he doesn't cough. It feels good to finally let it inside.
Lorelai touches his arm as he passes by her to return to his side of the counter. He crushes out the cigarette as she rises to her feet in a perfectly unchoreographed dance. "Kiss me," she says, and he would have done it even if she hadn't asked.
He sweeps her into his arms and she feels good there. Right. They kiss.
In the unfocused daze when it breaks, she says softly, "You taste like cigarettes."
"Yeah. Well. You taste like coffee."
But she doesn't. She tastes like tears.
…
On the last night, Kirk takes his pillow and his blanket out to the gazebo in the town square. He wants to see it coming.
Taylor is out in front of his store, sweeping the same patch of sidewalk over and over. He looks fearfully at the sky.
Kirk can smell Sookie's cooking. It's the risotto, the magic risotto.
Miss Patty dances. She wears a spangled showgirl costume and the years and the cares melt away as she leaps and bends and twirls and dances, a tribute, an offering, to the sky above.
They are all waiting.
End.