Hey all, decided to do another one of these shorts. They're fun. No real commitment at all. But it's really bad when you're sitting in class and not one, not two, but all three of your pens go dry on you two seconds before class and you're using the last of the ink to write the end of a story when you should be paying attention to the teacher rattle on about how our papers should be formatted. I swear, teachers can be so anal. Oh well. Characters and show belong to their people. Read; enjoy; comment.
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Gilmore Girls:
Richard' Gift
by Mystic
[email protected]
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The front steps made a creaking sound when he went up them slowly, but no one around seemed to notice. For a moment, he remained on that porch-like area before the front doors contemplating what he'd say when he got inside. Shaking his head, he didn't care, and he pushed into the Independence Inn.

It wasn't large and somehow he was surprised. The lobby area was full of people he didn't recognize. "Small towns yield small people," his father had once told him and for some reason, he'd believed him, but these people weren't small, far from it. These people were industrious, well mannered and seemingly intelligent. He stood for a moment listening to their conversations.

Weather, stocks, insurance fraud.

He had the urge to argue with them, to tell them that not all insurance companies were in it to get your money, but he held his tongue. "Don't enter into battles not your own," his father had taught him. So he remained, silent, looking around the lobby.

Paintings hung on the walls that he didn't know, but caught his attention anyway. Country sides and marinas holding lavish sunsets and calm objects like people, boats, trees and even small buildings. They made him remember a time when his own house had held such tranquility.

It'd been such a long time ago.

When a small girl would stand at the doorway and watch him read his newspapers while making comments like, "He's raising an eyebrow; the stock market collapses!" or "Shifting in his seat, looks like rough waters ahead for the NASDAQ!" He'd never admit it to anyone, but when he'd sit in his office alone, those words would return to him and he'd chuckle.

He did love his little girl.

Staring out on the lawn, he thought about her, about the reason he was there at the Inn and he sighed. It was difficult for him to talk to his child. She'd always been in her own world, a world very different from his own. She wanted Barbie dolls; he wanted the stock papers. When he did try to relate to her, he failed miserable and so he'd given up. He'd remained quiet, distant, and when she'd started to rebel, he didn't stop her because for once he knew, he understood, why she was doing what she was doing and he knew she had every right to.

But to become pregnant.

He could still remember the look on Emily's face when she'd said it. Panic and disappointment, and Lorelai had laughed. Then she'd turned to him, her father, but the way she looked at him was completely different from the way she looked at her mother. From him she wanted forgiveness. She knew her mother had made a point of disagreeing with her, knew she'd never get what she wanted out of that woman, but her father, no matter how distant he became, he was always honest.

He'd turned away.

He could still feel the hurt in his heart when she'd looked to him and he'd turned away. Emily had taken it as a sign to berate her child more and he'd stood there, listening to hit. The whole of his relationship to his daughter seemed to be him standing by and listening to her suffer, but not doing anything about it.

Turning from the window, he went too the front desk, holding the box tightly in his hands, remembering the purpose of his visit. He left the small package, something for Rory, for the cold winter he knew was coming, and started for the front door when he heard her laughter coming from the elevator. She emerged; her child perched on her shoulders.

"Duck down, sweety," she warned her own daughter, who did as she was told.

"Where we going?" Rory asked, her three year old voice high pitched and curious.

"Groceries."

The child cheered, "Can I have a book?"

"Rory," Lorelai laughed, "I said groceries."

"I know, but can I have a book?" The child repeated, leaning her chin on her mothers head. Shrugging, Lorelai sighed, "Well hon, if the grocery store has books now, then you're in luck."

Rory cheered again.

Richard smiled at the two, wishing he had the will power to make himself walk over to her. Hug her. Forgive her. But he couldn't. He simply smiled, sniffing slightly as he started for the front door again.

Lorelai glanced up as she saw the large figure she would recognize anywhere walking out the doors and went to the front desk where Sean was waving at her. She took the package marked, "Happy Birthday Rory" and let Rory sit on the desk to open it. Rory gasped at the Winnie the Pooh on the front of the bright blue sweater that matched her eyes so perfectly and she hugged it.

"Who's it from, mommy?" She asked.

Lorelai glanced back towards the door and grinned, kissing Rory's small forehead, "It's from your Grandpa."
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End. Another short one. Please comment!

Mystic