Gilmore Girls and its characters belong to their owners, I'm just having fun taking a POV that no one seems to want to take. Enjoy. 3/21/01
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Gilmore Girls
She Didn't Say, "I Love You"
by Mystic
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There's something about loving someone that makes you do crazy things. Like read books they tell you to read just because they think the book is great and even though you think it makes no sense, you promise to try again to understand it. Or build a car because the thought of them not having a car and having to take the bus to and from school makes you sad, and if they had a car, you could spend more time with them. Or even take a chance and tell them that you love them and wait for the answer that you hope reciprocates your statement. Loving someone makes you do crazy things.

I told her that I loved her. I said her name, she looked so attentive, and I said it, "I love you." Maybe I was being naive, or maybe I was wanting too much, but I expected her response would be something more along the lines of, "I love you, too." Instead, she got this look in her eyes, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi-truck. Her smile faded, her eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought maybe she'd say it. Maybe.

But she didn't. Just stuttered over how to tell me she wasn't ready, that the words meant too much for her to say, that she had to think. Love wasn't something you thought about, it was something you either felt, or you didn't. Her mother said she loved her father, but they weren't together. Somewhere in my brain, I understood what she was saying, but at the moment nothing made sense and I could only concentrate on one thing: she didn't say, "I love you."

She wanted to talk about it; she always wants to talk. Sometimes I found it amusing, that someone could have an opinion on everything and want to share it so openly. It's different. It's nice. Not some other dumb girl who's only goal in life is to impress you with her strut while wearing as little clothes as possible. I thought everything would be different with her. I thought maybe I'd found that girl, you know, the one you bring home to your mother and go, "Ma, she's the one."

But she couldn't say, "I love you." Why did I think it'd be so easy? Why did I trick myself into believing that she was different? That she wouldn't stutter, wouldn't hesitate, wouldn't turn and say, "I love the car," not knowing those words made it hurt more. Because I love her. I love her and that made her different, it made her special, it made her someone I'd want to share everything with, no matter how silly it might seem or sound, I love her and I'd do anything for her. But I couldn't understand this.

It's the one thing I refused to do, jumping out of that car and walking out of that junk yard. I couldn't understand, for a single second, why she wouldn't say it. Why she had to stop and think. I just went to the car and waited for her, trying not to look at her because I knew if I looked at her, I wouldn't be able to resist forgiving her, loving her more for being so human, so fragile and innocent and everything that she is that makes me think about her every moment of the day.

I stared ahead and when that door slammed, I drove her home. When I parked, I could sense her looking at me, could almost feel the shock and sadness in her heart as she fumbled for words, an apology. It was silent a long moment and I just watched the living room light on in that house, knowing her mother had just arrived ahead of us.

"Dean, I'm sorry," she said softly, "I just... can't right now."

"So when, huh?" I don't look at her. "When can you?"

"This isn't fair."

"Life's not fair, Rory."

She pauses and I glance over to see her eyes darting towards the dashboard, trying to come up with something to say. I turn back ahead as she looks up at me. "Yes, but even life takes time, this takes time."

"And I thought it'd been enough time, my mistake." I grip the steering wheel, just wishing she'd get out, give me the space I need to breath and scream and cry and all those other things that boys shouldn't do because they're supposed to be macho. "I think you should leave."

"Are we breaking up?" She asks, and her voice breaks. I want to turn and hug her. I want to tell her that it's ok, that I'm being dumb and immature and that she doesn't have to say anything she doesn't want to say, but it hurts. A lot.

"I think maybe we should."

"Because I wouldn't say I love you?"

"How hard is it, Rory?" I turn, staring her in the eyes and I can see those tears there, the ones that she won't let fall until I'm gone. She's stronger than she knows, stronger than me. "Three little words. Do you feel it or don't you?"

"I feel it, I do," she responds lightly, her hand jerking with the want to hold my hand.

"Then say it."

She climbs out of the car and looks at me, "I can't."

Slamming the door, she walks towards her front porch and I drive away slowly, feeling my eyes burning as they well up with tears, but I don't cry until I'm in my drive way, sitting in the seat as a small spattering of rain starts.

Why does it always rain when you're depressed? It's a stupid question, but I hear it in my mind coming from her mouth. She'd ask that. She'd have an answer too. Rory always had an answer. Something about coincidence, chance, the damp feeling in the air of rain that changes your mood. "The better question," she'd say, "is what does temperature and water vapor have to do with a person's attitude towards a given situation?"

I'd laugh, tell her she's weird and she'd give me that smile, widening her eyes as she raises her chin towards me as if she'd just discovered a new continent. I love that look. I love her every look. I love her and I know that, come morning, I'll spend my day fighting over whether I should just ignore her or find her and apologize to her. I'm the biggest jerk on the face of the earth for the things I've said and done to her and the worst part is making her feel like the bad guy.

Worse still is I'll love her tomorrow and all the days after that; Worse still is I know she loves me and will tomorrow and all the days after that. It's all sick and stupid and I want to go back now, but at this point, can you really turn around?

Can I really just go back to her house, knock on her door and, when she opens it, just hug her and kiss her forehead and say, "I'm sorry," over and over? Can I buy her flowers and candy and beg on my knees? Can I call her in ten minutes and talk it over, telling her how moronic I've been? Can I explain that I just need to know that she loves me as much as I love her? I can do all those things and more and everything would seem ok to me, to her, to everyone, but it wouldn't change the fact that I just can't understand why she couldn't say, "I love you."

END
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I like Dean. I like Rory and Dean. This whole 'break up' depresses me, and while everyone has been quick to jump up and write stories about Tristan and Rory at the dance, or afterwards, which have all been very good, REAL, stories, I'm curious about the stuff they don't give you, the stuff about Dean. This probably could be longer, but I'm pressed for time right now. :) Hope you guys liked this! Please write! I love comments!

Mystic
[email protected]