Title: That Old Thin Ache

Rating: PG

Pairing: Lorelai/Christopher

Feedback: Hate it? Let me know: hitokamei@yahoo.co.uk

Disclaimer: Not mine. The show belongs to ASP and the WB. 'Westering Home' is a poem by Bernard O'Donoghue and belongs to him. All titles are taken from the poem.

Author's Note: Season Two canon only. If that.

*

Lorelai had never thought that the polite suppression of emotion was a virtue, and it certainly wasn't one of which she was possessed. That made the situation she found herself in slightly more awkward than she had anticipated.

Christopher had been back a handful of weeks and most of the time it felt like he'd never left. Sometimes, though, it felt like he'd never returned, and that was scary and close enough to true that she had to keep reminding herself that it wasn't.

There was too much that she had to remind herself of, too many variations of the truth to keep track of. Christopher was always around her, always distracting her, even when he wasn't. Like now.

A weekend back with Sherry and Gwen, and Lorelai still couldn't get him out of her mind. She had enough to do remembering that he wasn't supposed to be there, so it wasn't surprising, but it was still depressing her.

It was starting to show. She'd been too brusque with Michel, enough that he was actually offended rather than just generally despairing; the friendliness deployed to throw Emily off the scent wasn't working; and Rory knew something was wrong. Lorelai had been the recipient of too many worried looks lately.

"I wish I could have gone with Dad."

Snapped out of Neverland, Lorelai blinked. "Sorry. Head. Clouds, cumulus. Uh, what was that?"

Rory's pen was tracing aimlessly over the new stationery. The loops and whorls were pretty, but Lorelai didn't think they required that much attention. Rory wasn't working this year, but she needed the money, Lorelai had been in need of a distraction, and she'd thought there was something Rory wanted to talk to her about. Probably was, because they'd both been sitting there brooding at nothing for the past hour.

And Lorelai was still brooding, but at least it was about something new.

"I wish I'd gone with Dad. I mean, I know I couldn't, but I want to see Gwen."

"And miss getting paid to doodle—" Lorelai grabbed the pad. "Ah, a heart. Want to fill in those initials?"

"Not as such."

"I've gotten that you're over Jess but I've somehow missed the identity of the new kid on the block."

"There is no new kid."

"Then what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing." Rory snatched at the pad half-heartedly. Lorelai tossed it back.

"Fine."

Empty minutes passed. The tapping of a pen irritated Lorelai, and she was about to ask Rory to knock it off when she realised that it was in her own hand. She wished the end was chewable.

"It's just—"

"It's not 'just' if you're stopping."

"No." Rory sighed, her eyes sliding away from Lorelai. They were focused inward, still bright.

"How do you know when to—no, I've left Jess. This is so difficult." Guilt lurked on the edges of her words. "You were very brave to leave Dad. When you were having me, I mean. Obviously, that's what I meant. How did you do that? How did you tell Grandma and Grandpa?"

Rory was leaning towards Lorelai, complete attention given, frighteningly intense eyes watching for a reaction, and this couldn't be taken lightly. Rory had been too serious for too long, and Lorelai had to know what was going on if she was going to make it better.

"If you're pregnant tell me now."

"Oh." Rory blinked in surprise, and the moment passed. "I'm not pregnant. Maybe we shouldn't talk about this. I should just figure it out on my own."

Lorelai would beg to disagree, and was about to do so, without the begging, when the phone rang.

"Hello, Independence Inn."

"When did you start forwarding your calls?"

Chris. "I didn't. I'm really at home, Rory's covering. I pay her a pittance and make her skip school unless she's got a test. It works out well for me."

"Well talking to you will work for me." If she had been at home this would be like one of his old scheduled phone calls to Rory, when he'd called Lorelai to tell her that he wasn't going to be able to keep to schedule. "I just called to say that I won't be back tomorrow. Rory was supposed to come over after school, and she can't." Just like. "Or she could. She should run up the telephone bill. My parents are paying."

"You know that Rory isn't me, don't you?" There were no servants in Christopher's house. Lorelai hadn't known that Rory had a key. "Maybe I'll take advantage of that offer, though. I have acquaintances in Australia that I haven't spoken to in at least five years."

"You do that."

She would have done it at Rory's age. Chris probably wouldn't mind if she did it now. "So why aren't you coming back?"

Too many times he'd left and not come back and she was listening to his voice and had no idea what he'd said. "Sorry?"

"I'm just staying for an extra day or two." Still low and happy, warm and amused now as well. "I think I'm making progress here, and it'd be a shame to let the chance go."

"What progress?" The kind that would remind her exactly why she'd stopped trusting him? And that wasn't true, not really, but it was almost as close to honesty as an echo and pain cast shadows that never really left, night or noon.

"The kind that would not require endless court appearances. And that's always a good thing, right?"

"Absolutely. You'll have to deal with Sherry for the rest of your life. No point making it more difficult than it has to be." Lorelai hadn't been trying to make things difficult. It never would have worked out if they'd gotten married. They would have ended up hating each other. She would have hated him. She'd known that.

"Deal with her? Did you deal with me?"

Endlessly. "Do you see me ignoring you?"

"I would have liked to think there was a little more between us than obligation. Do you want to ignore me?"

"No. No, Chris, of course not."

He still looked younger in her mind than he was in reality, but she could picture the look on his face exactly. Knew the precise pattern of his retreat when she hurt him, knew what his silences meant.

"You know that's not true, Chris. I've always wanted you in our lives."

"In Rory's life, you mean."

"No—" He hadn't even managed that. She'd thought he would. She'd thought there would be time for them later. "You can't get us as separates."

"You wanted me to though, didn't you?" Didn't know, she didn't know, never had, still couldn't— "Well. Tell Rory I won't be there. I'll see you when I get back."

The receiver was in its cradle before the pain hit. Stupid, unnecessary pain, because she hadn't done anything, and he hadn't either, and a decision made so long ago shouldn't hold so much power. Nothing had changed, and things shouldn't still be so wrong. Everything she'd done had been to make things right.

"What did he want?"

"Just to tell you that he's not going to be back in time for tomorrow." He shouldn't still be able to make her feel like she had the first time she'd left him. The only time. Like all the breath had been wrenched from her body and she had no idea how to get it back and it wasn't her fault.

"You know that you can still tell me anything, right? About your dad, even."

"I know."

And Chris couldn’t keep expecting so much from her, because she couldn't do it. She didn't even know what it was that he wanted her to do, but she knew that she couldn’t. He'd always had too much faith in her, and he'd never purposefully thrown more at her than she could handle, but she just didn't have it in her anymore.

"Because you haven't been. You haven't been telling me anything at all."

Rory sighed, and she wasn't supposed to sound that weary. Lorelai tried so hard; Rory wasn't allowed to sound like that.

"I know. I have really, I've told you everything important. About Dad. It's just hard sometimes. It's not even hard, it's just—" And daughters weren't allowed to assess their mothers. "—Weird."

Rory went back to her scribbling, leaving Lorelai to her brooding, and Rory was getting paid to restrain Lorelai from that very thing, not to indulge in it herself.

"You're fired."

"Does that mean I get to go home?"

"Yes. No."

There was always a chance that the boredom would grow so overwhelming that Rory would just give it up to have something to do. Rory shrugged and stared mournfully ahead, attempting to appear as if she could be productive if the need arose. Lorelai tried to think about Rory, but her brain was stuck on the same old track and wasn't exiting any time soon.

"Do you ever want to get back together with Dean?"

Rory blinked. Lorelai supposed it was a bizarre question to zoom out of nowhere.

"Uh, no."

"Okay." Rory'd moved on at least once since then, and there was no reason she'd wake up one day and discover she'd been having herself on. "What about Jess?"

"What about him?"

"Do you ever regret—" Rory was amused, trying not to smile. Lorelai cocked her head suspiciously. "Why did you break up with him?"

"It seemed like the thing to do."

"Why did it seem so?"

"And I haven't regretted it, so it must have been."

"What makes you think you can blatantly ignore my questions?"

"What makes you think you can get me to answer them?"

Once, Rory wouldn't have considered withholding the information. Once, Lorelai wouldn't have had to ask; she would have known. "Because you're nice? You love your mother, don't you, Rory?"

"I've been told I need a harder head. Do you?"

"Love my mother?"

"Regret it."

"That you dumped Jess? Eh."

"Mm. That wasn't what I meant. Good to know, though. Why isn't Dad coming back?"

"He's just staying a few extra days to try and work things out with Sherry." She didn't regret leaving Christopher. If she had, she'd be making more of an effort now. It wouldn't matter even if she did, because nothing had materially changed in the years since, and if it hadn't by now it never would.

"Work out what?"

"The whole thing with the baby where he needs to see it and she doesn’t want him to. Remember that thing?" If it kept not working out between them, if he couldn't make it work with Sherry, it would never be right. Never. She knew that. But she really wished there'd been some seismic shift to let her know that she'd made the right decision.

"I remember."

She wished she felt like the decision had been made. "You know he's not going to drop everything and go running back to—"

"His real family?"

"Rory. You know that's not true. If it was, he wouldn't have bothered phoning, would he?"

Pathetic, to measure a father's devotion with such things, but it was the only ammunition Lorelai had. "He loves you."

"If it wasn't true, he wouldn't have cancelled at all, would he?"

"That's not fair. He's not putting Gwen above you."

"Yes, he is."

"It's just that things are really bad with Sherry at the moment, and he's afraid he's going to lose Gwen, and he has you. He knows that you'll be here."

"Yes. He does."

"Things are different this time. He has a job here. He's not going to up and leave." It would be wonderful to have that assurance. She wanted Rory to believe it. "We can thank the economy for that."

"Maybe."

"Definitely."

One more thing she'd always done: made his excuses.

And she just hoped it wouldn't hurt Rory too much, that Christopher wouldn't flaunt his new, real, fatherhood to her, the way he'd flaunted his existence to Lorelai for all those years where nothing had happened, nothing.

Christopher was still making her feel wretched, the one thing that had never ever changed, and it had to, and that was true.

*

She knows the details of things she doesn't dream about, dwelling on them without being aware of it, as she does when she's awake.

When she's dreaming of playfully obscene suggestions scrawled in his algebra book, and the subsequent acceptance of them, she's remembering why they became friends. Longer than she knew spent trawling the sales racks for something she could afford, and even when he got so bored that he vanished without a word, to reappear without an explanation, there were never any complaints. And she had known that he hadn't had to come, and he had known it too.

So she dreams of balconies, and cool air and heated skin and the way his face always glows, always more when he's with her; and she remembers the T-shirt she finally chose and the absurdly relieved look on his face when they left the store, and the way his face was unbelievably impossibly bright when they shopped for clothes for Rory, and his smile as they discussed names that she hated.

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