AN: I don't own Gilmore girls. Reviews are super welcome :)

Her heart beats wildly in her chest as she peers around the corner. The music is loud and people are looking back towards where she is expected to enter. She's hidden from view, but she feels so naked. She is about to walk out in front of the eyes of everyone who has ever cared about her - almost - and make a grand entrance.

"Hey, no peeking," somebody says beside her. The voice registers before the face does, and she glances apologetically at her father.

He grabs her hand and rubs it gently.

"Don't be nervous, you look beautiful," he assures her, smiling as proud as any Papa bear could. This makes her smile too, but it doesn't reassure her any more. It's not a matter of beauty, but of publicly declaring something so finite in front of so many people.

Suddenly the notes change and it's her cue, it's her moment. Her father offers his arm, gentlemanly, and she takes it, holding her breath. It's now or never, she knows, but she mentally disconnects from her feet as they follow her dad out into plain sight.

She is smiling brightly, as all brides should, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She's thankful that the only people who know her eyes well aren't close enough to see. Her glance shifts back and forth in a feral panic, watching the faces around her so happy, so tearful, so excited for her.

Their looks are killing her on the inside, making her feel ungrateful and small. It isn't their fault - it's entirely in her head - but she can't help it. And it's not even nice outside, she mutters inwardly, looking up at the sky. It looks as if it could rain any moment, and she had always wanted to get married on a sunny day.

She catches her mother's eye, along with her best friend's, who then exchange glances between the two of them. She swallows as her dad kisses her on the cheek, wraps her in a warm embrace, and untangles himself to posit her next to this man she calls her fiance.

Her eyes soften at how brightly he's looking at her. His eyes show nothing but promise and expectation. He is exuberant and elated, and she softens and calms down. She matches his smile and turns to face the pastor, feeling a shiver go down her spine. Her smile drops once he's no longer facing her, and despite trying to suck the energy radiating off of her partner, she admits that it isn't contagious and this feels wrong.

She feels her mom reach out an arm to her shoulder, but she makes it a point to ignore her. She knows if her mom sees her eyes, really sees what's there, she will have the courage to run away from this wedding and bolt so far away that they'll need a hunting dog to find her. Her mom always gave her courage to do the scary things, the risky things, the very not-Rory things.

The ceremonial jargon begins. She misses most of it as she wills her heart to shut up, annoyed at how loudly it's beating in her chest, consumed by the heartbeat pulsating in her ears. It feels so surreal.

Forever feels so long. So final and scary and big and impossible to swallow. She doesn't blame her mom for not providing a good example. She, too, didn't know what forever could look like and hadn't sustained a successful marriage.

But she knows it has nothing to do with her mother and everything to do with trying to convince herself that what is comfortable is what is right. That didn't work out in her first relationship as a teenager; it blew up in her face and then stuck around to bite her in the ass in college.

As she thinks about this, she can't help but hate herself a little. She remembers what it felt like with the next guy who came around, which is part of why everything blew up. With him, it was fierce and unpredictable, tense and tender all at once. It was an adventure. It was a frustrating adventure though, she reasons with herself. He never expressed his feelings, dipped out on her when it mattered most for them to be in communication, and it had been weird ever since. From asking her to run away with him to knocking sense into her about dropping out of Yale, things were never simple with him.

She frowns even more. He was the one person she had had the most turmoil over inviting; there was so much unspoken tension there, so much that was never explored. Yes she'd said no, multiple times, even, but it was him. He never wavered in his affection for her. And so of course it didn't shock her when the invitation didn't come back. She had expected this much. Nothing was cut and dry when it came to that man.

Were things simple with her fiance? He was a mixture of the two, calm and gentle and sweet but an unpredictable, on-a-whim kind of guy. He had the jealousy of the first one, the ability to shut down like the second. She steals a glance at him and thinks of how much she loves him. She knows she does. He's good to her. Not always, sometimes he's impossible, but he has grown with her over the last few years. He provided for her when times got rough, he walked her through the Yale and fighting-with-her-mom crisis, he was never too stubborn to apologize. And she can tell just in the way he looks at her that he would do so much for her. It's right, isn't it? To marry the person who knows you best?

Does he know me best? Is that even possible? I barely know anymore.

His eyes crinkle as he catches her glance, smiling, and he reaches for her hand and squeezes it gently. Her heart flutters. Moments like this make it feel right. But she can't help but notice that the flutters die as quickly as they rise, butterflies caught in a rainstorm. Do the butterflies die when the person who knows you best looks at you? Or is that a symptom of something scarier than being known - committing to somebody who doesn't know you as well as you'd like?

A seed of doubt is gnawing at her, clawing her insides. She feels like she shouldn't be up here in front of all of these people. She focuses back in on the pastor but hearing his words scares her back into obliviousness. If she hears his words, the promises he's beginning to ask them to make, she will crumble.

As she looks at him again, this man who has brought out terrible and great things in her, she is sad. This isn't what it's supposed to feel like when you get married, she's certain of that. This isn't fair to him; she's also certain of that, because the joy exuding from every pore of his being is barely an iota of all of her emotions.

She's thinking, over thinking, making and remaking lists in her head, pros and cons of marriage that she made for days before agreeing to marry him. Suddenly the cons multiply before her in such a manifestation of doubt and insecurity and wrongness that she feels sick. Her vision blurs and she looks past him, past his expectant eyes.

And that's when fate plays such a hideous trick on her, because when her eyes refocus, there's a tree. There's a tree and he's leaning against it, far enough not to be noticed and close enough to see everything. They lock eyes and her breath catches in her throat. Time stands still and she can't see or hear anyone or anything but him, the suit that deliciously accentuates the features he's grown into as a man, and the tree that shoulders the weight of his longing.

His eyes haven't changed. They still look at her the same. In spite of the rejection she's sewn into them, exposed them to and let them ingest, they still look at her like she's the best thing in the world, the most beautiful bride there ever was. Eyes that see her in all of her un-togetherness and still don't close on her.

That seed of doubt that had been growing is moisturized and nurtured by his look, and it blossoms furiously in her chest. Her heart picks up its pace again and she feels thrilled; this unpredictability, his ability to surprise her, is something of which she can never grow tired. A different girl would see this behavior as almost stalker like, but it's different with him. He sees through her and it would be wrong for him to expose himself, his thoughts or intentions. He knows she needs him but can't, won't have him around, that the life they could've almost had is not a simple endeavor.

She stares, holding back her surprise and delight because she knows it will alarm her fiance standing only inches beside her. She inhales deeply, their gaze intense and familiar. He smirks and shifts, his arms still folded against his chest. His smirk is the same as it always was, always is when she sees him every few months or years by chance. It's impossible to look at anything else but him.

It's subtle, but he nods his head to the left, a small invitation to talk.

It takes all of her willpower not to gawk or furrow her eyebrows. He had some nerve! She cannot believe that he's actually suggesting she walk out of the ceremony to talk to him, this very moment, seconds before she is supposed to offer her fiance "I do." She settles for pursing her lips, slightly shaking her head, and for the first time since they've had this staring contest, his eyes soften.

He shifts again and shoves his hands in his pockets, sets his feet, and gives her a look. It tells her how absurd this is, how crazy it is that she's getting married to this rich chump, how this whole wedding so isn't her. She hates him for a moment, grilling him with her eyes. She hates that she can still read his thoughts from the way he looks at her, and she hates that she actually likes that he knows she still can. She widens her eyes a little at him, almost begging him to tell her what other option she has, that he's crazy, that he has no right to look at her like that.

He appears to suck his teeth, decides something in his head, and starts walking closer. She is confused and alarmed and immediately turns her attention back to the pastor. His words are finally registering in her head; it's no longer a foreign language but very clear to her, and he's asking if anyone objects to their union.

She looks at her mom and best friend in a panic, who have at this point caught on and have seen the man coming closer. Just as he is close enough to call out and have it be heard, just as he is opening his mouth, her mother springs into action.

"De-uhh," her mother starts, trying to draw attention away from the only moving object at the ceremony. But this is the moment for objections, and every head immediately turns towards her, shocked and waiting.

"Heh, uh, sorry, it's just that, I uh, I can't find the ring," she offers, laughing nervously and looking around at her feet for good measure. She elbows the best friend.

"Oh, wow, yeah, it's really missing!" She exclaims, taking the time to bend over to move her fingers through the grass. There are whispers in the crowd, and the groom looks more than mildly unhappy. Their dog, a skittish little thing, suddenly becomes an important part of this diversion. Her best friend mumbles an apology under her breath before stepping on the back of the dog's heel, which sends him flying down the aisle to the opposite field.

"Oh, Paul Anka has it!" She screeches, pointing at the dog.

"Wow, we better go get him!" Her mother adds, and the two take off in their dresses, ditching their heels to chase Paul Anka across the grass. The bride-to-be almost sputters in laughter, seeing how absurd this all is and appreciating so tremendously that she has a mother and best friend willing to help her out in a rough patch.

A few men in the audience, others close to her life, go chasing after the women, which only scares the dog more. People on the bride's side are cracking up, while those on the groom's side just watch with disdain. It is clear this is not the civil way to have a wedding.

"Can't we just do this without the rings...?" The groom-to-be speaks up, turning to her, clearly frustrated at the commotion.

Suddenly she finds her voice and turns hurriedly to him.

"No, it needs to be perfect!" She says almost too quickly. He looks at her strangely and she adds, softer this time, "Shouldn't it be perfect?"

He searches her face, unsure of her tone, but nods. They watch the circus happening to their left, and as if fate couldn't be any more on time and in touch with her feelings, there is a loud crack in the sky.

She looks up and realizes that the clouds have shifted in these moments that have felt like lifetimes; this gloomy day that matched her gloomy mood is quickly turning into something more sinister, more unbelievable as a raindrop gets her square in the eye.

Within seconds, the crowd stands up, murmuring and starting to scoot out of their seats. Her mother's boyfriend, somebody she's known better than her own father, immediately begins directing traffic back towards her mother's inn.

She forgets to look at her fiance in the panic and confusion and instead looks for the one who caused this small chaos. She sees him look up, give her the most sheepish of smirks, and back away before breaking into a run in the opposite direction of the inn.

Her fiance grabs her hand to run inside with her.

She looks at him, startled that he found her, the anxiety growing in the pit of her stomach.

She tugs back on his hand for a second, stopping him.

"Sorry," she says to him seriously, with a sad smile that she knows he won't see as sad, but apologetic.

"It's not your fault, Ace," he says, holding his hand above his head haphazardly to block out the thick raindrops. "Let's get inside!"

She inhales deeply, willing herself to say something more about how she can't go inside, at least not with him, but by now her mother and best friend have come back to usher them along. Her mother breaks up the hand holding by coming up between them. She makes a small, rushed joke about how they should have gotten a cover band for the Temptations or BJ Thomas to play during the ceremony, and pushes them down the aisle as the rain picks up.

The best friend and her mother switch places, and she watches as her best friend guides her groom-to-be up the back of the stairs. Her mother turns to her, putting her hands on either side of her shoulders.

"Go," she tells her firmly, and nods in the direction that the man had run in. She exchanges a look with her mom, amazed at how she can always give her a little bit of clarity, and then turns to run after him.

She can't say for certain, but something about the rain and running in it reminds her so much of him, of a certain sprinkler incident, of a certain series of getting-to-know-you sessions, of finalizing things with him, that she instinctively knows where he's going.

She takes her own short cut and runs through the town square, knowing full well that when she comes out of the clearing, past the woods and everything else, that she will find him waiting for her on the bridge where it all began.

She doesn't have to figure anything out, there are no surprises that she is expecting.

For the first time when it comes to him, it's actually very cut and dry, and she laughs about the irony as she runs through the rain, dodging puddles.