Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine. Even the basic plot isn't mine. It's based of a musical titled "Mary Lou" (only in Israel ;)), with a change of some things to suit the plot and characters better. The title is borrowed from a song by Travis.

A/N: This is an AU (Alternate Universe) story. Some characters are not where they are supposed to be or not how they're supposed to be or not in the place you're used to see them at. You'll see.

I just want to thank some people, because I finally have who to thank. But then again, almost no one reads this. So I'm dedicating this to everyone and to me, because it's my birthday. Yay me.

Why Does it Always Rain on Me?

2004

They were bored. Really, really bored. They were so bored. There were no two people more bored than they were at that moment.

That was the only logical reason why they came here. Glitter.

It wasn't all that bad, though. Well, it was bad. But it wasn't like it was the first time they were there.

Lily has grown up. Her musical taste developed. Well, just a teeny tiny bit. Instead of sitting on the floor and wishing for their deaths, they sat near the bar and had one drink after the other. Actually, Jess did. Lane just settled for a breezer.

They didn't talk much. She didn't expect him to talk much. After all, it was a risk she knew she was taking when she chose Jess Mariano as a best friend. His presence was usually enough to make any setting enjoyable. But this time was different. Two years ago kind of different.

She saw the look in his eyes. Every once in a while, she did. The distraction, that longing stare as he glanced at the entrance. She still remembered the day when they were there, and [I]she[/I] was, too. He promised that he was over her. Usually, she believed him. In times like these, she didn't.

But it… seemed like he was. They have hung out together a whole lot, and she enjoyed it, not only as his best friend. Small gestures like a hand around her shoulders, an honest smile or the most simple, innocent touch against her skin made her feel like maybe… he was opening up. To her. As more than a friend.

And then again, she often realized this is a dream that would never come true.

It was getting late. Not that late ever mattered to them. More correctly, it was getting boring. Slow.

He looked at her, waiting for her confirmation. She confirmed it with a look that he has already learned to recognize. Putting his cigarette out, he wiped his hands, then reached into his pocket to pull out some cash, leaving it on the counter. He then slipped off the bar stool and she followed.

They walked out, facing the warm air. Enjoying the silence, that was interrupted only by the slight sound of footsteps, Lane hoped he won't feel the need to light another cigarette. The air was perfect. But it never mattered to him.

But maybe this time it did.

He slipped his hands inside his pockets and looked up at the starry night skies. She looked at him through the corner of her eye, examining his thoughtful expression. Did she need to know what he thought of? No. She knew. But she felt obligated to dig deeper, even if it was against her wishes. That's what best friends are for, right?

"A penny for your thoughts?" She offered. He showed no reaction, and she lowered her head with slight disappointment. He wasn't even able to hear her.

But there was something in her that pushed. Hard. Something that asked her to do the right thing as a friend. Not as one who has romantic feelings. It was stupid to give up on your best friend just because you thought he was thinking of another girl. Best friend, she reminded herself. Best friend.

She looked back up and nudges him slightly. It took him a second to look down at her, but it was better than nothing. He raised his eyebrows, asking for the motive to her actions with no words at all.

She let out a small chuckle. "Fine, two." She teased, although the odds of him understanding what she meant were negligible.

He chuckles anyway, shaking his head to show that he didn't understand. "What?" He asked, a small smirk plastered to his lips.

"What's on your mind?" She asked, her lips curving into a smile at the expression on her friend's face.

He gave a small shrug in return, and his head titled back up. "Nothing much." He replied.

She sighed. That was Jess. At least he admitted there was something more than nothing in there. And again, she asked herself why she was doing this.

Then she looked up, trying to read his face yet again. Oh, yeah. That was why.

She reached to touch his shoulder, causing him to stop in his place. She quickly dropped her hand, impatiently waiting for Jess to look at her again.

His body turned to her direction, but his head wasn't. He was looking away. When he finally did look her way, it took her a few moments to stomach the annoyed expression on his face before he dared to look at her.

She pursed her lips together. Her throat produced a sound that could've been mistaken for either a chuckle, a sigh or a sound of defeat.

"Come on." She said, trying to be harsh in the subtlest way she could. Although she really couldn't do harsh. She tried. Harsh wasn't her thing. The thought in her head was wearing her out, and she sighed. Shutting her eyes for a second to try and bring her thoughts to end, she found that the thoughts in her head were now more quiet, but she felt way more troubled. "Tell me."

He turned his head away for the shortest period of time, although it was long enough for her to worry he was giving up again. He looked back at her, not knowing what to say. "What do you want me to say?" He asked, not wanting her to answer.

She shrugged at him with a small smile, one that was coming to cover for all that she was feeling. All those uncertain emotions that were flowing within her for no explainable reason. "Say anything." She offered.

What possible was he able to tell her? She didn't want to hear what he was thinking about. She shouldn't. It was just his mind, and it was going crazy. Crazy with thoughts. Some of them were wrong, the others were more wrong. And then, a few moments before, when she interrupted his thinking process, he was slightly mad. It annoyed him. It annoyed him that she made him forget about it for long enough. Long enough for it to seem right.

It wasn't long ago when he was sitting inside his stepsister's club, looking at the entrance, remembering the days that it was still a bookstore and she walked through that door. Then he looked at the bar, recalling over and over how her voice was familiar. How he looked up and saw her. And then again, he saw it. And then again. And then, the her bottle as it met with the ground, which was loud even as nothing but a vague memory in his head, shook him out of the daze he was in. And then he saw Lane sitting next to him at the bar. And he realized that this was what he had. And just like in every other time Lane was there, when she was by his side as they passed the bus station where he said goodbye to Rory for the second time after they met. The memories were getting vaguer and vaguer every time he passed by one of the places that reminded him of her. And when they faded and he saw Lane still being there, still next to him, still putting out with him… he realized that it wasn't bad. That maybe he'll finally manage to convince himself of what he was trying to convince her. She was always looking at him, always smiling.

And now. Now, she was looking at him, expecting anything. Her words. She wanted him to say anything. But she knew he wasn't one to open up. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't. And even if he could, he wouldn't want to. But there she was. Not annoyed, not disappointed, smiling even though he was being an idiot. She was a friend. She was the best thing in his clouded world. She was always there. She was…

His hand raised carefully, the back of his palm lightly grazing her cheek before it settled on it. He saw her. He tried not to, but he did. She swallowed, hard, and he closed his eyes. He didn't want to see this. He had no idea what he was doing, but it was too late to stop.

He leaned in, carefully. His thoughts were completely blurred, and he thought of nothing, simply because he didn't want to. He felt nothing. Nothing, until he felt her lips on his. Until a few seconds after, when he was able to feel the tension melting and the heat rising, as he felt her lips moving against his own. Until not only his thoughts, but his actions, were completely blurred. Until all the wrongs seemed even more wrong than they were – they finally seemed completely right.

She was sitting in her cubical. It wasn't an office, but she never expected an office. Or a cubical.

But it was nice. She even had her own plant standing on the desk.

She's been here for a few months. Here as in her new department. Her new writing job. One that didn't require studying animals' private parts. And she liked it. She really liked it.

She hasn't seen Rob – Mr. Cohen- since he hired her. Well, she saw him, but he had to go away on business a few days later. She made a mental note to thank him when she sees him again.

She leaned back on her comfortable synthetic leather chair and looked around. She focused on her printer, printing. The noise of it working was the only noise occupying her. She had a special way of blocking all sounds around her, if it was shouting, phones or machinery. The ability to concentrate was nice.

It was all nice. Even some of her co-workers weren't bad. Nice, even.

She was thinking. Thinking about what? About whatever came to mind. Her laundry – how she realized she mixed a few whites with her colors. Her next article. Her current article. Her former article. Her mom. Jess. The fact that she wore un-matching socks under her boots. Paris. College. Getting a cat.

Unnoticeably although right in front of her eyes, the pages stopped coming out. Her talking printer informed her ignoring ears that her current printing job has been successfully completed.

The human voices around her were getting louder, too. Whispering, mostly. People were running around. People were completely panicking while Rory Gilmore was sitting in her chair, deep in thought, her void eyes staring at the printer.

A feminine figure came behind her. She, bending forward, rocked the chair she was sitting on, and Rory was no longer deep in thoughts. She was in her office, staring at a printer.

"Mr. Cohen's back!" The girl whispered in her ear, before making a run of it, over to another cubical.

She looked back, following the figure with her eyes, frowned slightly. Looking back at her printer, she realized it finished printing. She dragged her chair forward and bended forward to collect the small pile of printed pages. She looked around while straightening her papers. Everyone seemed so hectic, so rushed, so panicked. Why was that?

Maybe because he was their boss, after all. But that was no reason for… was someone cleaning his clay figurines?

She carefully stacked the papers in one of her paper holders, and then she pushed the chair back. Standing up, she straightened her jacket. Looking down, she was making sure she buttoned it correctly, not minding the fact that it's the sixth time she's done that since this morning.

She stood up and started making her way through the crowd. She tried to remember the correct way: Through the door, down the hall, third door to the left. She went over it again and again in her head before she actually stopped in front of it.

The sign on the door confirmed that it was indeed the right office. She straightened her skirt, tucked some hair behind her ears and cleared her throat. Raising her head, she knocked on the door, then allowed her hand to drop behind her back, holding her other hand.

A "Yes?" coming from inside the room sounded inviting to her. She took a breath and pushed the door open.

She saw her boss, then, leaning against his desk, his eyes directed at a paper in his hands. She watched him. She was beginning to get nervous. Did she really just come here to… thank her boss? It all started to seem a little ridiculous to her.

She opened her mouth to speak, but she was a little confused about what was going to come out of it. Before she even managed to think about it, he looked up. Smirking slightly, he reached behind him – with the papers, placing them on the desk and leaving his hand there to support his weight. "Gilmore." He recognized, grinning.

She took a hesitant step forward, forcing a smile in return. "M…Mr. Cohen." She stuttered. Why was she nervous?

He moved away from his desk, towards the door she had left open. Holding it by the doorknob and walking forward, shutting it, he locked it before turning to face her. "What have I done to deserve your graceful presence?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

She was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Clearing her throat to try and making wear off, she forced herself to smile wider. She still felt the same. "I…" She started, swallowing, "I heard you were back and I… wanted to just say thank you." She said, then frowned at her poor phrasing of that very poor sentence.

He laughed unconvincingly. "You don't have to thank me." He said.

"But I do!" She insisted loudly, then took a deep breath to calm herself. Something was making her feel… strange. "I do." She repeated. "This was an amazing opportunity for me, and…" She sighed, shaking her head lightly. "Thank you."

He smirked again. Remember that snake-ish thing about him? She was seeing it again. It took him a few seconds to reply as he walked a bit forward. Raising his hand to his chin, he rubbed it gently, nodding into it. "You really want to thank me?" He asked, his eyes peering right at her.

She narrowed her eyes with confusion. "Y…eah." She replied quieter, confused by his sudden change of behavior.

He smirked again. Viciously. He looked intimidating. "I know how you could thank me." He said. Slowly, staring at her with a terrifying gaze in her eyes, he started walking towards her.

Instinctively, she took a step back with every step he took forward. Her heard began beating faster, mostly with panic. Now she was panicking. Now.

Now she was panicking. When she realized she has no more space behind her, which would assist her to escape. Now, when she was pined against a desk, pressed hard against the small of her back.

Now, when he was pressed against her, making her back ache more. When she was frozen with fear, biting her lip, trying to keep tears from streaming out. When her voice wasn't working, when she wasn't able to move or save herself.

Now, when his hands were feeling her front, tearing her jacket open, violently ripping the buttons she was so worried about buttoning correctly.

Now, when she wanted to scream, but she couldn't.

Now she was panicking. And she was panicking a little too late.