fic: the house that roy built [the office (us)/gilmore girls]
title: the house that roy built
author: spamdilemma
fandom: the office (us)/gilmore girls
rating: pg
wordcount: 2,265
prompt: roy, five years out
notes: for festschrift! this is au, in a dimension where gg season 4 coincides with the office, five years after season 3. for the higher good, sookie/jackson and rory/yale are no more. (apologies all around.)
It's Kenny's friend Frank who gets you the first construction job, and the next. "Hard work," Frank'd said, cuffing your shoulder roughly, "but character building, you know?"
And you did know -- it was the only kind of work you had any confidence in, working with your hands. But you couldn't relate it to fueling any human goodness. Proof being the forces that brought you to almost punching Halpert's face in, and how three years later, you don't know if it could've ended any differently. If you could've done different.
You push yourself one, two, five years further and further from Scranton: to Philly, Pittsburgh, out of state. You've never wanted anything more than what you once had, but now -- you want something different.
It's Frank who introduces you to Tom. He'll have you for his team if you're committed. "Stars Hollow," Tom says. "Not too far from Stamford."
---
Two chicks and a French guy are building an inn. There are horses, a stable involved too, but you don't look so far into that particular future, do straight what Tom tells you to do.
You're busy doing as much when you look up, surprised to find an audience. Two chicks and a French guy, and you, building their inn. Your hammering slows to a stop.
"Is that level? I don't think that's level. Or maybe my eye sockets are doing a shift the likes that even Shannen Doherty has never seen. Wait."
"Yeah, that's confusing."
"Among other adjectives."
You're not sure if they're talking to you, or even to each other, but it's all at once and you're concentrating on building what you've been ordered, paid, to do.
"I'm sorry, ma'am." You glance at the other two. "Other ma'am and dude. If you have any problems, I'm sure Tom or Miles --"
"Oh, but we're asking you since you look so handy and reasonable and here." The woman smiles at you, way too pretty. "Hi, I'm Lorelai. This is Sookie, and dude here is Michel."
Normally you'd shake hands, but the guy called Michel keeps staring at the grit under your nails with something like fear, and so you just nod. "Roy."
"Well Roy," Lorelai continues, "now that we're all acquainted, let's talk shop."
"Ma'am --"
"Lorelai."
"Lorelai," you say. "I'm not sure what you want me to do. If the equipment says that it's level, I'm going to trust its judgment rather than yours. No offense."
"None taken," she says, too easily. "And I have nothing against machines -- which I hope to put on record in the event of a cylon takeover -- it's just that our guests staying at the inn will be people. Mostly. And people will look at this foundation and think, huh, I wonder when the crooked man will come out with his crooked cat to walk a crooked mile."
You have no answer to that, other than the one she wants.
---
You, along with another guy on the construction crew, rent out an apartment from Doose, who owns the market. He's reluctant to sign you on a short-term lease at first, muttering about "drifters" and "first vagrant troubadours, now day laborers -- what is this town coming to?" But he eventually budges once Tom vouches for your integrity, i.e. the money being as green as the next man's, and probably more regular.
You don't much mind where you live, or whom you live with, so long as they keep out of your hair, and Vick isn't half bad. It's kind of like that semester spent at the junior college, before you got hired at the warehouse. Kind of. Being ten or so years older and off the tap makes things a little clearer, reality setting in a little sharper. You go to work, come home to shower off the day, and well, you can afford Tivo.
Vick's younger by some and goes out with the boys to bars the next town over, and you might go to be social, have a Coke. Tom invites you over for dinner one night, guessing you to be lonely, but that's not it. You spent the first year after Pam lonely. You don't know what you feel like now.
Tom's wife makes a nice roast, though, and you tell her so.
---
You regret in the beginning, telling the bosses your name. Now you're their go-to guy for like, whatever. It's not that you're intent on being pissy at them -- they're footing the bill and all -- but god. Half of what spills out of their mouths is like another language, and in the case of guy named Michel, is.
If you pick up on how to swear uptight and fancy, it's not like you'd actually do so. But one time, just once, your thumb takes the place of a nail, and letting go -- you can hardly believe your own voice. But you reason, it's like that tree falling in the forest, no one around to hear but your own sense of pride.
The weather turns colder, and you dig out more layers from the suitcase you haven't entirely emptied. It's especially cool at the site, with no windows, not much to say of walls yet, and still they come.
"Oh, Rory will be so bummed to be missing all the action!" Lorelai says. "Quick, Michel, put on this Harvard sweatshirt and pretend that you are three inches shorter and ten times prettier. And talk in a really high voice and say, 'Mom --'"
"No," Michel says.
"I can't wait to have my own kitchen," Sookie says excitedly, walking past and around the bare bones of one. She stops. "This is the exact spot where I'll drop my first cake."
You don't usually say much, unless it's a direct question, but you have to ask, "Why there?"
Sookie touches the doorframe, the open space in-between. "It'll be early spring. And families will be coming in for Easter, and aside from the white soup, ham with an orange glaze -- or turkey, I haven't decided yet -- there'll be chocolate cake. I'll drop it right here, because then at that moment my world will be too perfect, something will have to give."
"So you're dropping it on purpose?"
"I'll have a back-up cake, of course," Sookie says, looking at you funny.
---
On weekends, Miss Patty recruits you. She has a million projects, and you could use the cash, you suppose. For what, you can't really say. But Miss Patty's generous enough, even if her every look your way is unsettling.
After refinishing the floors of her dance studio, you replace some rotten paneling on the outside. And after this, she asks whether you paint.
"I can," you say with a shrug.
And so it goes. Lorelai and Sookie stop to say hi sometimes, on their way to wherever, because every point in town is a cross-section. You never say so, but it's nice.
"Rory's coming home next weekend!" Lorelai says, and you know who she means. It's hard not to, not only that, her, but everything. News in Stars Hollow, you soon learn, is readily public knowledge. And Lorelai's the loudest little bird.
"It's going to be a huge, grandiose event," she continues. "I've been trying to hire Justin Timberlake, or at least an impersonator who can do JT's falsetto justice. You have to come, Roy."
"Do you need help setting up or something?" you ask, and at their lack of response, add, "I mean, I won't charge you or nothing."
To your surprise, they laugh -- and laugh. You can feel your face heat up, until Sookie touches your shoulder lightly, to say, "It's an invitation, Roy."
Lorelai says very seriously, "Yes, you see, sometimes we throw these things called parties. And people go to these parties and talk and drink and eat food. No building required!"
You try to reach around your embarrassment. "Yeah, all right."
Sookie smiles, bright and open. "I'll make pie!"
And it creeps up on you, real slow, this feeling that this town, these people, they kind of like you. Like, as a person.
---
Fall deepens, crisp enough to cut, and the trees struggle to hold onto whatever leaves they have, turning burnt orange, red and gold. There's always something for you to do.
Other than you, Dean from the crew sometimes picks up odd jobs from Miss Patty. You liked the kid well enough at first, but after Rory's brief homecoming, the way he watched Lorelai's scary-smart daughter, it makes you wary about him. He reminds you of things you'd rather not look back on. Floppy hair and stupid smile and how you thought he was gay, when all the while -- no, you like it better when Dean stays away and it's just you and your own skin getting chapped in the cooling weather.
You're fixing a kink in the garden fence when Sookie brings leftover dessert from the party, peach cobbler and pecan pie. It's too cold for her to linger outdoors, and you tell her so, but she's bursting with news about her new stove, some European cooking miracle. And you like hearing her stories. You like listening, sitting on Miss Patty's stoop, eating pie. Sookie talks just as fast as Lorelai, but uses words and phrases that you've come to understand. That make sense in this world.
There's nothing hidden about her, that she expects you to know but won't show you.
"Tell me that part again about the broiler's other functions," you say, and honest to god, you really want to know.
---
Paychecks get in late sometimes, it's the nature of the job. It doesn't worry you, until you see Tom pull Lorelai aside, and how it's quiet.
"You have $10,000 to loan?" Lorelai says, torn, and you can't be sure she'd take it ("No, it's too much -- we can't -- we're supposed to be paying you --"), but what do you have to answer for, really? It's a refund of past dreams? An account for a future stretched out wide and blank? You have the money, you just do.
You don't tell her it's for Sookie's kitchen, and the doomed cake, all of that. You tell her what she knows to be true.
"You guys are building this thing. It has to happen."
---
The walls go up on the outside of the inn. Sookie and Lorelai and Michel, they're all there when it happens. You never doubted that any of them would stop coming, or criticizing. You've come to expect -- and give credit.
"That is on backwards," Michel says bluntly, indicating a slat.
"You sure about that?" Vick asks, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Yes, you see. At the age of three and a half I'd mastered the difference between front and back." Michel lets out a sigh of disgust. "Where is Roy?"
"You mean your boyfriend," Vick grumbles.
"Yeah, what of it?" you say, walking up slowly with the girls, and it's pretty priceless.
"Roy, you made a joke!" Lorelai says, like it's something new, but for you it's an old and worn feeling, maybe not so bad to return to.
---
It's a celebration of a kind the next day, when you bite into the best chocolate chip cookie you've ever tasted. Lorelai laughs that there's more where that came from if you play your cards right ("his plywood right? No, that's too dirty, even for me --"), and Sookie watches your face carefully, pleased. Only guy named Michel frowns.
"I feel side-handles emerging by simply standing here," Michel states. Lorelai rolls her eyes, and Sookie too, but her fingers are wrapped tight around her basket, and her face. Her face.
It's like all the times before, when you were the one saying the stupid things. And Pam will stand there, Sookie will stand there, saying nothing.
"Look," you say hotly, "I don't care if you're picking up my paycheck, or one-third of it, or however the hell you've divided it up. Don't be a prick to her."
Stomping off is dramatic and stupid, but it's what you do, then. You can feel them watching, their questions, but you don't want to look back. You just want to hammer in a fucking wall unit.
"So what was that all about?" Lorelai asks, crouching beside where you're working covered in grout and dust, and even though it's two days later, you know exactly what she means.
"I just don't like it when Michel's being a snotty old dunghole."
Lorelai's look is hard on you. "It's not just about Michel," she says. "I know Sookie, and she doesn't take it personally --"
"No, you don't," you can't help but say. "He just goes on, in his stupid French attitude, and you let him do it. You let him hurt her." And the remorse wells up again, not as much, but enough to make you feel sick.
Lorelai's rare silence furthers your uneasiness. "There's always something we wish we could take back," she says finally.
"Yeah," you say. It's been a long time since you wished for anything.
---
You know her house by sight now, from every angle crossing town, but it's different sitting at her table, watching her bread rise sweet and even in the oven. It's harder, knowing what to want.
"Sookie --" you start to say. You falter a little, meeting her eye. "I thought that maybe when this is all over, the inn, if you'd like to go out -- like on a date?"
You feel stupid as soon as the question leaves your mouth, because this isn't some bar pick-up, this isn't Kenny's friend's cousin who doesn't expect anything from you. This isn't Pam either, making right from all you did otherwise.
This is Sookie, her hands covered in flour when she touches your arm. She laughs an apology, a yes. She tastes like everything you thought you never deserved.
author: spamdilemma
fandom: the office (us)/gilmore girls
rating: pg
wordcount: 2,265
prompt: roy, five years out
notes: for festschrift! this is au, in a dimension where gg season 4 coincides with the office, five years after season 3. for the higher good, sookie/jackson and rory/yale are no more. (apologies all around.)
It's Kenny's friend Frank who gets you the first construction job, and the next. "Hard work," Frank'd said, cuffing your shoulder roughly, "but character building, you know?"
And you did know -- it was the only kind of work you had any confidence in, working with your hands. But you couldn't relate it to fueling any human goodness. Proof being the forces that brought you to almost punching Halpert's face in, and how three years later, you don't know if it could've ended any differently. If you could've done different.
You push yourself one, two, five years further and further from Scranton: to Philly, Pittsburgh, out of state. You've never wanted anything more than what you once had, but now -- you want something different.
It's Frank who introduces you to Tom. He'll have you for his team if you're committed. "Stars Hollow," Tom says. "Not too far from Stamford."
---
Two chicks and a French guy are building an inn. There are horses, a stable involved too, but you don't look so far into that particular future, do straight what Tom tells you to do.
You're busy doing as much when you look up, surprised to find an audience. Two chicks and a French guy, and you, building their inn. Your hammering slows to a stop.
"Is that level? I don't think that's level. Or maybe my eye sockets are doing a shift the likes that even Shannen Doherty has never seen. Wait."
"Yeah, that's confusing."
"Among other adjectives."
You're not sure if they're talking to you, or even to each other, but it's all at once and you're concentrating on building what you've been ordered, paid, to do.
"I'm sorry, ma'am." You glance at the other two. "Other ma'am and dude. If you have any problems, I'm sure Tom or Miles --"
"Oh, but we're asking you since you look so handy and reasonable and here." The woman smiles at you, way too pretty. "Hi, I'm Lorelai. This is Sookie, and dude here is Michel."
Normally you'd shake hands, but the guy called Michel keeps staring at the grit under your nails with something like fear, and so you just nod. "Roy."
"Well Roy," Lorelai continues, "now that we're all acquainted, let's talk shop."
"Ma'am --"
"Lorelai."
"Lorelai," you say. "I'm not sure what you want me to do. If the equipment says that it's level, I'm going to trust its judgment rather than yours. No offense."
"None taken," she says, too easily. "And I have nothing against machines -- which I hope to put on record in the event of a cylon takeover -- it's just that our guests staying at the inn will be people. Mostly. And people will look at this foundation and think, huh, I wonder when the crooked man will come out with his crooked cat to walk a crooked mile."
You have no answer to that, other than the one she wants.
---
You, along with another guy on the construction crew, rent out an apartment from Doose, who owns the market. He's reluctant to sign you on a short-term lease at first, muttering about "drifters" and "first vagrant troubadours, now day laborers -- what is this town coming to?" But he eventually budges once Tom vouches for your integrity, i.e. the money being as green as the next man's, and probably more regular.
You don't much mind where you live, or whom you live with, so long as they keep out of your hair, and Vick isn't half bad. It's kind of like that semester spent at the junior college, before you got hired at the warehouse. Kind of. Being ten or so years older and off the tap makes things a little clearer, reality setting in a little sharper. You go to work, come home to shower off the day, and well, you can afford Tivo.
Vick's younger by some and goes out with the boys to bars the next town over, and you might go to be social, have a Coke. Tom invites you over for dinner one night, guessing you to be lonely, but that's not it. You spent the first year after Pam lonely. You don't know what you feel like now.
Tom's wife makes a nice roast, though, and you tell her so.
---
You regret in the beginning, telling the bosses your name. Now you're their go-to guy for like, whatever. It's not that you're intent on being pissy at them -- they're footing the bill and all -- but god. Half of what spills out of their mouths is like another language, and in the case of guy named Michel, is.
If you pick up on how to swear uptight and fancy, it's not like you'd actually do so. But one time, just once, your thumb takes the place of a nail, and letting go -- you can hardly believe your own voice. But you reason, it's like that tree falling in the forest, no one around to hear but your own sense of pride.
The weather turns colder, and you dig out more layers from the suitcase you haven't entirely emptied. It's especially cool at the site, with no windows, not much to say of walls yet, and still they come.
"Oh, Rory will be so bummed to be missing all the action!" Lorelai says. "Quick, Michel, put on this Harvard sweatshirt and pretend that you are three inches shorter and ten times prettier. And talk in a really high voice and say, 'Mom --'"
"No," Michel says.
"I can't wait to have my own kitchen," Sookie says excitedly, walking past and around the bare bones of one. She stops. "This is the exact spot where I'll drop my first cake."
You don't usually say much, unless it's a direct question, but you have to ask, "Why there?"
Sookie touches the doorframe, the open space in-between. "It'll be early spring. And families will be coming in for Easter, and aside from the white soup, ham with an orange glaze -- or turkey, I haven't decided yet -- there'll be chocolate cake. I'll drop it right here, because then at that moment my world will be too perfect, something will have to give."
"So you're dropping it on purpose?"
"I'll have a back-up cake, of course," Sookie says, looking at you funny.
---
On weekends, Miss Patty recruits you. She has a million projects, and you could use the cash, you suppose. For what, you can't really say. But Miss Patty's generous enough, even if her every look your way is unsettling.
After refinishing the floors of her dance studio, you replace some rotten paneling on the outside. And after this, she asks whether you paint.
"I can," you say with a shrug.
And so it goes. Lorelai and Sookie stop to say hi sometimes, on their way to wherever, because every point in town is a cross-section. You never say so, but it's nice.
"Rory's coming home next weekend!" Lorelai says, and you know who she means. It's hard not to, not only that, her, but everything. News in Stars Hollow, you soon learn, is readily public knowledge. And Lorelai's the loudest little bird.
"It's going to be a huge, grandiose event," she continues. "I've been trying to hire Justin Timberlake, or at least an impersonator who can do JT's falsetto justice. You have to come, Roy."
"Do you need help setting up or something?" you ask, and at their lack of response, add, "I mean, I won't charge you or nothing."
To your surprise, they laugh -- and laugh. You can feel your face heat up, until Sookie touches your shoulder lightly, to say, "It's an invitation, Roy."
Lorelai says very seriously, "Yes, you see, sometimes we throw these things called parties. And people go to these parties and talk and drink and eat food. No building required!"
You try to reach around your embarrassment. "Yeah, all right."
Sookie smiles, bright and open. "I'll make pie!"
And it creeps up on you, real slow, this feeling that this town, these people, they kind of like you. Like, as a person.
---
Fall deepens, crisp enough to cut, and the trees struggle to hold onto whatever leaves they have, turning burnt orange, red and gold. There's always something for you to do.
Other than you, Dean from the crew sometimes picks up odd jobs from Miss Patty. You liked the kid well enough at first, but after Rory's brief homecoming, the way he watched Lorelai's scary-smart daughter, it makes you wary about him. He reminds you of things you'd rather not look back on. Floppy hair and stupid smile and how you thought he was gay, when all the while -- no, you like it better when Dean stays away and it's just you and your own skin getting chapped in the cooling weather.
You're fixing a kink in the garden fence when Sookie brings leftover dessert from the party, peach cobbler and pecan pie. It's too cold for her to linger outdoors, and you tell her so, but she's bursting with news about her new stove, some European cooking miracle. And you like hearing her stories. You like listening, sitting on Miss Patty's stoop, eating pie. Sookie talks just as fast as Lorelai, but uses words and phrases that you've come to understand. That make sense in this world.
There's nothing hidden about her, that she expects you to know but won't show you.
"Tell me that part again about the broiler's other functions," you say, and honest to god, you really want to know.
---
Paychecks get in late sometimes, it's the nature of the job. It doesn't worry you, until you see Tom pull Lorelai aside, and how it's quiet.
"You have $10,000 to loan?" Lorelai says, torn, and you can't be sure she'd take it ("No, it's too much -- we can't -- we're supposed to be paying you --"), but what do you have to answer for, really? It's a refund of past dreams? An account for a future stretched out wide and blank? You have the money, you just do.
You don't tell her it's for Sookie's kitchen, and the doomed cake, all of that. You tell her what she knows to be true.
"You guys are building this thing. It has to happen."
---
The walls go up on the outside of the inn. Sookie and Lorelai and Michel, they're all there when it happens. You never doubted that any of them would stop coming, or criticizing. You've come to expect -- and give credit.
"That is on backwards," Michel says bluntly, indicating a slat.
"You sure about that?" Vick asks, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Yes, you see. At the age of three and a half I'd mastered the difference between front and back." Michel lets out a sigh of disgust. "Where is Roy?"
"You mean your boyfriend," Vick grumbles.
"Yeah, what of it?" you say, walking up slowly with the girls, and it's pretty priceless.
"Roy, you made a joke!" Lorelai says, like it's something new, but for you it's an old and worn feeling, maybe not so bad to return to.
---
It's a celebration of a kind the next day, when you bite into the best chocolate chip cookie you've ever tasted. Lorelai laughs that there's more where that came from if you play your cards right ("his plywood right? No, that's too dirty, even for me --"), and Sookie watches your face carefully, pleased. Only guy named Michel frowns.
"I feel side-handles emerging by simply standing here," Michel states. Lorelai rolls her eyes, and Sookie too, but her fingers are wrapped tight around her basket, and her face. Her face.
It's like all the times before, when you were the one saying the stupid things. And Pam will stand there, Sookie will stand there, saying nothing.
"Look," you say hotly, "I don't care if you're picking up my paycheck, or one-third of it, or however the hell you've divided it up. Don't be a prick to her."
Stomping off is dramatic and stupid, but it's what you do, then. You can feel them watching, their questions, but you don't want to look back. You just want to hammer in a fucking wall unit.
"So what was that all about?" Lorelai asks, crouching beside where you're working covered in grout and dust, and even though it's two days later, you know exactly what she means.
"I just don't like it when Michel's being a snotty old dunghole."
Lorelai's look is hard on you. "It's not just about Michel," she says. "I know Sookie, and she doesn't take it personally --"
"No, you don't," you can't help but say. "He just goes on, in his stupid French attitude, and you let him do it. You let him hurt her." And the remorse wells up again, not as much, but enough to make you feel sick.
Lorelai's rare silence furthers your uneasiness. "There's always something we wish we could take back," she says finally.
"Yeah," you say. It's been a long time since you wished for anything.
---
You know her house by sight now, from every angle crossing town, but it's different sitting at her table, watching her bread rise sweet and even in the oven. It's harder, knowing what to want.
"Sookie --" you start to say. You falter a little, meeting her eye. "I thought that maybe when this is all over, the inn, if you'd like to go out -- like on a date?"
You feel stupid as soon as the question leaves your mouth, because this isn't some bar pick-up, this isn't Kenny's friend's cousin who doesn't expect anything from you. This isn't Pam either, making right from all you did otherwise.
This is Sookie, her hands covered in flour when she touches your arm. She laughs an apology, a yes. She tastes like everything you thought you never deserved.