disclaimer: alas, gilmore girls is not mine. if it were, it'd be in its, like, fifteenth season by now. and life would be good.
a/n: just note three things: one, that rory and logan never made up after 6x17 Bridesmaids Revisited (ie logan never came to her apartment to beg for forgiveness); two, that this takes place a few weeks after 6x18 [the Real Paul Anka] where Rory kisses Jess, except, in this story, they slept together, instead; three, logan never fell off that cliff in chile and had to be hospitalized. and now that you have all that background info, without further ado to you, i present ...
daddy
chapter one: living on the edge
...daddy...
Rory had never been an impulsive sort of girl.
Everything in her life had been carefully calculated, precisely planned, and thoroughly thought out. And even then, she had always proceeded with caution into even the most harmless of situations. If there was one thing that she'd learned in her twenty-one years, it was that living on the edge was not, actually, as fun as it was made out to be – and she had certainly experienced enough of this living on the edge, so to speak, to last her a lifetime.
First and foremost had been her mother. Not that Rory didn't love her, she did, by all means, but where Rory had been careful and cautious, always the picture of innocence in her modest clothes and pristine schoolgirl shoes, Lorelei had been the epitome of impulsiveness – rash, bold, daring, irrational. Passionate, Lorelei had always called it, though Rory had another name for it (reckless). But they had balanced each other out in that odd sort of way that mother-and-daughter usually did, although the roles were certainly reversed.
Next had been Tristan. Their relationship was short-lived, hardly a relationship at all, actually. He had been bold, daring, immature. He had just been Tristan. The boy she was sort-of attracted to, who kind-of-really made her confused. He was the boy she had kissed on a whim. He was the boy whose kiss had made her so confused she'd burst out crying afterwards. But then, he'd always been a bit too far off the edge for the Rory (he had, after all, been sent to military school).
Then there had been Jess. Jess was wild, passionate, reckless, just like her mother – and just like she had with her mother, Rory had always felt as though she and Jess balanced each other out (in that odd sort of way that they had). He wasn't Dean – careful, prudent, reliable, safe. She and Dean were too alike, too similar. Jess was something different, something new. And he, like Tristan, had always been a bit too far off the edge for her – hell, he was completely off the edge, fallen over the side of the cliff – and yet she had always found a strange sort of attraction pulling her to him, tugging them closer.
But living on the edge hadn't stopped there.
Oh, no. Then Logan had entered the picture. Logan, with his devilishly good looks and crazy beautiful blue eyes. He even had a nickname for her: Ace. Logan, the playboy, who she thought she'd turned around, but had really turned out to be a playboy all along. She loved him like nuts, like no tomorrow. He was reckless and crazy and pretty much the definition of living on the edge. He'd gotten her to jump with the Life and Death Brigade, the only thing separating her from life and death a slim harness; he'd gotten her to commit to a no-strings relationship (until, of course, she'd caved and gone back to her old ways, but that was besides the point); he'd gotten her to do things she never would've dreamed of doing. He embodied the perfect definition of a bad boy – a bad boy with a trust fund, that was; he was exactly her kind of guy.
And exactly the kind of boy to let her down.
Because it was all his fault; he had broken her heart, ripped it in two, stomped on it, crushed it, until it was nothing more than a million tiny, fragmented pieces. It was all his fault. All his fault that she was standing here, in this dirty gas station bathroom, staring at a little stick that she'd waited five minutes for, only to see a horrendously disastrous little pink plus sign staring back at her.
He'd led her to this. To this horrible bathroom, to this horrible little stick, to this horrible little pink plus sign. It was all his fault.
And he wasn't even the father.
"Fuck you, Logan Huntzburger. Fuck. You." The words spewed off of her lips like fire, but the only one listening was the wall – and she wasn't even sure that the wall was listening. It was dirty and grimy and ugly and exactly the kind of wall that wouldn't listen when she needed it to and oh, shit, now she was characterizing a wall.
"I think I'm going crazy."
And now, apparently, she was talking to herself.
Maybe she needed to start taking anti-psychotics.
Stuffing the pregnancy test and the box that came with it into her purse, she grabbed the key on the giant key ring that bathroom stations always seemed to give and made her way out of the bathroom. To her horror, she saw that a small line had gathered outside. Cheeks flushing in embarrassment, she quickly handed the key to the next person in line and hurried towards her car.
Oh, God.
She hadn't known that people actually used gas station bathrooms – that was why she had decided to take the dumb test in the gas station bathroom, after all. Paris would see the test back at the apartment, the nosy friend that she was, and the gas station had been closest to the pharmacy where she'd bought the stupid test and, besides, she had figured, if no one used gas station bathrooms, then she could certainly spend five minutes in there taking a teensy, tiny little pregnancy test.
Except, of course, she'd been wrong.
Because a person couldn't, apparently, spend five minutes in a gas station bathroom taking a pregnancy test. No matter how mentally psychotic said person might or might not be.
Sighing to herself, Rory pushed her key into the ignition and pulled clumsily out of the parking spot before shifting into drive and heading out onto the road. Her hands were nearly shaking on the wheel, eyes darting everywhere, mind a whirlwind of thoughts, and it was a miracle she was able to make it back to the apartment at all, let alone with all of her body parts intact.
The climb up to the third floor had never seemed so long and the many locks on the door had never seemed so complicated. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and forget that any of this had ever happened and –
"Rory!" The door was yanked open by a frantic-looking Paris before Rory was able to finish unlocking all of the locks herself. She stared, wide-eyed, at the panicking girl in front of her. "Where have you been? Do you have some secret boyfriend you're not telling me about? I thought we were best friends! You can't just have a secret boyfriend and not tell me! Or, God, did I miss the guest lecture? Was that today? Oh, shit! Why did you go without me? Why didn't you tell me?"
Rory was going to throw up.
Literally.
"Excuse me," she managed to get out and, covering her mouth, she sprang past Paris, dropping her purse in all its contents in her mad dash for the bathroom. As she leaned over the toilet, hurling, disgusting things coming out of her mouth that she hadn't even known had been in there, she heard a scream from the other room.
And more retching.
"RORY!"
Paris stomped into the bathroom just as Rory finished her puke-fest. Leaning her head up slowly and dabbing the sides of her mouth with the cheap, itchy toilet paper that they stocked in the bathroom, she glanced up at Paris.
"What – oh." Her eyes widened as they took in the little stick – that cursed, wretched little stick – that Paris was holding. "I can explain, I –"
Paris, being Paris, did not let her finish. "Why didn't you tell me? Best friends are supposed to tell each other these sorts of things, Rory! This relationship has to work both ways, you know!" Rory was not sure when or even if she had ever became best friends with Paris, but decided to let the words slide. There were more pressing matters at hand right now.
Like that stupid stick in Paris' hand.
"I was going to tell you," Rory half-lied, "I only just found out less than an hour ago." The last part was true. The first part was only sort-of-true. She figured that she would've told Paris eventually, but, if truth were to be told, the blonde over-achieving, over-worrying girl was probably not the first one she would have told had there been, say, a choice in the matter.
"And more importantly," Paris continued her tirade, "Who's the father? I hope it's not Logan – that would be totally unethical, Rory! The two of you just broke up a few weeks ago! I hope you don't think that you can just waltz over there and expect him to take responsibility for the growing baby inside of you because he's probably got another ten girls hopping all over the place right now, in addition to an entire wedding party, and – "
"IT'S NOT LOGAN!" Rory cried out, finally cutting Paris off, and imagining that Logan probably did indeed have an entire wedding party plus ten other girls over at the moment. It certainly wouldn't be the first time, at any rate.
Not that Rory was in any position to really judge on this whole sleeping around thing.
But still.
"Then who is it? Dean? God, I hope not. He was totally bland. A one night stand? I hope he was at least hot so that your kid will be good looking." When Rory didn't say anything, Paris continued, "Well, who is it? Who's the dad? I don't have all day here, Rory."
She couldn't do it.
She couldn't say it.
She was going to be sick again.
"Jess," she blurted out, before her mind could stop the word that now lingered heavily in the air between them, like a dead weight. Apparently, she could say it.
"Jess? Jess?" Paris was incredulous. "Oh my God, Rory, when did this happen?"
She bit her lip, her hand subconsciously falling down to rest over her abdomen. "A few weeks ago. Remember when I went to visit Jess up at his signing in Philadelphia?"
Paris paused for a moment. And then, suddenly, she was practically shouting. "Wait, wait, WAIT! I thought the two of you had only kissed!"
Rory ran a hand through her hair. This was so not going smoothly. "Right. Well. About that. I guess I under-exaggerated a little bit. It doesn't matter, anyways, because the morning after, I told him that it was a mistake."
"And?" Paris prompted.
"And nothing. That was it. I left right afterwards."
"He didn't say anything back?" Paris sounded like she was on the verge of exploding, probably at whatever was nearest to her which, at this moment, was Rory, so if she could just delay the explosion for a couple of minutes, at least, and make a break for the bathroom, then everything might actually be okay – well, decent, at least.
"Well ..."
"Did he? Did he?"
Rory sighed. "No."
And here came the explosion.
"No? NO? Why the hell not?" Paris fumed, "I'm gonna kick that no-good son of a bitch – and you!" she exclaimed, turning on Rory, "What is wrong with you? You don't just sleep with a person and then tell them it's a mistake! God, who does that?"
Maybe she should kept quiet. Maybe she should just not have open her mouth at all. But her mouth, which seemed to have a mind of its own, apparently, decided to speak anyways, regardless of all the warning signals her brain was currently sending it.
"Me?" It came out sort of like a question, and Paris nearly flew off the handle hearing the one-word response-question-whatever-it-was.
"You? You? YOU? No, Rory, NO! You're sensible, Rory! You're not the person who just goes around and sleeps with people by accident! I know you, Rory, and I know that it wasn't a mistake, no matter what you told the bastard!"
Rory squeezed her eyes shut. "I can't deal with this right now, Paris, okay? I just can't!" She turned on her heel and ran into her bedroom, slamming the door shut and locking it securely. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she slid down against the side of the door and placed her head in her hands.
Paris was right.
Rory was sensible. She didn't like living on the edge. She didn't go around sleeping with people if she didn't mean it. She'd wanted to sleep with Jess.
Maybe she even still loved him.
No. No. She wasn't going to give into Paris' reasoning. It wasn't true; it wasn't. There was one reason she'd slept with Jess, and one reason only: Logan Huntzburger. She'd been upset. Crazy and upset and irrational. Logan had pushed her over the edge and she'd landed on top of Jess, who'd already fallen over the edge long ago.
"Rory?"
Paris' voice was soft, coming through the cracks of the door. Rory pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly as more tears leaked out. She couldn't do this. She couldn't. She just couldn't.
"Rory? Please, I'm sorry. Let me in."
Wiping her eyes, Rory stood up slowly and turned around, unlocking the door and opening it as slowly as she possibly could.
"It's fine, Paris," she whispered.
Except, of course, it wasn't.
Because she was pregnant.
And it would never be fine again.
Paris brushed past her into the room. "No, it's not, Rory, and you know it. Now, we need to get down to business." Typical Paris. All apologetic and sincere one moment, and then all calculating and business-y the next.
"Um." Coherent words seemed to be escaping her at the moment.
"We're going to have to move, first of all. You can't raise a baby in a place like this. There's some nicer apartments over on the other side of town – they cost more, of course, but if we both pick up jobs I think we could swing it. Then, of course, you'll have to take a temporary leave of absence from school once the due date gets closer, but I'm sure we could arrange a way for you to work from home. And then – "
Oh, God. This was too much. And where was this we coming from? "Paris, stop!"
Paris glanced up, startled at Rory's outburst.
"It's too much. It's too much to think about – I can't – I'm not –" Rory took a deep breath, "I don't even know if I'm going to have the baby."
Silence.
Dead silence.
And then, "RORY GILMORE, YOU TAKE THAT BACK!"
"Paris, I'm sorry, but it's just that –"
Paris shook her head, fuming. Rory would've sworn, later, that steam had been coming out of Paris' ears. And probably her nose, too. Hell, she was practically spitting fire. "Don't 'but' me, Rory Gilmore. There is a child inside of you. A child. A kid. An innocent little kid. And you're going to kill him or her just because you're scared of being a parent."
"Paris, please, don't say that – don't put it that way – I –"
Paris cut her off again, all emotion suddenly gone from her face. Her eyes bored right into Rory, staring at her soul. "What would Lorelei say? What would your mom say?"
Oh, God. Oh, no, no, no.
She couldn't pull that card. She couldn't. It was totally and completely, one-hundred-percent unfair. Rory felt a jab, a sharp, searing pain inside of her somewhere. Not fair.
When Rory didn't answer, her eyes, instead, welling up with tears, Paris continued, her voice stoic, calm, cool, collected. "That child, inside of you, is just as real as you are. Your mother kept you, Rory. You were once just a tiny little egg, like your child is now. And look at you – you're at Yale, you're going to make a difference in the world. You have already made a difference in the lives of so many people, Rory. I have no idea where I would be right now if it weren't for you. Just think of the little child inside of you, Rory. Think of how she or he is going to grow up. How that child is going to mean so, so much to so many people; how that child is going to change the world in their own way. You don't understand how many people you will be taking away from if you kill that child. Most importantly, Rory, you will be taking some little girl or some little boy's life away from them."
Oh, God.
It was like a freaking soap opera.
Crying out, Rory sank down against the wall, clutching her head in her hands, clawing desperately at her hair as if it would somehow fix everything.
"Oh Rory ..." Paris walked over and began to stroke her back as the tears spilled out. "It's going to be fine. Everything will okay." Rory had never seen Paris be compassionate before. It struck her as odd and she almost – but only almost – wanted to laugh. "You're going to have this baby. We'll figure out what to do." There was that we again. "It's going to turn out alright."
No, it's not, she wanted to say, but her lips couldn't seem to form the words.
Finally, once all of her tears had been exhausted, she glanced up at Paris. "Paris, what to I do?" She felt so small in that moment, like a tiny dot, a tiny speck, in the giant universe. Like she didn't even exist.
"You have to tell Jess first."
"No." It wasn't an option. She couldn't tell him. Not after she had told him it was a mistake and walked out before he could say anything. Not after she had driven off in her car even though she saw him running towards her. Not after she had continuously ignored his calls, day after day after day. And especially not after she had shut the door in his face when he'd shown up on tuesday last week, knocking and knocking and knocking on her apartment door. "I can't. I'm not. And you can't either, Paris."
Paris looked as if she were about to argue, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to say what was on her mind. Finally, she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Fine. I won't tell him." Silence. "But it's wrong Rory. It's wrong not to tell him."
"It's better this way," Rory insisted, "I don't want to screw up his life, too."
Paris shook her head. "You wouldn't, and you know it. I'm not going to fight you on this – but you do have to tell your mom, you know."
"I know."
"You should tell her soon."
"I will."
Paris looked at her, scrutinizing her, eyes boring deep into her once again. "When?" she finally asked, a small, yet powerful, word that rested heavily between the two of them.
"Just … just soon." It was quiet for a few moments, until Rory spoke again. "I'm going to sleep, now."
"It's three in the afternoon."
Rory stood up, looking straight at Paris, "I know."
...daddy...
It was two in the morning when she woke up, drenched in a cold sweat. Her heart was filled with dread, panic, a type of urgency that she couldn't comprehend. All she knew was that she needed to leave and she needed to leave now.
Head spinning, mind whirling, she pulled out a duffel bag and began to throw things inside. It only took her about twenty minutes to get all of her belongings – the really important ones, at least – packed up and in the bag. She zipped it quickly and left her room, pausing in the kitchen. All of the lights were off, complete darkness dominating the room.
Grabbing a pen that lay on the counter and ripping a sheet of paper out of one of Paris' many notebooks that were lying around, Rory began scribbling a note.
Paris, she wrote, I have to leave.
She stopped writing for a moment, trying to gather the thoughts in her head before continuing.
You have been a great friend, through everything crazy that's happened to me. I can't explain why I have to leave, only that there is this strange urgency inside me. Something is telling me to leave, something is making me and I just - I can't fight it.
I'm dropping out of Yale.
This time, for good. I'll mail in the official resignation later this week, once I find someplace to stay.
I promise I'll keep the baby.
And I promise I'll tell my mom. I'll stop by tonight and tell her. I'll call you in the morning. Don't call me. Well, you probably will call me first anyways, so I guess it doesn't really matter, but still.
Take care,
Rory
Dropping the note and the pen on the counter, she quickly left the apartment; she didn't stop and look around one last time, knowing that she wouldn't be able to handle it. She made it to her car in one piece, though she'd certainly been worried about being outside at this time of night in this sort of neighborhood.
She would have to find someplace safer, that was for sure.
The drive to Stars Hollow was shorter than she remembered. Her legs were trembling like jelly as she climbed the porch steps to the door. Her mom would probably be asleep, she knew, but she had to do this now, before her rational mind would take over once more and talk her out of it.
She unlocked the door with the key that she always kept with her, the one she'd had since middle school. It was tie-dye, because the key place could do that kind of stuff, and she remembered, at the time she'd gotten it, that she'd thought it was the coolest key in the world.
Now, it was just another reminder of the life she was about to leave behind.
Her mom was awake when she entered the house, clad in a bathrobe and pajamas and holding tightly to a raised frying pan, ready to strike. "Rory?" she asked, lowering the frying pan, "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing with a frying pan?"
She would stall for as long as she could.
"I thought you were a burglar."
"And your bright plan was a frying pan?"
"Hey," Lorelei defended, pointing to the frying pan, "These babies can do a lot of damage. All I have to do is slam it over someone's head and – Rory, what's wrong?"
Rory had stopped listening at the word babies, frozen, a few tears falling down her cheeks.
"I'm pregnant," she blurted out, the words rushing out and mushing together. She felt relief ... and fear. But at least she'd told her and that was, really, what was most important to her right now.
Lorelei froze. "You're … ?" she trailed off, unable to say the word, her face a stunned mask of shock. "How?"
Rory smiled lightly. "You of all people should know, mom."
Lorelei didn't even laugh at her jab, instead frozen in place, unable to say anything.
"Mom?"
"I – Rory – you can't be – it's not – you're Rory –"
Rory shook her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm so sorry. Look, I – I have to go. I'm leaving. I'm dropping out of Yale. I'm sorry."
"No! Don't do this Rory! You can stay here and commute to Yale – you can – you can –"
Rory shook her head. "I can't. I'll call you." She didn't wait or say anything else, instead turning on her heel as she left the room and fled the house. She was climbing into the car when Lorelei came running out.
"Wait!" she was calling, "Rory, wait!"
But Rory didn't wait.
The car revved as she pulled it out of the driveway and onto the road, tears blurring her vision, sobs constricting her chest.
And she was gone.
...daddy...
a/n: review, please? i'll take any feedback you have! and thanks for reading, everyone who did – it totally means the world to me, even if you don't leave a review (but reviews, you know, mean, like, five worlds to me, so … yea).
see you later, alligators,
baylee