Tolstoy, not Dostoyevsky
A/N: So, I cannot stop writing, it seems. This will be the last one for a couple days, really, it will. This story takes place directly before Snowflake Eyelashes. And I know I'm sounding like a broken record here, but... Review. You know you want to. And while I understand reviewing laziness (I suffer from it, too)...today just seems like a good day to review, doesn't it?
Oh, and shout out to my girls, if you even read my fanfic anymore. Mushrooms and feta cheese. And that whole eloping thing was inspired by my latest dream. You know what I'm talking about! Francais.
Anyway, all of you, my wonderful reviewing readers: Read on!
"Huntzberger."
"Hey, baby," his girlfriend's voice crooned.
"Rory?" he paused. Time seemed to freeze. In his hand was something that needed to be photocopied, in his head he was already composing an e-mail. But all of that was quickly drifting away. Something was…off.
"Did you know, Logan, that mushrooms are fungus?"
"Uh, yeah, Rory, I did."
"That's gross, isn't it? I had salad for breakfast today and it was fantastic, and then I saw a mushroom and I just thought about it for a minute. I was eating fungus."
"Yeah, I guess you were."
"I guess it's like feta cheese though, right? Grosses you out if you think about it too much."
"Can't say that feta cheese has ever grossed me out, Ace. Babe, where are you right now?"
"The infamous Gilmore house. Did you know that when I was little, my mom used to tell me this stupid, nonsensical story about a cow herderess before we'd go inside so that I wouldn't be scared? It took me so long to figure out that the stalling was for her benefit, not mine. I never really understood the story. Cow herderesses don't exist."
"So you're at your Grandma's?" he asked gently, ignoring the rest of her rant.
"Kids believe the stupidest stuff. Is everyone that gullible, in the beginning? What would happen if we all stayed that way?"
"Mark of a true journalist: always asking questions. Listen, Rory, just stay with me for a sec. You're at your Grandma's right now?"
"Indeed."
"Okay. It's not Friday. Are you…just visiting?" Another thought occurred to him. "Did you and Lorelai have a fight?"
"Me and mom? Nah-o! We are great. We are superb. Mom and I are like…so cool."
"So is Lorelai there with you?" She was drunk, he had realized finally. Fully and totally trashed. He adored her when she was tipsy; she was more daring and he loved their banter and how easy it was to tease her. But he'd never seen (or heard) her when she was truly drunk before.
"No, Mom's in the hospital."
His heart stopped for the briefest of seconds. If something happened to Lorelai… It was the most ominous half-sentence he could think of. Rory would never fully recover from her mother's death, he knew it already. Sometimes, when he was at home and she was snuggled into his side at night, looking adorable and innocent, he would think about their future. On those nights, when he got past the proposal, the wedding, the honeymoon, and the kids, he would think about all the inevitable events that would happen later on. The changes that could occur in their careers. The fights they'd inevitably have with their teenaged kids. And most terrifying of all, the deaths of those they loved. Because when Lorelai was gone…he didn't want to think about what would happen to Rory. He hated to think about it. When he got to that point, he'd banish all his thoughts and go to sleep.
"Babe, what's happening with Lorelai?"
"Nothing." She sounded confused.
"You just said she was in the hospital, Ace."
"Yeah, but nothing's happening with her."
Rory was not going to be of much help to him, he realized. "Ace, I love you," he said, hoping to provide some sort of comfort. They were just words. He wanted to be able to hold her. "Is Emily there? Can I talk to her?"
"Nope."
"No, she's not there or no, I can't talk to her?"
"Not here. She's with Mom. I decided to rebel. Stay behind. Do you think I missed out on something in life by not rebelling as a teenager?"
"No, because I'm sure you're far happier now than all the rebels. When do you think Emily'll get home?"
"Later. Much later. I think. Who knows? More importantly- who cares?"
"Ace, do you think my mom or my sister would know when Emily'll get back?"
"Probably not. Your sister's name is so pretty. Most Rory's are boys, did you know that? I've never heard of another girl called Rory."
"Your name's beautiful. Listen, babe, I'm going to book a flight, okay?" He was glad, for once in his life, for having spent all those hours with a very drunk Finn. He had a vague grasp of how to get an extremely drunk person to listen to you. "I'm going to book a flight, fly over the Atlantic, and be with you."
Apparently, he had not honed his skills quite enough. "What was that thing that Dostoyevsky said? About families. Unhappy families get to have original characteristics, or something. If you're totally happy, then you're all like freaking clones."
His heart ached. "That was Tolstoy, honey," he said gently. He couldn't remember ever calling her 'honey' before. He wanted to be there so badly. He cursed his father and his job and the ocean and the Concord for not being accessible to him at that exact moment. "Rory…" he murmured sadly.
"Babe, why do you sound so sad? Don't worry. I don't want to be a clone. I've read enough Vonnegut in my day to know, very well, that being a clone would totally suck. You know how everybody's always talking about my eyes? If the world went all Harrison Bergeron, I'd have to wear a mask or colour contacts or whatever."
He chuckled humourlessly and blinked rapidly. "Yeah, I guess you would."
"Maybe I should read that Tolstoy book. That's The Bell Jar, right?"
"God, Rory…no. The book you're thinking of is Anna Karenina. Are you in Richard's study?"
"Yeah. Is it a big book? Because they're all big books."
"It's a pretty big book," he said simply, because he didn't know what else to do.
"On the big scale, they're all pretty."
She was making no sense and he hated it. "Rory…try and remember to tell Emily to call me, okay?"
"I will, I totally will!" She was hyper all of a sudden.
"I love you, Ace," he sighed.
"I love you, too! That's why I called you. You should come back to New Haven. Or I could come to London! Yeah! Then we can elope in Paris. Or Rome. We could go anywhere, you know? How about…Antarctica? I bet no one's ever gone to Antarctica to get married before."
"Take care of yourself, babe," he said quietly before setting the phone down gently. He booked a flight. He paced around his apartment. He didn't answer the phone when Nick called, but did call Phillip to see if he knew anyone with a helicopter he could get a hold of. He drummed his fingers on the counter. He made coffee, but didn't drink it. He tried calling Emily at the DAR. Finally, he fell into a restless sleep.
When his phone rang, he sat bolt upright and grabbed the phone. "Hello?" he asked desperately.
"Get her out of here, Logan," a tearful, tense voice said firmly.