Two Twenty-Nine
A/N: Alright, so, this is the first fic I've actually decided to publish. Review. Pretty please.
She's asleep when he gets home.
He leaves the door open when he enters the room, letting the light from the hall filter in so that he won't bump into anything and wake her up.
As he takes off his tie, he pauses, glancing over at her.
She's curled away from him on 'her' side of the bed; face nearly buried into her pillow, blankets tangled around her legs.
She's beautiful.
He can't remember the last time she let him touch her. He can't remember the last time he came home to see her curled up on the couch, waiting for him. He can't remember when this…space was created between them.
They've fallen into a routine. She gets up early in the morning, disappearing before he can fully wake up, never mind kiss her goodbye. He gets home late, an hour or two after she's fallen asleep in bed. Half of the time, he comes home to see a book resting next to her, her index finger still tucked inside of it, holding her place.
On that same hand are her rings. Her engagement ring cost more than a round-trip plane ticket to London. The delicate diamond was prominent, and at the same time, understated. He thinks of the tears that sparkled in her eyes the night he gave it to her. He remembers the happy tears that slid down her cheeks, getting caught by her lips. He can still taste the saltiness of her kisses after that.
He wonders if he can make her cry tears like that, now. Happy tears in shimmering eyes.
He sits down on the other side of the bed, carefully untangling the sheets and gently covering her again. For the first time, he notices the tearstains on her cheeks, the circles under her eyes, and he thinks: that's my fault.
He touches her cheek, the lightest of grazes. Her eyelashes flutter and he holds his breath as her eyes open. He doesn't know why and he doesn't know how, but those eyes still take his breath away.
She doesn't move, simply stares at him, their eyes locked.
"Hey," he whispers finally.
"Hi," she whispers back, breaking eye contact.
"You okay?"
She nods, still not meeting his eyes. "Lucas is better; I think his earache's gone. He went to sleep right away."
"Good," he says softly. "He wasn't sleeping at all."
She nods again, a small smile tugging at her mouth. "Those are Mom's genes. My fault."
He looks at her for a second before saying, "No. Not your fault."
She meets his eyes again, finally, and he sees pain in them- a combination of anger, fear, and sadness. "I don't know what's happening here," she admits, her voice smaller than he's ever heard it before.
"Rory, I-" he stops, because he doesn't know what he thinks anymore. He doesn't know what's happening, either.
Lucas picks the moment to let out a high-pitched wail. Rory winces before getting up.
"I've got him," he insists, but she shakes her head.
"Logan, it's fine," she says, pushing past him and heading for their son's room.
He follows her, watching as she picks the two-year-old up, cuddling him and whispering soothingly.
"I know you wanted a girl," he says as he watches her.
She turns to him, exasperated. "Logan, that's ridiculous. That's not why, that's not…" she sniffs, eyes filling with tears that she's desperately trying to blink back. "I don't…know you anymore. And if I don't know you anymore, how can I…love you anymore?" she whispers the end of her question, turning her attention to the crying toddler.
Her words, even though they're basically what he's expecting, come as a surprise, a surprise that makes his heart ache impossibly. "Rory…I love you. You know that. Just because we're not…"
"We're not connecting, Logan," she says. "I don't know if I can do this anymore. I don't know if I can put Lucas through this anymore."
"Ace…" he says quietly, his voice more vulnerable than she's ever heard it before. "Don't do this. Talk to me."
"Logan…you went to London."
He stays quiet as she sits down in the rocking chair. It was her baby shower gift from her grandmother, and she loves it. As she sits, she runs her fingers through Lucas' messy head of hair. Lucas may have his father's hair, nose, mouth, and jaw, but he has his mother's eyes. Logan remembers the first time he saw those eyes, flashes of vibrant blue.
He remembers the first time he held his son. He remembers the weary smile on Rory's face as he kissed her forehead. He remembers it all.
"Which time?" he asks finally, desperate to lighten the moment.
He tries to pinpoint when all of this first happened. Was it after Lucas was born? Did Rory have postpartum depression or something? But that's him being desperate again. He knows that she didn't. He knows, remembers, thinks of the smiles of pure joy she wore whenever she looked at their baby.
"Last time," comes her quiet answer. "Lucas wasn't even six months old, Logan. And you were gone for so long."
"Ace, I've told you, I hated doing that. I hated leaving. But I had to."
A tear falls from her cheek onto Lucas', and the little boy looks up at her with wide eyes. "I…I've been trying to think about it. From the beginning of it all. I wondered…I wondered if all you've ever done is left me."
He realizes exactly how well he knows her in that moment, because he knows exactly what she's going to say next.
"Don't say it," he says firmly. "It's not. God, Rory, I'm…I'm so sorry. But it's not your turn to leave me. That's not how this works. I haven't been leaving you, Ace, I've…"
"How does it work, then?" she demands, her eyes fiery. Lucas tugs at her hair, frowning. She's scaring him. She kisses his cheek to soothe him before looking back up at her husband, waiting for his answer.
"I don't know, Ace," he says softly. "I don't know what's happening with you, here. Don't blame me for this, Rory. You never talk to me."
She scoffs. "Logan, if you know me well enough to predict my sentences, you know me well enough to realize how stupid that sounds. I'm not…good at that. I can't always…" she trails off.
"Rory, this was never going to be perfect. You knew that, I knew that, we knew that. You know that nothing's ever easy. I need you to try."
"I am. What the hell do you think I'm doing now?"
Was it when her grandfather died? he wonders. Had her grief caused this? But he's almost positive it's not that, either.
"I know, Ace. I hear you. I-"
She cuts him off, her tone tired but firm. "I'm not some nineteenth century wife. I'm not going to sit in this huge house by myself for the rest of my life, always waiting for you. I'm above that, Logan. I deserve better than that."
"I know that, Rory-"
She cuts in again. "I loved you, Logan. I was ready to do anything for you. I would have never gotten involved with your family otherwise. I'm tired, okay? I'm tired of your mother criticizing everything I do. I'm tired of your father shipping you off every few months. And I'm tired of you letting him! You're twenty-eight years old! Why does he have so much control over you?"
Lucas begins to wail.
"Rory, can we please talk about this without the baby in the room?"
"He's not a baby anymore!" she yells, getting up. "He's two! He's so big! And you've missed it! Almost all of it!"
She's standing there in front of him, her hair messy, eyes bloodshot, holding their kid, and it all flashes by in his mind.
The phone calls. So many of them. Her quiet voice asking, "When will you be home, babe?
He found out she was pregnant at 2:29 a.m. London time, her quiet voice ranting at him. She was only twenty-five, she wasn't ready, her career was barely starting, would she even be a good mother? "Rory, I love you," he'd said, and she'd calmed down and whispered, "Come home." After that, he went to Mitchum, and put his foot down. He was starting a family, he was going home. Nine months later, Lucas Elias Huntzberger was born. And shortly after, barely six months later, Mitchum had ordered him back to London. He remembers her bloodshot eyes, the tears running down her cheeks as he'd looked back at her at the airport.
"Are you scared?" he asks softly.
She's taken aback. "What?" She matches his tone.
"What are you scared of?" he asks, moving toward her.
"Logan, I'm not-"
"C'mon, Ace," he says, the words so familiar that they tug at her heartstrings. "Everyone's afraid of something. What are you afraid of?"
"Your mother," she shoots back.
He touches her cheek, and her eyes show her confusion. "You shouldn't be afraid of her. I'll
protect you."
"Will you?" she asks. Lucas' sobbing stops as Rory rubs circles on his back.
"What are you afraid of?" Logan asks again.
"I'm afraid of…I'm afraid to leave you," she admits. "Because I don't know if I am anyone without you anymore. I'm afraid of your dad sending you off again. I'm afraid…that you don't love me anymore, that I don't love you anymore. I'm afraid of Lucas becoming a statistic, another child of divorce. If not that, I'm scared that we'll end up shipping him off to boarding school because we let our work get ahead of our kid." Her lips tremble as she smiles slightly. "I'm afraid that Finn'll jump off a building when he's drunk."
His eyes are the saddest she's ever seen them. "Don't leave me," he says, part statement, part question. "I want us…to be how we used to be."
She shakes her head sadly. "That's the problem, Logan. I was twenty years old and full of dreams and…life when we met me. Everything's different now. We're married, we're trying to live adult lives…it's been seven years. We had a baby. Grandpa died. And though all of it, you just had to keep going to London."
"Rory, I know you won't live in London. You love it here, you love your job, and you can't be that far from your mom. I'm trying to provide for you, I'm trying to make you happy, I'm trying to make sure that Lucas goes to the best school possible, as long as it's in the city."
She puts Lucas down. He's sure she's moving in slow motion as he watches her take off her rings. Slowly, so slowly.
She places them in his hands. "I don't need this," she says forcefully. "I need you. If you can give me extravagant things, I don't want them. I want you to here, Logan."
"I am here, Ace,' he says, his voice sounding strange as he stares at the rings he's holding.
"You're here, but you're not. I'm sick of falling asleep in our bed all alone. I'm sick of not being able to see Lucas in the morning. I'm sick of always having to be here at night because you never are. I'm sick of falling asleep at night without you there. I'm sick of missing you. And if all you can offer me are those," she says, pointing to the rings, "then keep them."
He stays silent, trying to gather his thoughts. He has a headache.
"Do you remember the night you proposed to me?" she whispers.
He sorts through the jumble of words in his mind. "Of course."
"You were so nervous. I had never seen you nervous. You told me you loved me, that you couldn't be without me, you put that ring on my finger. And I wondered if we'd have a big house, and how many kids we'd have, and who was going to walk me down the aisle. It never occurred to me to wonder if you'd be there."
"It's all still true," he tells her. "I can't be without you, Ace."
"How would you know?" she asks. "You're never with me anymore."
"And it hurts," he tells her. "I miss you."
"Me or my body?" she inputs, and her soft smirk tells him that she's joking.
"You," he says, wrapping his arms around her waist, letting her bury her face in his neck.
"I'm scared that this isn't working," she says finally, answering his question fully and truthfully.
He laughs softly. "It's never fully worked for us, Ace. But I love you too much to let you go."
"I love you, too," she murmurs.
"Then why would you leave me?"
"Because I run," she confesses. "It's what I do."
"If I change you, will you change for me?"
"What does that mean?"
"If I stop going to London, will you stop running?"
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
She nods, eyes filling once again. "I'm sorry."
"Me too."
"Let's go to bed. I'm tired."
"Alright," he agrees, placing his hand on the small of her back to lead her out of the room. Lucas is sound asleep.
"Nothing else? No innuendo?" she asks, pretending to be shocked.
He gives her his trademark smirk and whispers in her ear, making her blush, and she pulls him out the door, down the hallway, and into their room.