Disclaimer: Nothing's mine.

A/N : Here we go with sequel - game on :)

* To anyone who hasn't read the previous two parts of this story - 'Adverse Events' and 'Adverse Events Continued' - this is AU Lit where Jess and Rory are doctors. If you're interested in AU Lit in a hospital setting - give these stories a shot, links for the 1st and 2nd part are in my profile :)

First chapter includes references to Daughter's songs 'The End' and 'Medicine' - because your feedback and creative discussion takes a huge part in writing this story :)

Hope you enjoy another roller-coaster ride of this story, starting now :)


Wake up... wake up... wake up.

Rory Gilmore opened her eyes and took a deeper breath, expanding her chest. The warm body beside her moved too.

The black Labrador nuzzled her neck and his wet nose left a warm trail over her cheek.

Rory made an effort to get her numb limbs to move, hardly taking the bed covers off as she sat into the bed. Her head felt heavy. Stuffed. Like some thick haze had fogged her brain, making it hard for her thoughts to communicate. Her mind was working on short glimpses of awareness lately, unable to concentrate, drifting from one moment to another on autopilot. She kind of got used to it.

Cerberus jumped off the bed and padded away. Not long after he returned with her slippers into his muzzle and dropped them at the side of the bed, right before her feet.

She stood sitting at the edge of the bed, looking down at the floor where her slippers stood. The floor seemed to get further away, reminding her of dark muddy waters. An uneasy feeling stirred in her chest. Then she felt Cerberus' muzzle over her bare sole nuzzling, pushing. He woofed once, looking up at her expectantly. Rory blinked, wishing the grogginess away.

There was a thumping sound coming from the front door. Then Tristan Dugray's voice.

'Morning, Rory.' A pause. Then, more tentatively. 'I brought you breakfast. Paris and Helen say hi, they are gonna pass by after work, bring you dinner.' A longer pause. 'Paris says you have to turn your phone on, it's getting harder and harder to keep your mother from intervening. She told Paris that if she doesn't hear from you until this weekend she's coming over. Paris said she sounded creepily determined...'

This pause stretched on longer. When Tristan spoke again, his voice sounded less cheery and more resigned.

'I'm gonna drive Aiden to school and then head to work... I'll come back tomorrow morning okay?'

In a while the awareness of his presence died away along with his departing steps.

Outside the city was up and alive, a mid-September sun rising higher in a cloudless sky. Light was streaming through the bedroom windows, giving the room an ephemeral glow. Dust particles floated in the sunlight before her eyes, dispersing at each exhale.

She'd been distracted. Withdrawn. That's what the Chief said when he requested she took a few days off. Days turned into weeks and she stopped counting. Without the constant need to concentrate over work now she reeled through her days, her mind lacking purpose. The numbness dulled all emotion. All that was left was weariness.

She looked at the floor again. Where her slippers were. They seemed so far away. She lay back into the bed, covering herself with the duvet overhead.

On her night table there were her keys, her turned off mobile and an unopened bottle of antidepressant. And a letter, its edges dog-eared from being read too many times. It was an informative letter that had St Mary's Neurosurgery logo over it, saying Mr Jess Mariano who had been admitted into their brain surgery ward had requested she was informed he'd gone through surgery and made it alive. The letter said Mr Mariano was still unconscious at the time the letter was sent but had specifically asked that she'd know the result as soon as the surgery was over. It also said that Mr Mariano's recovery period would probably take a couple of weeks and did she wish to visit him she could contact them back and enlist for their visiting hours. She didn't go to visit. Didn't have it in her to call back either. Instead, she turned off her phone. Somehow, after the initial relief, along came an overwhelming numbness. The Chief was right, she had become withdrawn. She had been too invested anyway. In her patients. In her friends. In life in general. Being too invested hurt too much. She shut her phone, shut her door and she shut her mind. And spent her days gliding over the surface of awareness. She needed to rest. She was so tired. God, she was so damn tired.


Rory opened her eyes. The afternoon sun shone low over the horizon, warming her skin. The black Labrador rose from the foot of the bed and leaned over her, licking the back of her hand. He was probably hungry. Rory closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the autumn sun and the furry head against her skin. Then opened them and sat into the bed, taking the covers away.

She got off the bed and slipped on her slippers, heading towards the bathroom with Cerberus at her heel. When she returned into the bedroom, she had jeans and a loose tee on. She stopped before her night table, looking at its contents.

Pick it up, pick it all up. And start again.

She took the letter that bore St Mary's Hospital logo on and gave it a last look before she tore it in half and dropped into the trash bin next to the window. Then she took her keys that were lying on the night table next to the unopened bottle of antidepressant and said,

'Come on, Cerberus, we're done here.'

She threw a sideways glance out through the window where a day was rolling off but wasn't over yet.

'We're going out.'


TBC