His Second Best
AN: Wow, it's been a LONG time since I wrote anything Gilmore related or published anything under this pen-name, but my muse decided to make an appearance and this was the outcome. It's unlike anything I've ever written before so I apologize in advance if I messed up grammar wise (English is not my first language and it's been a while since I've written anything)
Summary: Odette wasn't blind or stupid, she knew where she stood with her soon to be husband, and more importantly she knew who stood in front of her; who would always stand in front of her. Rogan from a different pow.
*GG*
You no longer remember the first time you suspected there was another girl, maybe you suspected it from the get go, these American businessmen weren't exactly known for their commitment to anything except for their business. What you do remember is the first time you saw her face, the moment you realized that there was in fact a girl; a very specific girl, who, was not chosen at random or happened to be that month's secretary or the hot new intern. This girl was special, a constant, it was always her.
Rory. Ace. Reporter Girl. Love. Gilmore.
Over time you've learned that she has many names; most commonly Ace or Rory, at least where Logan is concerned. Up until the afternoon Finn and Colin had burst through the door, a stack of pictures in their hands, you hadn't given this Ace person much thought. That all changed though, and you can in many ways blame Finn and Colin for that. They were the ones who had given her a face and inadvertently let you know just who she was and how deeply rooted she was in their lives.
You know Logan wishes you hadn't been home that day. That you hadn't heard Finn's glee at finding an 'ancient' memory card in an equally ancient bag from their college days and proceeded to print out whatever forgotten pictures lay hidden on it. You had seen the panic on his face when he realized just when the pictures were from, but by then it was too late. The ball had already been set in motion. At first you were confused at his reaction; the pictures depicted nothing out of the ordinary, just a typical college party scene. One you had been a part of many times at your own school. It wasn't until the ball gowns and odd 1900s clothing appeared that you started to recognize one of the names they mentioned repeatedly.
Rory.
A brown haired, blue eyed girl, wearing a stunning gown who, for some reason, always had a notepad in her hand.
'She really was an ace reporter,' Colin had said, and you put two and two together within minutes. You had tried your hardest to mask your inner turmoil as you observed the fleet of emotions that washed across your fiancées face with each new picture, and you strongly suspected he would do just about anything to go back to the time when he had jumped off a scaffolding while holding onto her hand.
You never talk about the can of worms that day opened, and even though you're pretty sure he knows that you've got it all figured out, he never brings it up. Neither do you. You know it's for the best, not only for his sake, but for yours too. It didn't take you long to realize that you don't want to know the whole story, you don't need to. You already know you can't compete with her.
*GG*
He goes along with the plans your fathers set in motion, but you cannot for the life of you figure out why. He looks miserable whenever wedding plans are mentioned, and every time he tells you it's your decision you plaster on a fake smile and nod. You knew from the beginning that love had nothing to do with your marriage, but you still can't help but feel disappointed that he's not even trying to be involved or voice his opinion on anything.
Well, almost.
'Not blue' he told you. The color scheme could not be blue. You had frowned in confusion at the time, not understanding why, but now you do. You've seen her picture, her eyes. Impossibly blue eyes that you suspect he's gotten lost in on numerous occasions.
There will be no blue at your wedding.
*GG*
When his phone rings in the middle of the night you know it's her the second he picks up. His friends would get a tired groan and a stern 'this better be important', but not her.
'Ace?' he questions gently, and even you can hear the broken sob he gets in reply as it travels across the Atlantic Ocean and into his ear, making his whole body rigid. He's on high alert and so are you. Something's different about this call.
'What's wrong?' you hear him ask as he eases himself out of bed and walks away from you. Despite knowing his attention is elsewhere you keep your eyes closed and pretend to be asleep as you listen intently to his words.
'Oh god, Rory…' he breathes, and you can hear the sadness in his voice.
'Do you need me to come?'
Your eyes flutter open at the unexpected question and your heart beats loudly in your chest as you try to make sense of the situation.
'Are you sure? … No, I know … I hate that I can't hug you right now, Ace … I know … Lorelai's with you right? You're not alone? … Good … I'm so sorry, Ace. I know its lame, but I don't know what else to say. Are you sure you don't want me to come? … I could. Maybe not in a helicopter this time, but say the word and I'm there … Always, Rory. Don't even doubt that … Okey. Are you sure? … Alright. Call me, ok? If there's anything I can do to help or you want me to come. Call.'
He sounds so torn as he says his goodbye and you know he's already halfway to the airport in his mind, despite being told he doesn't have to come. He's already planning the trip should she change her mind, and as he crawls back into bed you realize that if you had been in Paris this week he wouldn't have asked if he should come, he would have simply left.
You turn around to face him and watch as he rubs his tired face with his palms, still unaware that that you're awake. When he notices he doesn't smile guiltily or make an effort to fabricate an excuse. He just looks tired and sad.
'I'm sorry I woke you' he says, and you can tell that he's being sincere. You like knowing that he does indeed care about your well being too.
'A friend of the family passed away, the grandfather of one of my friends from college. They were close, closer than I can even begin to understand. She's hurting pretty bad right now.'
You're not sure if he's aware that he's talking to you, that you're not supposed to know who this friend is, but in a way you're glad he's being honest for once. You can see the pain and sadness on his face, but you're unable to tell if it's his pain or if he's simply hurting because he knows that she is. Either way you know you can't do much to help; so you just touch his arm gently and whisper that you're sorry. It's enough. You know it's not your touch he's wanting, and strangely you're ok with that.
*GG*
You travel back and forth between London and Paris. He works long hours and your life is in Paris, he understands that you'd rather be there when he's not much company to you anyways. When you return to London it doesn't take you long to realize if she's been there or not. They don't make it obvious and you're thankful for that, but it doesn't change the fact that you can tell. It's the details that you've learned to read over time; the different kinds of cereal, the sudden stockpile of capsules for the coffee maker, the fresh sheets on the bed and a junk food drawer that keeps expanding. There are several clues, and when they all happen at the same time you know.
Sometimes it's bigger things; a forgotten hair tie you know does not belong to you, a lost earring, or the most telling of all, the old Yale t-shirt that promptly disappears after its been washed. You can always tell, but instead of feeling mad because of the betrayal you feel sad. You feel sad for all three of you, stuck in this messy situation that quite frankly belongs in a 19th century novel, not in modern day Europe. You know that you should be pissed off, but you're simply not.
*GG*
Things change after you move in. He takes a 'business trip' home to the states and when he returns something is different. You see it in his eyes, but can't find it in you to ask.
After that the business trips are few and far between, as are the late night phone calls. He looks broken and you're not sure how much longer you can take it. Nothing about this is right and you know it. You don't love him, but you care enough about him, and about yourself, to finally make the decision that should have been made months ago. Your father yells, but you know he'll get over it. For the first time in a long time you feel like you're doing something right.
He looks a little surprised when he sees you setting on the couch, your packed suitcases lined up, ready to be carried down to a cab, but before he has a chance to ask you stand up and walk towards him. You place a kiss on his cheek as you tuck his ring into his hand and tell him to go get her, all with a genuine smile on your face. It takes him a moment before he understands that you're being sincere, but when he gets it you feel strong arms wrap you in a hug as the words 'thank you' are whispered in your ear.
*GG*
Several months later you receive a letter from him. Enclosed with it is a picture of him holding a little blue eyed girl.
Lorelai Elisabeth Gilmore-Huntzberger is her name. Ellie for short.
You smile at the picture and show it to your boyfriend, more sure than ever that you made the right choice for everyone involved.
FIN.
AN: Phew! This is the first piece I've written in one go in years. It's very different from what I usually write, but I hope you liked it and feel an itch to hit that pretty review button.