NEWSROOM – A Rory/Paris Fanfic – Chapter 1
This story takes place several years after the show ended, and after Rory and Paris graduated from college. Paris is now married to Doyle, and has since left Harvard Medical School in order to be close to him, since he has taken a job with the Washington Post. Rory has returned to journalism and is now a TV reporter for a local station in Washington, D.C.
Rory Gilmore tossed and turned relentlessly in her bed, as the first rays of sunshine peaked through the curtains in her bedroom. Just as she was trying to turn over, the alarm clock buzzed, almost deafeningly. It was 7:00 A.M. on a Monday morning, a day that just happened to be a rare day off for her, since she was recovering from a lengthy illness. She leaned over and tapped the clock, just to try to get the buzzing to stop. No sooner than she did, her cell phone rang. She fumbled for it on her nightstand, then finally grasped it. "Hello?" she said, barely awake. "Rory, there's someone here at my desk, and she's been yelling at me for the past 5 minutes. She says she knows you, her name is…" No sooner than the receptionist could answer, a familiar voice beckoned. "Geller! Paris Eustace Geller! Where the hell is your news director?" yelled Paris in the background. "Janet, let me talk to her," said Rory. "Paris, what do you want?" she asked. "To be the next Diane Sawyer," she said, in her usual agitated manner. "Look, Mr. Brown's not there this morning, and besides you haven't even worked in TV. Why are you even applying?" asked Rory. "Because being a doctor won't get you an exclusive interview with the President," said Paris. "Admit it. You're doing this because you want to be closer to me, because you want to just forget about all the time you're not with Doyle. Besides, what do you know about broadcast journalism other than watching reruns of the Mary Tyler Moore show?"
"Okay, okay! Fine! Ever since Doyle started working for the Post, he comes home long after I fall asleep watching Charlie Rose. Living in this town is like living in a forest. You don't know your way around and you're lucky to find anyone who can help. Besides, I haven't seen you in three years, other than all the times I ran up Doyle's bill calling you late at night. So, yeah, that's why," said Paris, calmly. "That's fine, but I still don't get why you want to work in TV," said Rory. "I have something to prove. When I went to Harvard Medical School I felt like I was surrounded by a bunch of pointy-headed intellectuals who spoke medical jargon all the time. I missed the rush of hot lead, black ink and deadlines to meet; not that there was a lot of hot lead to begin with but, you know," Paris replied. "I miss you. I miss hanging out with you. So, if you see Mr. Brown, please tell him I'm waiting." Rory sighed. "Okay. He won't be back until tomorrow, but I will definitely talk to him then." "I am eternally in your debt," said Paris. "Thank you. Now kindly give the phone back to Janet. She doesn't like it when people hog the line." Paris handed the receiver back to Janet. "If you act like this every day, I don't know how we're going to pay the phone company around here," Janet said. "I think I know all about that," said Paris.
The next day, Rory arrived at her usual parking space at WADC-TV. As she turned off the ignition, she noticed Paris parked next to her, still sitting in her car. "How long have you been here?" Rory asked. "Since four." "Four in the morning?" "Yeah. I wanted to see what this operation was like, and one of the guards kindly let me in to see what makes this place tick," said Paris. "You must have really sweet-talked Cliff. He never lets anyone in after hours except staff." "I told them I was joining the staff today." Rory laughed. "You really want this job, don't you?" "Whatever it takes," Paris replied, with a smile. "So why are you out here?" asked Rory. "Because Biff told Cliff I didn't have an ID," Paris said. "Biff's Cliff's smarter twin brother, and he doesn't get here until 7. Seriously, you're going to wear out your welcome here unless I give you a formal introduction. Then again, they all probably know you by now. Come on, let's go." Paris and Rory walked into the building, as Biff sat by his desk. "Biff, forgive me if I haven't introduced my persistent friend, Paris Geller. I'm going to try to get her a job, unless she hasn't already said hi to the people at the transmitter by now," Rory said. "Good luck finding one. Mr. Brown knows all about your little adventure here, and I know he won't be pleased to see you," said Biff. "Well, he's been a softie before. Have a good day, Biff."
Rory accompanied Paris to her desk in the newsroom, which was somewhat quiet at this time of day, except for a few people, including the morning assignment editor, typing away at their computer terminals, and looking at TV monitors tuned to various news feeds. No sooner than Rory got to her desk, Charles Brown, the station's news director, arrived in the building. "Mr. Brown, good morning." "Good morning, Rory. Is this your little friend who wreaked havoc on our morning news?" Rory sighed, uncomfortably. "This is Paris Geller, she's my best friend from Yale, she worked with me on the Yale Daily News, and she really wants to work here." "We're not hiring at this time," harrumphed Mr. Brown. "She is very experienced, she's a great writer, she was my editor, she has a terrific work ethic—" Charles interrupted her once more. "Rory, I've got a meeting about the elections next week, can we talk about this later?" Paris suddenly got in Charles' way. "Mr. Brown, Charles, or Charlie, whoever you are, I'm sure you must have been teased a lot when you were a kid, because they must have called you Charlie. Do you know what it's like to be put down? Do you know what it's like to have someone tell you you can't do something? That's what all my friends tell me every day when I say I don't want to fool with a bunch of Ph.D's and surgeons. They say, 'oh Paris, you should be a doctor, you should fool around with scalpels and all the other tools to cut open people's bodies'. I have no desire to look at blood and guts, except of course when I hear about it on the news. Not that I'm sadistic or anything, but here's my point: I love journalism. I love the rush of deadlines. I love the people and all the chaos that goes with it. Now I may not know AP broadcast format, but I can learn. I can learn about editing, I can write my own copy. Rory can help me. I know it. All I ask is that you give me a chance. All I ask is that you give me a chance to do great work. I can't live without it, and I'll make damn sure you can't live without me. So please, is it a yes?" Charles paused, hesitated initially, and then sighed. "You start next Monday. Rory will help you write some copy and then you can write for our web site, but please…don't show up before then." Paris was ecstatic. She hugged Mr. Brown tightly, and then Rory. "Thank you! You will not regret this, Mr. Brown!" "Please call me Charlie. Besides, they didn't make fun of me about that in school." "Okay, Charlie." Paris turned to Rory and smiled. Her dream had finally been realized. The hard work was yet to come.
TO BE CONTINUED
DISCLAIMER: Gilmore Girls, and all related characters, were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino and Daniel Palladino, and are property of Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions and Warner Bros. Television.