Reaction

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Author's Note: This is the follow-up piece to Coincidence, but it's not complete. This is just the first third, or half, I don't really know, ha, of this story. I've just been holding onto it for so long without movement that I figured I should put it out there to answer some questions I've gotten about sequels and what the hell I'm doing. In truth, I just got started writing this thing again, so hopefully it's going somewhere.I blame it on birthdays, really.

**

"What was I thinking? I can't put Helena next to Hermia," muttered Emma, pulling the pushpins labeled 'Helena' from the corkboard. She twisted it back and forth between her forefinger and thumb as she stared at the little white circles that denoted tables.

Rory swallowed a sip of soda and quirked a brow. "Why not?"

"Are you kidding me?" asked Emma. "Hello, look at their names, Lor. It would be a disaster."

Rory laughed. "Oh my god, are you suggesting that they can't be near each other because of their names? That's insanity."

"No, it's a desire to see my reception go smoothly," Emma said, taking a sip of her own soda. "I know you've read Shakespeare, because I was in the class. You know they didn't get along."

"They got along fine. They were friends!"

"Until Demetrius came along as stirred the waters," Emma pointed out. "They almost had a catfight."

"They were under the influence of fairy magic," Rory countered.

"It would have happened despite Puck."

Rory shook her head. "Is there a Demetrius at the table?"

Emma wrinkled her nose. "No, but that's irrelevant."

"It is so relevant. You can put them at the same table because there is no Demetrius factor to mess things up.Why am I even arguing over this with you? They're just names," she said. "Do they even know each other?"

"No, it's my aunt Helena and Tristan's cousin Hermia," Emma told her.

Rory smiled. "Well you see, then they must sit together, because it's like they're meant to meet. How many other people can claim to share names with Shakespearean characters?"

Emma pondered this. "God, you're right. It's kismet," she said, replacing the pin back in its original spot.

"If you managed to find a Hippolyta and a Titania, I think I'd be even more impressed," Rory said with a soft chuckle.

"Maybe a Peaseblossom."

"Or a Mustardseed."

"We've lost it, haven't we?" Emma asked with one hand over her face.

Rory sighed. "We have been working on this seating arrangement for a while. Maybe we should."

Emma reached out and grasped Rory's arm. "Holy shit, I think we're done."

"No way," Rory said with awe, staring at the board with the tiny colorful pins-red for women, blue for men-and just as colorful name tags in every color of the rainbow-the warm colors denoted favorable people, and vice versa for the cool colors.

Rory had scoffed at the archaic system, trying instead to make Emma use a proper computer program that she could easily save on a disk, as opposed to the bulky board. But Emma explained that she needed the visual representations. So in compromise, Emma got her board, and Rory followed along on her own program, making a copy, just in case. And now, it appeared, that both were complete.

"Yes way," Emma said, rising to her feet and dragging Rory with her.

Like giddy children, they danced around the living room, celebrating the end to their grueling day. Finishing a seat chart to include one hundred and fifty guests was definitely an occasion worth celebrating, especially when it was supposed to include two hundred guests. Fifty poor souls didn't make the cut, which was quite tragic, but a necessity.

But almost as soon as the dancing started, it stopped with a wide-eyed Emma staring at Rory with her hand over her mouth.

"What is it?" Rory asked.

"I have to meet with a client downtown in half an hour," said Emma, already dashing into her room.

"But it's a Sunday night!"

"Interior decorating knows no conventional time!" her friend exclaimed from inside her room. Emma came back out in what seemed like a minute, in a gray gabardine suit with a jade-colored top underneath; it was a complete one-eighty from the shorts and old college t-shirt she had been wearing. "Does this look okay?"

"You look great."

Emma nodded as she checked her purse for all the necessities. "Good, good."

"Don't worry, you'll make it in plenty of time."

"I hope so.What is this damn ribbon." she trailed off, messing with the magenta ribbon that was tied around her wrist.

"Em, were you supposed to remember to do something?" asked Rory, familiar with her friend's habits. She often tied a ribbon around some part of her body-not just her finger-to remind her notoriously forgetful self to do some task or other.

"Oh no. I told Tristan I'd head over to his place tonight with the seating arrangement so he could look at it and make any changes he wanted. Crap."

Rory shrugged. "Just go over after your meeting," she suggested.

Emma grinned. "That's a good idea. Great idea, in fact. Dinner should be over by nine.I'll just call Tristan and tell him the plans need to be shifted a little," she said, slipping on her watch. "I just feel so bad. We're already on a tight schedule as is. It's all my parents' fault."

Rory stifled a laugh. "Oh yes, damn them for planning that cruise right before your wedding. Never mind the fact that they'd been planning it for months before you even announced your engagement. They should be sent to the middle of the Mojave in August. Yes, learn to forage for themselves like wild beasts should they survive the blistering days and hypothermic nights."

"Tré dramatic, Lor."

"I try."

"You know I love my parents, but why do they need to approve the bloody chart anyway? Shouldn't we know best who should sit next to whom? They're our friends," said Emma, shuffling towards the door.

Rory sighed, following suit. "Ah yes, but you forget the obligatory family friends who are very unpredictable."

"Ay, there's the rub," Emma said with glee and she bounced over the threshold.

"My, we are full of Shakespeare tonight, aren't we?"

Emma quirked her lip, and continued, "For in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we shuffle off this mortal coil." She trailed off the line, prompting Rory to finish it as she pulled the door shut.

"Must give us pause."

Remembering the English class they shared and the ridiculous professor that insisted they memorize that particular soliloquy, they grinned at one another, then started chanting the rest of it as they rode down the elevator.

*

Disney was her weakness, especially Beauty and the Beast. She didn't know why, but every couple weeks, Rory felt compelled to pop the movie in her DVD player. She would repeat dialog, belt out the songs, laugh and cry. Because darn it, it was just that good. And one of her most favorite scenes was the transformation of the Beast into his true princely self. It was terribly wonderful, in her opinion, that the scene could make you sniffle like hell when the Beast gets stabbed, but then make you want to pee your pants when he levitates and starts shooting light out of his digits. It was as simple as that.

However, at the moment, instead of watching the screen, she was scraping the bottom of her quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream. How had she managed to finish it all in one sitting? There was more than half left. And it was supposed to last her the entire movie.

"This can't be right," she muttered.

And then the phone rang. Peeking at the Caller ID, Rory saw that it was Emma on her cell. What could she possibly want at.11:00 p.m.? She should be with Tristan by now, and Emma never called Rory when she was at Tristan's.

"Hey, what's up?"

Emma opened up with a tired sigh. "I need to ask you a favor."

"You don't sound so good. Is something wrong?" Rory asked.

Emma's voice was hushed. "Five minutes, Lor, five minutes. Five minutes and I would have been done with the client dinner, and ready to go over to Tristan's. Just as I was handing over my credit card to the waiter, my phone rang. It was Nessa, and she was, is, hysterical because Ethan left her a Dear Jane letter."

"Oh.wow," Rory breathed.

Nessa and Ethan. They were one of the few married couples in Rory and Emma's social circle, and the most happily married at that. They were the closest thing to bliss without faking it. Though, as Emma soon revealed, one of them, Ethan, was faking it.

He'd left her.

For a man.

"You've got to be kidding me," Rory said, trying to tamp down an unruly desire to chortle.

Emma sucked in air between her teeth. "Not even I am cruel enough to make something like this up."

Rory shook her head. "I wouldn't even know how to respond to something like that."

"Exactly. Which is why I've been here with Nessa for the past hour and a half, trying to calm her down. Luckily, we've moved from sobbing and self- blame to sniffling and staring blankly," Emma explained. "I've only just gotten feeling back into my hand; she's had a death grip on me since I walked through the door."

"So how'd you find a chance to call me?"

"She's in the bathroom, but she'll be out any second," Emma told her. "Anyway, the favor."

"Sure, anything."

"The seating chart, can you take it over to Tristan for me? I need to get this to my parents before work tomorrow, and I doubt I'll be out of here before three," Emma said, obviously resigned to her fate as the one to comfort Nessa. No doubt she'd ring Ethan's neck the first chance she'd get.

Without thinking, Rory agreed.

"Thanks so much, Lor. I owe you one."

"Hey, what are maid-of-honors for?" she asked. "Call me later."

"Like you even have to say anything. I'm going to need someone to talk.Er, Nessa's coming. Bye."

Before Rory could say it back, Emma cut the connection.

Go over to Tristan's apartment. Hell.

There was no way Rory could have said no without suspicion. After all, they were supposedly getting along. But now that she had a moment to think about what she'd agreed to, the prospect gave her pause. She couldn't get out of it now.

Rory turned her eyes towards the television, her expression wistful. And she'd been so comfortable in her sleep clothes, squatting on the couch with a tub of ice cream. Although, leaving the apartment would mean a chance to get more ice cream. His apartment was across town, but on the way back, she could stop by the 24-hour convenience store and pick up a little something.

Thinking that she should make the best of it, Rory got up and padded to her room. Rory decided to slip on something a little less comfortable for the drive to the Devil's lair.

*

In less time than she'd anticipated, Rory was standing in front of Tristan DuGrey's apartment door, twisting her long pink scarf into knots. She'd been staring at the small black '7D' mounted above the peephole, afraid to knock. Oh, not because she was afraid of seeing Tristan, but just the opposite. She was afraid of not seeing him on the other side.

Acting in a manner most unlike herself, Rory forgot to bring her planner, the same brown leather planner that was her life. It had her daily schedule, all her business connections, her credit cards, and unfortunately, Tristan's address. Besides not being able to buy that ice cream she'd planned on, she was also unsure of whether or not the door she was standing in front of belonged to her friend's fiancée.

Rory had been to his apartment only once, not really finding any business or desire to be there anymore than that. The one time she did come, it was to pick him up before they went to the florist. Even then, it was a quick stop and go.

She'd tried to ask the security guard in the lobby, but he was near comatose, so she found no help from that quarter. A quick snoop around the mailboxes yielded no fruit either, so there she was, on the threshold of 7D, taking a leap of faith.

As she rapped her knuckles, Rory closed her eyes and turned her head away, as though she were expecting a small explosion should it be a stranger who opened the door.

Rory felt palpable relief when Tristan's familiar form appeared before her, in his rumpled pajama glory. His left hand was still on the knob when the right one shot out and pulled her flush against him, chest to chest, hip to hip.

"I thought you'd never get here," he whispered as his lips descended upon hers.

And then he kissed her.

But it took him less than half a stroke of his fingers along her hip, less than one taste of her bottom lip, less than one breath of her sweet gardenia perfume, for him to pull away and stare down at her with a dazed expression. It was obvious who he thought he was kissing.

"Rory?" he asked, as his eyes shot open. "What are you doing here?"

She was still standing frozen, with her arms stiff at her side, her face a still-frame somewhere between embarrassment and confusion. Rory didn't take long to assume a more dignified posture as she cleared her throat.

"Emma asked me to bring over the seating arrangement," she said, holding up her disk. "I figured she would have called you. You know, since she called me, that meant that she would have called you too, to tell you that I was coming, so you wouldn't be surprised when I showed up on your doorstep, which I wasn't even certain was your doorstep until I saw you open the door, so we could avoid awkwardness.which we clearly did not succeed at considering that.well.that. But then, really, when did she have the time to call you? Nessa couldn't have been in the bathroom that long, even if she."

Tristan chuckled, making Rory stop midway. "What?" she asked. "Why are you laughing at me?"

He gestured towards her as he reached up to scratch his head. "You still do that. I hadn't noticed before now."

"What?" she asked, suddenly more than a little defensively.

"Ramble when you're nervous. Oh, and talk faster than any normal person should," he said with a small smile.

"I do not," she muttered.

"Do too," he countered.

"Do not."

"Do too." When Tristan saw her ready to launched into another round of 'do not/do too,' he held up his hand. "Truce."

She looked at him warily, even as her shoulders began to relax for the first time since she walked into his apartment. "Agreed."

"And hey, sorry about the kiss. I thought you were Emma."

And then her shoulders were tense again.

Rory tried to keep her face from showing any emotion one way or another. "Of course. I mean, it's only natural that you'd think that your fiancée, whom you were expecting, would be the one at the door, instead of me, which would explain why you manhandled me."

"Rambling again, and I don't manhandle."

She took a calming breath, and then affected a smirk. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

He returned her smile, but offered no words, knowing they were unnecessary. The companionable silence they shared lasted for all of eight seconds, before another two seconds sent them tumbling over the precipice into an awkward silence, causing them both to speak at the same time as they tried to dig their way out.

Rory held out her hand. "You go first."

"I was just going to suggest we go over to my laptop and pop the disk in," he said.

"Good thinking. Good," she repeated as they walked the short distance to his living room couch.

She tried not to think about how many ways this night had already gone wrong since she first agreed to Emma's plea. There were too many things to count. Oh who was she kidding? The official number was fifteen. There had been fifteen things that had gone wrong, from saying yes in the first place to the forgotten planner to the lip-lock...and everything in between.

Things were just ducky, she thought. Fifteen things wrong. So far.

As they reached the couch, Rory pushed aside a fleece blanket and sunk down onto the soft brown cushions. Both were warm, suggesting to her that Tristan had been sitting, no laying, here when she knocked. Unconsciously she laid her hand on the fabric and pressed her palm into the warmth. But as soon as she realized what she was doing, she removed her hand and curled her fingers inward, placing it instead on her lap while she pondered her actions.

**

To be continued.later.much later.

**