Trial of Error
Chapter One: The World's Worst Hangover
Description: Set just after Will You Be My Lorelai Gilmore? Logan heads off to Vegas with Colin and Finn, but Rory doesn't let it just pass without having her say. Unfortunately for Rory, what happens in Vegas isn't going to stay in Vegas.
Ship: Rogan
Rating: T
The way he'd said it, his attempt at rationalizing his sophomoric behavior, it was as if he wanted her to believe that heading off to Las Vegas was just an average person's solution to dealing with the stress of life. Like the next time she did badly on an exam or argued with her roommate, she might hop a flight, shoot some craps, and enjoy the free drinks on the casino floor until she cheered up. At least, she hoped that was all he'd partake of Vegas's array of offerings. She resisted the urge jump to the worst-case scenario, just because he was displaying an unfavorable reaction to his situation, that didn't mean he'd surround himself with every temptation known to man, even if that was the specialty of his city of choice.
Rory had gone on with her day as planned after he announced that he was taking off with no notice instead of coming with her like he'd promised; she'd had no real choice, despite his glorious attempt to derail her carefully mapped out strategies for attempting to be in two places at once. Not that she even wanted to alter her plans for him at that moment. In a contest of her oldest friend's baby shower and his impromptu pity party, there would only ever be one winner. He'd been smart when he bailed not to ask her to take off with him, because neither of them was dumb. They both knew their own limits, as far as the other was concerned. There were instances, moments she wasn't proud of, when she'd found him irresistible, despite her better judgment. His behavior in the last few weeks had not warranted preferential treatment from her, no matter how concerned about him she was deep down.
She hated that he was even on her mind, when he shouldn't have been. When she was celebrating with her best friend, eating cake decorated with baby bottles and blue binkies. She was thinking about him when she was joking with her mother and recounting her meeting with the guy from The New York Times, her coffee date that she'd bent her schedule around. She thought of him on the drive back to her apartment, and she'd thought of him as she took a turn to the interstate and detoured to the airport.
It didn't sit right with her, for him to be able to just take off like that, when she was in no position to take the time to tell him what she really thought of his behavior. She'd been doing her best to understand his plight, his rich-boy woes, but this time she'd had enough. She could understand that he hated being under his father's thumb, she herself took issue with the disregard Mitchum gave to Logan's life when he decided to ship him off to live in London for far too long after they'd started living together, but what she found she couldn't abide by was his time-tested methods of cheering himself up. Particularly those means that involved his friends and unholy quantities of alcohol. At a certain point, he had to understand that his actions affected more than just him. She'd been through far too much with him to sit back and wait, hoping he'd come home in one piece and that she wouldn't get another call beckoning her to his bedside in a hospital or worse.
She'd switched her cell phone off as instructed in preparation for take-off. It was a bit of a blur; parking her car in long-term parking, waiting in the short ticket line, her timing miraculously just right to make the last flight of the night to Sin City. She'd had no luggage to check, just her purse with a novel in it as well as her wallet, keys, and phone. She breezed through security, bought a cup of coffee, and was suddenly eying the latest copy of SkyMall in the seatback pocket. She had a couple of hours in the air to realize she needed a plan, and that it wasn't smart to jet across the country without informing someone that she had left the East Coast. She turned on her phone when they touched down in Nevada, once the friendly flight attendant who'd brought her an extra bag of peanuts let the passengers know that it was now safe to use phones if they were in reach.
She scrolled through her most recent calls. Her mother—that was dicey. Lorelai wasn't Logan's biggest fan on his best day, and while her mother always had her back, she wasn't keen on calling to let her know his bad behavior had prompted her to fly to Vegas without so much as a packed toothbrush. Lane deserved her rest, and not to try to deal with Rory's boy drama. Growing two boys and dealing with the dynamic duo of Zach and Mrs. Kim was more than enough on her best friend's plate. Nor did she want to give Logan warning that she was closing in on him. She wanted to catch him off-guard and make him realize that she was serious. She wouldn't keep forgiving his behavior. She might love him, but she was sick of being the understanding girlfriend. It was true that he didn't have a lot of experience with girlfriends, but he needed to recognize that he'd hit the jackpot as far as she was concerned, and if he wasn't ready to start acting like it then she'd be done. She was in Vegas after all—and this was her gamble.
She dialed his number, wondering after the fact if he'd even pick up. Did men answer calls from their significant others while carousing with their guys? Usually he took off for parts unknown, exotic locals without cell towers in range. In Vegas, his level of communication was self-dictated. He was as reachable as he wished. He made his decision in three rings. The noise level instantly transmitted to her ear made him wonder if it'd taken three rings to even notice his phone was ringing.
"Logan? Can you hear me?"
"Rory, hey! Yeah, it's kind of insane in here."
"Where are you?" she asked, feeling guilty for how loudly she was speaking in the confined space of the semi-full flight that was still making its way to the gate.
"Wait, hang on a sec. No, Finn, no more. I said no more. Seriously, dude, that's my limit. Sorry, Ace. The main event's about to start, it's only going to get louder. I can call you later."
"Are you at some kind of sporting event?" she asked hopefully, and even if he were at a strip club she hoped he had the decency to lie to her.
"Yeah, big fight at the MGM. Colin bet half his windfall on it, so we're here for the long haul, which he's hoping is exactly three rounds," he said, his voice merry as if he'd not just had the biggest defeat of his career that involved losing more than half of his own inheritance.
"Is that your hotel?" she asked, trying to get any inkling of where to go once she found a cab at the airport.
"Nah, we're staying at the Bellagio. I'm a sucker for the fountain and the lights. Listen, it's about to get going. We'll talk later, though, okay?"
She heard a clanging bell more clearly than his voice, but she'd gleaned the choice bits of information she deemed vital to her plight. "Yeah, sure. Say hi to the guys for me?"
"Will do, Ace."
She ended the call just before the flight attendant came overhead again, with connecting gate information—a hint that would have clued him in and ruined her element of surprise. It was not an easy feat, to gain his attention by unexpected action. She knew he probably thought her too predictable, caught up in her own routines and habits to react to his whims at times. She knew he thought he was safe from her disapproval for the time being, as she would go on as planned, traveling to and from Stars Hollow, making it back to New Haven in time to study for her upcoming exam, going on to spend Sunday catching up on paper stuff. He could set a clock by her in that regard, and not only was she used to his whims, his unpredictable flights of fancy, but she was the understanding girlfriend—the rock on which he might depend.
She couldn't wait to let him know that all that was about to change. The look of shock on his face when he saw her in the flesh after his night of who knows what kind of steam-blowing debauchery—that would be worth half of Colin's windfall and Logan's lost inheritance all rolled into one.
-X-
The concierge at the Bellagio was most helpful the second she started name-dropping. It was beneath her, perhaps, but in this one case potentially vital. She realized not only was her credit card a little too abused from the cost of the last-minute flight to heap on the cost of a room at the Bellagio, but why waste money when he most likely had an entire suite to himself? She was not wasteful in the name of comfort like he was, and it also allowed her the best kind of upper hand. He'd stumble in, hopefully before dawn, to find her in him room, on his bed, and ready to do things on her time.
"I really appreciate this," she said with her most obliged smile.
"It happens all the time," he assured her, typing on his keyboard to work his magic. "It looks like Mr. Huntzberger is in one of our larger suites, room 3645," he read off, as he reached out a key card to her. "Shall I call a bellman to help you with your bags?"
"Oh, he went ahead and brought all our luggage, because of my last-minute work crisis. He is such a sweetheart; he didn't want me to have to worry about a thing. He said he'd leave a card for me with you guys, but with his boys' night and the big fight and all," she said, adding facts to help sell her story.
"It's our job to let our guests enjoy themselves during their stay, and we're more than happy to take care of all the rest. If there's anything we can do for you, just pick up the house phone."
She thanked him again but was careful not to be too gushing. She noticed that people of considerable means tended to be gracious in a way that signaled the fact they knew people were being paid well to be nice to them. She palmed the key card and made for the elevators. The casino floor called out to her before she got that far, and she saw beautiful women in tiny outfits carrying trays of drinks amid the crowd of those hopeful to win a little money from the house. She knew she had a little pocket money in her purse, and she was conservative enough not to go too crazy in the face of temptation. She'd keep it to the slot machines and not risk more than twenty bucks. There was the potential that she'd end up without a boyfriend by the end of the day, and she didn't need to end up penniless to add insult to injury.
Her first payout was small, but encouraging. She slipped another coin into the machine and pulled the lever down toward her. A nice fruity cocktail appeared at her side, and she pulled the lever a few more times. She wasn't sure how long had passed before her confidence was bolstered enough to hit a table game, but with a couple of drinks under her belt, it came sooner than it would have otherwise.
-X-
Her brain felt like it was pressing on the sides of her skull, begging to be given more space. The bed sheets were as soft as butter, but she realized that she knew that only because they were wrapped around her otherwise naked body. Her pillow was firm and warm, and in her struggle to emerge from the haze of a dehydrated sleep she didn't realize at first that the heat was radiating from its source, and not from her having simply laid on it for eight hours. Her head was resting on a man's torso and not one of the fluffy down pillows provided in excess on the king-sized bed. She also hadn't slept anywhere near eight hours, and the sheet wasn't the only thing she was wrapped up in.
Her hand pressed firmly in a downward direction on his chest as she attempted to use him as an anchor from which to hoist herself upright. Her head protested angrily and her stomach threatened retaliation unless she returned to her prior state of horizontal equilibrium. She gave a moan and closed her eyes, willing the swishy, whirly sensation to cease.
"Morning," came the far too cognizant voice from under her ear, his lower timbre reverberating in her too-full brain, the likes of which was tissue-soaked in … whatever she'd had too much of before she finally got to bed. She had a vague recollection of something fruity, which had apparently masked the high alcohol content therein.
"Shhh," she pushed the sound out between her lips in an accusatory manner, as if he was the reason she had gotten drunk to the point of the waking up with the worst hangover of her life. Her indignation kicked in, reminding her that if not for him she would never have flown to Vegas, gotten drunk, or woken up in that much pain. He deserved to be admonished with much stronger language than a shush.
Unfortunately his deserved verbal lashing would have to wait. She breathed out heavily, hoping he'd take the hint and let her fall back into an uncomfortable slumber. He wasn't ever eager to discuss personal matters and the sad fact was that he hadn't done anything out of character that they couldn't deal with later. They'd leave Vegas, together or apart, and go back to the East Coast to go on with life as they knew it. Just as soon as her head stopped trying to explode, that was.
His thumb brushed lightly across the skin between her eyebrows, a feather-light reminder that he knew to be gentle with her but leaving her alone wasn't his chosen route. "Rory. Are we going to talk about last night?"
She shifted and emitted a guttural protest. The fact that he used her name drifted lightly in her mind, but it the relevance didn't stick. He was probably upset that she'd come and ruined his man time, his precious outing with his crew. "Not now, Logan."
He sighed, softly, but she knew that sigh. She opened her eyes, trying to ignore the pain that even the dim light of a room still enrobed in pulled curtains incited. "Look, if you're looking for an apology, I'm not sorry. You didn't leave me much choice."
His eyebrows rose in surprise. "That's what you want to say about last night?"
She raced through her available memories that had led up to his insistence to chat. "Um, yes? Do you really think I did something wrong?"
He floundered. "I wouldn't say that, but I do admit that I'm starting to wonder just how drunk you were. Have you ever blacked out before?"
She would have rolled her eyes if she thought it wouldn't amp up her pain. Her whole head felt like it had been taken apart and put together incorrectly. "I didn't have that much to drink. I was on the casino floor, waiting for you, and I…," she recounted, trailing off where her intact memory did. "I came up here, to wait for you, I guess. Did Colin win or lose?"
Logan stared at her in disbelief. "Oh my God."
She blinked, unaware at what had disturbed him, unless Colin had lost big and gotten him to bet with him. "Did you lose on the fight?"
"I didn't bet," he said soberly with a slow shake of his head. "Rory."
She struggled to sit up. "Why do you keep saying my name like that? You never do, unless…."
He made soothing sounds as he used his hands to ease her back down. "You should rest for a while."
"You can't get off on a technicality here, Logan," she argued, though she was grateful for the help in getting settled back down into the soft pillows.
He closed his eyes as if his eyelids weighed a half a ton each. "I'm not trying to get out of anything. But I do think you should feel better before we discuss last night."
"I just have a headache, I'll be fine. Just spit out whatever it is you're not saying," she demanded. Her increasing paranoia was overriding her need to nurse her ailing body.
"Last night," he began slowly, gauging her reaction in case her mental gaps started to weave together on their own. "I came back to the hotel early and saw you playing roulette."
"Roulette?" she asked, trying to conjure up the recollection and failing. "So I didn't surprise you up here?"
He chuckled a little. "Oh, no, you surprised me, but you were most definitely downstairs. I tried to coax you upstairs, but you were having none of it, you told me that I wasn't the only one allowed to have fun in Vegas, and you took me on a whirlwind tour of the hotel."
She cringed. "I said that?"
He nodded. "You did. Any of this ringing a bell?"
She winced, not wanting to risk shaking her head and the fragile contents within. "Nope."
He remained stoic. "Right. Anyway, we went outside, because you decided that you wanted to see the fountain up close, and there was no saying no to you, so out we went to look at the fountain. It was then that you started yelling and telling me that I couldn't keep running off with my friends instead of confiding my problems in you, and that you wanted to be there for me, but it was hard to be there for me when you had to fly a thousand miles to accomplish that."
She wasn't sure what to say. She agreed with her drunken sentiments, but she might not have chosen one of his favorite sights to unleash her tirade, in public no less. While she could attempt to blame her state of inebriation for her words, they both knew better than to believe it wasn't what she was truly feeling. "I may have been a little too harsh—we both know that alcohol serves to heighten people's true feelings," she began judiciously.
He put a hand on her bare shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "I'm not done."
She whimpered. "There's more?"
He nodded. "Yeah. While you were yelling, I thought about how you flew to Vegas to confront me, instead of freezing me out or adding it to some master score card to use against me at a later date. I realized, standing there in the middle of the night in front of the fountain, that you were right and I should have confided in you about everything that had happened, because you're the only person in the whole world that cared enough about me to fly to Vegas just to call me a jerk."
"Did I really call you a jerk?" she asked curiously.
"You had a whole list of synonyms," he said with a cheeky smile. "Jerk was the gist."
"So, in the end?" she said, sort of let down that she had no recollection of the big outburst she'd spent so much time planning and their apparently coming to terms, not to mention the sex they must have had in honor of said terms given their current state of nakedness.
"We're not quite there yet."
"Did we gamble some more?" she asked.
He hesitated, and she felt like he looked at her forever before speaking again. "We got married."
The tenuous grip she had on her gag reflex failed, and she leaped out of the bed in the least graceful manner and barely made it to the toilet bowl before the contents of her stomach emptied in a hurry. She held on to her hair over one shoulder and let the whole process repeat, this time without the fifty-yard dash. She rested her forehead on her arm at the elbow, waiting to see if there would be a third go-around. She heard movement from the bedroom and the sound of his feet padding toward her on the carpet until she felt his hand, open and staying, on her back as she let out a few shaky breaths.
"Feel better?" he asked.
She looked up at him haplessly. "You were kidding about the last part, right?"
He met her eyes with the kind of sobriety she aspired to in that moment. "You should get cleaned up, and when you come out we'll talk. Want me to order your usual remedy from room service?"
She let him help her up to a standing position. He reached into the shower and started a spray of hot water. He'd brought in the extra robe provided by the hotel, identical to the one he'd pulled on before coming in to check on her. It was only after he shut the door behind him and left her to scrub her teeth with one of the complimentary toothbrushes that she looked down at her left hand. She stopped brushing, leaving the hanging in her mouth, as she stared down at two rings on her third finger that had not been there upon her arrival.
The likelihood that it was just some elaborate prank he was pulling to get back at her for crashing his party was the only explanation she could come up with as fog filled the bathroom and she stepped under the scaling spray of the shower with a refreshed mouth. The thought slowed her heartbeat down closer to a normal range. The heat of the water put color back in her face, and the promise of a big plate of food, mixed to her queasy stomach's liking, made her feel almost up to wrapping herself in the fluffy robe and rejoining him to find out the truth. Just in case, she stood under the showerhead for five minutes longer than necessary to offer the only buffer she had left from this alternate reality she had awoken to find.
AN: I got this idea from a book I just read called Waking Up Married. After I read the book (quick read, not bad if you like romance books) I had a thought that it would be funny to put these two in a similar situation. The plots met when I remembered him having flitted off to Vegas in season seven and voila. Hopefully it lends itself to a fun fanfic.
