Disclaimer:
I don't own "Fortysomething" or any of the mentioned characters.


Chapter 1
I Would Dye For You

"You what?"
It is seriously scary. I have never seen Rory so upset. He is absolutely furious.
"It was only a suggestion," I try to calm him down – but to no avail.
"A suggestion?" Rory repeats. "A suggestion!"
"If I had guessed you would be so angry about it, I would never have asked."
"I wish you never had asked!" Rory replies. "Dying my hair black! How did you get that stupid idea?"
I open my mouth, but I have no chance to answer.
"Oh, I know where it comes from," Rory suspects, jabbing an accusing finger at me. "It's because of this Snape character that you fancy."
"No!"
The lie is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
"Well, yes," I admit, reluctantly. "I just thought he looked cool with his long black hair and his black eyes …"
"Perhaps you also want me to grow my hair Snape-length, then?" Rory asks, sarcastically.
"Well, you could try …"
I had better not spoken! Rory grabs a CD from his night stand and throws it against the wall. From the corner of my eyes I notice that it is a sampler that I gave to Daniel, when I dated him briefly, so there is no harm done – not really, except for the CD case that now lies broken on the floor.
"And what's next?" Rory demands. "Black contacts?"
This time I am clever enough to hold my tongue. Part of me wishes I had never brought up this subject, but I just couldn't resist. The initial thought had come to me, when Rory gave this almost perfect imitation of Snape's voice the other day and it hit me then and there that he might appear just as dangerously mysterious, if he made a few optical changes, too.
"Am I supposed to wear only black clothes from now on, too?" Rory continues. "I tell you what, Laura, enough is enough! I would do anything for you, and you know it, but I draw the line at black! My hair will never be dyed black, Laura, do you understand?"
I nod, quickly.
"You will never see my hair in that particular colour, is that perfectly clear?"
"Yes, perfectly," I answer.
"Good!"
Rory exhales, folding his arms before his chest.
"Dying my hair!" he huffs. "I wonder what you would say if I asked you to get your tattoo with my brother's name removed."
I frown.
"Do you want me to?" I ask, insecurely.
"I certainly wouldn't mind if you did."
I bite my lips.
"But it would hurt, wouldn't it?" I reply. "Getting it removed."
"Did it hurt when you got it?"
A cold shiver is running down my spine as I relive the memory.
"Hell, yeah."
"So, what makes you think removing it will be painless?" Rory wants to know.
I shrug.
"I don't know," I admit. "I just thought they might use lasers or something …"
"How should I know what they use," Rory says, evenly. "*I* didn't get a tattoo. *I* didn't get myself branded!"
"Yeah, rub it in!"
"I don't need to," Rory snorts. "It's already there."
I take a deep breath.
"So, you want it gone?" I ask.
"So, you want my hair black?" Rory retorts.
I begin to chew my lower lip. I had never thought this tattoo would bother Rory that much. After all, he had taken me back, despite the fact that I betrayed him with his brother. He forgave me, just like that, and I forgave him for dating my sister in turn. I have never asked if he and Lucy had been intimate. Personally, I doubt it, because Lucy would have told me. Still, I am not quite sure and part of me doesn't really want to know.
"Look, Rory," I begin after a moment of silence. "It had crossed my mind to get rid of the tattoo a couple of times, but I'm really scared. I'm not sure if it is worth it, you know and you were alright with it, so I figured, you didn't really care about it."
"Just because I didn't mention it every time I saw it doesn't mean that it didn't bother me."
I lower my head.
"You never asked me, 'Rory, do you mind if I kept this tattoo with your brother's name on it?' and it hurt," Rory explains. "You just assumed I would be alright with it and for a moment there, I thought I was alright with it too. But I wasn't. It does bother me. It bothers me no end."
He exhales, deeply.
"There, I said it," he adds. "Now you know."
"Yeah …" I answer. "Now I know."
Reluctantly, I look up and meet his eyes.
"You have never really forgiven me, have you?"
Rory hesitates.
"I would rather not answer your question," he says, evasively, and it is answer enough.
I feel my throat tightening. He has definitely not forgiven me. He is still holding a grudge.
"I think I should go," I suggest silently as I stand.
Rory makes no move to hold me back – on the contrary.
"Good idea," he says, plainly.
That's not a good sign. That's not a good sign at all.
"Can I call you?" I ask, my voice nearly cracking.
Rory shakes his head.
"Better not."
"I see," I whisper, nodding.
So this is the end. Well, I don't exactly know, if this is the end, but it certainly feels like it – the end of everything.
The trouble is that I really did love him. I still do, even more than before, but I feel that it is no use in telling him. So I don't.
"Bye, Rory."
"Bye Laura."

It was the last time I hear his voice. However, in my head it is always there – like my conscience that is telling me what to do and how to behave. No matter how hard I try, I cannot shut it out. In a way I am glad about it. I still feel his presence and his voice is a constant reminder that he was actually there.
As he requested I manage to be brave and don't call him. I do drive by his house, though, waiting patiently for hours to catch a glimpse of him, whenever he walks past the window. Then I feel safe and can go home again.
But one day my longing gets the better of me. He said I should not call and I didn't – for a whole week I have been strong, but today I decide to finally give in to my weakness.
Standing in front of his house I pull out my phone and turn it a few times in my hand as if trying to prepare myself for the scolding that awaits me, but just as I bring up the courage to dial his number, my phone starts ringing.
I catch my breath and stare at the number in disbelief. It's him. He is calling me, at the exact moment when I was about to call him.
I feel my heart beating fast as I press the button to pick up.
"Hello?" I ask, timidly.
My voice sounds as if it doesn't belong to me – but neither does Rory's as he answers.
"Hi, Laura, it's me."
"Yeah, I know," I reply. "I saw your number."
"Really?" Rory asks, astonished. "I thought you might have deleted it …"
I throw a laugh.
"No, of course not," I assure him. "I would never …"
"Laura," Rory interrupts me. "I'm sorry about last week. I said a couple of things I shouldn't have said. They are all not true and, yes, of course, I forgave you. I don't even know why I got so upset in the first place."
"Because I asked you to dye your hair black," I remind him. "But, Rory, I don't really want you to do that! I like your hair just as it is."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm positive," I insist. "So, please, don't dye your hair black, Rory, just because of me, alright?"
Rory sighs.
"Too late, I'm afraid."
I blink a couple of times.
"No …" I gasp.
"Yeah …" Rory drawls. "I dyed it today. Jet black. And I didn't get a haircut either."
"You …"
"Don't get overexcited," Rory interrupts me quickly. "It is by far not Snape-lengths, but …"
"Rory, are you insane?"
"No, Laura, I am in love," Rory replies. "I would have dyed my hair ginger if you had asked me to, because, you know, people do the funniest things, when they are in love, don't they?"
"Yes, they do," I agree. "Like getting tattoos … and having them removed …"
"Please, Laura, don't do that," Rory cuts in. "I don't want you to go into surgery to get rid of this stupid thing."
"But it bothered you."
"I still don't want you to be in pain, only because I …"
He pauses in mid-sentence.
"Hang on a second," he then says, suspiciously. "Did you just say 'bothered'?"
"I most certainly did."
"You used past tense on purpose?"
"Yes."
There is a moment of silence.
"So you …" Rory eventually begins. "You got your tattoo surgically removed?"
"I only got rid of the name," I admit. "That was painful enough."
"I can imagine," Rory says, compassionately. "Why on earth did you do it that?"
"Because I love you, Rory Slippery."
"And I love you, Laura Proek."
I laugh, relieved.
"May I see it?" Rory begins, hesitantly. "Your improved tattoo, I mean."
"Of course."
"When?" Rory demands.
"Anytime."
"Now?" Rory suggests.
I smile.
"Can I come in, then?" I ask.
"Are you …?"
"Yes, I am standing right outside your door," I confirm, but Rory doesn't reply.
Instead I hear the phone being flung aside and the sound of receding footsteps. Smiling, I hang up and a moment later the front door is jerked open.
I facepalm myself as I recognize Rory standing in the doorway, his hair jet black and slightly curly – not a bit like Snape, but absolutely to die for.