. . . . Gray . . . .
Life isn't black and white. It's a million gray areas, don't you find? [Ridley Scott]
London, England, UK | September 2015
At four o'clock on a Wednesday, he comes home to find her sprawled across the couch, remote in hand – halfway through a rewatch of last week's episode of The Great British Bake Off.
He chuckles lightly, stowing the work he brought with him from the office at his desk. Walking back, he picks up her legs and tucks himself under them. She shifts, propping up her chin with her hands, eyes eagerly taking in every detail on the screen in front of her.
"I mean, seriously, who decided that making a cake that looks like a tennis court was a thing?" she asks, her eyes widening as the shot pans across the six remaining contestants and their offerings for the technical challenge. Five of the six can't seem to figure out how to keep their icing nets up. Even the best one doesn't look particularly appetizing to him.
"It still just doesn't seem real," he responds. "They lose the challenge, but no one gets eliminated. They're all super polite to one another and honest about their shortcomings – "
"And then at the end of the series, the winner goes home with a cake plate and a bunch of flowers!" she jumps in. "It's so fascinatingly non-eventful and, yet, I can't stop watching it." She sighs contentedly, leaning against the armrest as she hits the fast-forward button on the remote.
The casual closeness they have taken on since she returned from the States isn't lost on him. On previous visits, she'd give him a swift hug upon her arrival or departure – but that has shifted the last few weeks, a mutual understanding that she needs the reassurance of touch, of his physical presence, taking its place. Her bare legs stretch across his own; his hands resting lightly on top of them, stroking gently at the smooth skin.
He has to check himself, to remind himself that she has a boyfriend – even if she hasn't mentioned him since before she left for Hartford. His phone vibrates in his pocket, indicating an incoming message of some sort. He digs it out, a text from Odette lighting up the lock screen.
Vegas this weekend, right?
He slides his finger across the screen to type a quick Yes in reply.
You should take her.
Noting the quick nature of her response, he supposes she's sitting in her apartment waiting for Nico's shift to end. Her charity meeting must have finished early. While technically an employee of the family business, her job description demands very little of her actual intelligence and more of her presence in designer gowns at just the right events.
He ignores her suggestion, replying instead: What are you and Nico up to this weekend?
Rory squeals next to him and he steals a glance in her direction, her attention rapt and her eyes alight as she continues her GBBO binge. "That gelatin is never going to set in time!"
His eyes dart to the screen as his phone vibrates against his palm.
Drinking du vin, eating brie de Meaux, and waiting to hear that you took her to Vegas.
He opens the message simply so it won't continue to show on his lock screen, then puts the phone back into his pocket. The thought of inviting Rory along for his weekend with the boys, who all adore her, shouldn't make him nervous – but it does. He knows, though, that she desperately needs a break from pounding the proverbial pavement and from the grief and processing he has seen churning behind her eyes. As much as The Great British Bake Off might provide a nice distraction, he suspects she needs more than Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood can offer her.
"Hey, Rory?" he asks, trying to nonchalantly settle himself into the pillows behind him.
"Yeah?" she replies, absentmindedly fixated on the television.
"Do you have plans this weekend?"
"Just trying to figure out what to do about my apartment in Brooklyn," she motions her head toward the letter on the coffee table. "Something about the building going condo. Mom sent a packet of 'recent' mail to my box, which means they need an answer next week." She sighs, both glorying in the final moments as Mat is eliminated and Tamal is named Star Baker, and realizing that the episode has once more come to a close. Turning off the set, the warmth of her legs fades quickly as she pulls them underneath her body and moves to sit up and face him. "Why? What's up? Do you need me to find somewhere else to – "
"No! Nothing like that," he cuts her off. "You're welcome to continue living on this couch," he feels the smirk on his face before he can squash it. "I just won't be here. Finn and I are flying to the States to meet Colin and Robert in Vegas for a few days."
"Oh." He watches as her face falls ever-so-slightly, then forces itself into a smile. "That'll be fun. When do you leave?"
"Friday morning." He braces himself, Odette's suggestion on repeat in his head. "Why don't you come with us? I know the guys would love to see you and I also know you don't have any meetings until next Wednesday."
"I couldn't afford it, Logan," she quietly asserts, her face more fixedly fallen now.
"My treat," he adds hastily. "And if you left tomorrow instead of Friday," he poses, trying to put pieces together in a fashion she can't quite refuse. "You could have a full day in Brooklyn; get in a good chat with your landlord; maybe meet your mom or Paul for lunch?"
He watches as she weighs the option, wondering just how she might actually spend her time should she accept his offer. Only when his lungs start clamoring for air does he realize he has been holding his breath. Ever since the moment he spotted her in Hamburg, wearing that damn red dress, he knew he was ready to offer her the world all over again.
And, now, sitting here with her on the sofa in his flat – he recognizes that, for him, there is no returning from this moment. They need to move forward somehow, some way.
"Sure," she replies quietly. "That sounds great."
"Great," he echoes. Great.
Las Vegas, NV
"Rory, darling!" Finn moves quickly to greet her as she steps off the plane, planting exaggerated kisses on both cheeks and pulling her into a tight embrace.
"Yes, thank you for joining in our weekend, Rory," inputs Colin half-heartedly before he's elbowed in the ribs by Robert. "It was supposed to be a guy's weekend, right?"
"Never mind him, love," Finn adds, loosely placing his arm around her shoulder. "He's just bitter that no one will be waiting for him when he gets home."
"What happened to Sarah, Colin?" Rory asks, feigned shock playing across her face. None of them had liked Sarah much and, as Logan had relayed to Rory upon telling her of the split last week, it didn't appear that Colin liked her all that much either.
"Cleared out her stuff last week," jumps in Robert excitedly. "Took off with a junior associate for Cozumel or Antigua or … where was it they were going to enjoy themselves, Colin?" he teases.
"Barbados," Colin spits out tersely. "Now can we go enjoy this beautiful place that begs you to forget everything that happened here once you've left? Someone ordered a car, right? I'm not riding on that nightmarish shuttle like the last time."
"I ordered a car," Logan chimes in, intent to dispel some of Colin's sourness before they enter into a confined space with him. "Let's head toward the exit. I already texted the driver."
He brings up the rear of the group, walking just so slightly behind and admiring how seamlessly she still fits into this band of misfits. It would certainly not be a boring weekend.
Her dress clings to her, its clean lines clearly defining what he knows lies underneath. The garment's emerald hue is one he has never seen her wear before. His gaze lingers appreciatively on her exposed neck and shoulders, her hair twisted up in a knot he would never have the patience to replicate.
He approaches her, sliding his arm around the small of her back before he realizes he has done so. Leaning in close, he whispers into her ear, "Nice event integrity, Ace." She flushes and steps back to take in his ensemble, the slim-cut suit and tie, the fedora and pocket square.
"Not too bad yourself, Don Draper," she winks, her eyes sparkling mirthfully. His insides hum pleasantly, knowing that she will be here, next to him, for the next few days.
Two hands press down on his shoulders as Finn's voice rings out mere inches from his ear, "What first, loves? Should we hit the tables or procure drinks or … " His voice drifts as his head swings around with the redhead in his sights. " … follow that one?" he finishes quickly as he begins to move in the unwitting target's direction. He calls back over his shoulder, "Call me if any of you decide to get married." The remaining four laugh uneasily as he hastens away.
"Blackjack?" suggests Colin, gesturing toward an open table.
He hears her hesitate as she starts to answer. "Maybe later?" he asks, to which she nods. They leave Colin and Robert at the table, settling into their quest for that elusive twenty-one, and he steers her around the casino floor. "How 'bout a drink, Gilmore?"
They stop at the bar and wait while the bartender shakes a martini and pours a hearty amount of Scotch into a tumbler. Even though they have yet to be consumed, the concept of drinks loosens them. They stroll around the floor, looking at the people and taking in the different games. His hand finds its place at the small of her back again and she lets it stay there. He tells himself he simply wants to protect her, to be sure no one takes advantage of her – but he knows better. More than instinct keeps his hand there. They chatter as they move through the room, commenting on this person and that, discussing at length the merits of the bandage dress and the plausibility that cut-off jean shorts will ever go out of style.
As they draw close to the roulette tables, he notices she grows oddly quiet. They pause to watch the wheel spin, the ball running the course of the wheel and finally settling into a numbered pocket – to the satisfaction of a well-dressed, elderly gentleman and what appears to be the much-younger girlfriend on his arm.
He turns to her and watches her swipe a finger at a stray tear making its way down her cheek.
"Ace?" he inquires. "What's going on in there?" He motions to indicate her head.
She laughs, her efforts a bit choked, shaking her head and meeting his eyes only for a moment before looking elsewhere.
"There was this business trip," she begins. Her eyes alight at the memory. "Grandpa's business partner, Jason – do you know Jason Stiles?" she rambles, to which he shakes his head. "Well, anyway, Jason decided to hold their launch party in Atlantic City. Grandma was furious," she throws her head back and grins widely, contagiously. He feels an equal smile spreading across his own face. "But Grandpa loved it. Jason had these little roulette wheels printed up as favors and Grandpa gave a couple to me and Mom. He got such a kick out of the whole thing!" She sighs, reaching up a hand to massage her neck just a bit. She adds quietly, "I miss him."
And his heart breaks at those quiet words – words he knows she had yet to say. She has been with him every day since she returned from burying her grandfather and yet she hasn't mentioned the man once. He has merely seen the loss in her eyes, shoved back behind the endless networking and writing.
"Well," he begins his proposal. "Shall we play a round in his honor?"
She glances at the table and back at him, then smiles tentatively. "Let's," she replies, moving toward the wheel.
He takes a few chips from his pocket and holds them high before placing them onto the table atop the '21'. "To Richard," he declares. As the croupier spins the wheel, he reaches for her hand and wraps her familiar thin fingers within in his own. He suspects he will never want to let them go.
He watches a yawn break upon her lips, her efforts to stifle it unsuccessful. His watch reveals just how late it is, especially when one factors in the predictability of jet lag when travelling westward. A quick glance around the floor reveals Colin and Robert off in a garishly upholstered booth with a pair of women whom he sincerely hopes won't require payment at the end of the evening, and no Finn. For the first time in a long time, he decides to let them all deal with the consequences of their own choices. He shouldn't be protecting them tonight – not when she needs protecting.
Tugging lightly at her elbow, she turns to him a weary, bleary-eyed face and he nods his head toward the exit. They walk in silence through the lobby and move toward the elevators that will take them upstairs to their suite. The elevator dings its arrival and they enter, the doors sliding shut behind them. He watches her breathe in deeply before looking straight downward at the floor beneath her feet. Then he feels her fingers toying gingerly with his own and he feels the furrow spread across his brow as he glances down at their hands, nearly intertwined but not quite – questioning, curious; confused by the action.
"Rory?" he asks, seeking insight. She looks up as the car settles onto the 42nd floor, their floor; shakes her head ever-so-slightly; and seizes his hand fully, guiding him to their door.
He finds the key in his pocket and inserts it into the reader. A green light flashes and a soft click sounds as she turns the handle and they enter the suite's main area. While he stands just inside, unsure of how to proceed, she tosses her handbag onto the credenza and artfully removes the first in a series of hairpins keeping her hair off her neck. Glancing back at him over her shoulder, she points to the top of the zipper running up the middle of her back and asks, "Can you help me?"
He knows what she is doing and he knows where all of this will lead. He knows that hungry look in her eyes – he has seen it countless times before, in years past and in more recent dreams. He knows she thinks he would be cheating on his fiancee. He knows she would be cheating on Paul. He knows there are a hundred conversations that should be had before he lets his hand rest on the slider and draw it downward, exposing smooth flesh and undergarments and the entirety of her beauty that he has not seen in eight years.
But he does it anyway and she twirls in his arms, leaning into him to press a delicate kiss to his lips. His body does not know whether to tense or relax, so he rests his forehead against hers and looks into her eager eyes. She slowly walks them back toward the door to his bedroom.
"Are you sure?" he asks, attempting to hold at bay his body's reactions to that simple gesture while he confirms that she is fully aware of what she's doing. She nods, eyes locked to his as she withdraws a little with the movement. She spins the doorknob and reaches for the light switch.
"Hey, what happens in Vegas … " she responds shyly, cheekily. A soft smile graces her lips and she diverts her eyes to something in the room behind him.
"Rory," he lifts her chin and her eyes come back to his. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," she whispers. "Please."
Author's Note: Sorry, y'all. Life got the best of me and I forgot to keep posting! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. It has been sweet to see this thing I've wrestled with for so long finally out there in the world, and I'm so glad so many of you have been enjoying the story.
