Thank you all for the responses to this story! Hopefully you enjoy this update.

chapter 1: ain't that a kick in the groin

Rory

Most mornings at the Arden-Stevens household are an absolute whirlwind of chaos and noise; a very specific brand of such that Rory's own colorful upbringing had more than prepared her for, even if she'd never grown up with any siblings herself.

For a household of four, with only two children, there's never a moment where nothing is happening.

So it is more than a little suspicious on Monday morning, when Sutton takes her seat at the breakfast counter, calmly and politely greeting Rory with a smile. Her dark hair is adorned by a velvety, burgundy-colored headband this morning. She reaches for one of the cereal boxes her nanny had set out at the table and pours herself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.

"Where is your brother?" Rory asks the girl, who just shrugs and cracks open the spine of her Nancy Drew novel ㅡ a well-loved of Rory's she'd lent her. She shovels a spoonful of cereal into her mouth and turns her attention to the text in front of her.

Sighing, Rory turns on her heels to walk into the hallway and up the stairs, making her way toward Cohen's room on the second floor. To her dismay, she finds it empty. She frowns, and is about to head back down stairs to search the family room, when she hears a muffled sound of distress followed by the rattling of a door knob. Coming from Sutton's room.

Her eyes narrow at the girl's closed bedroom door; she'd known something had to be up.

She enters the eldest child's room, lit brightly by the morning sun. Nothing seems out of place, until Rory spots that Sutton's white bookshelf has been pushed several feet to the right, and was now pressed up against the closet door. The knob rattles once more.

Rory crosses the room to free Cohen from his sister's DIY trap, and his small frame stumbles forward, nearly falling to the carpeted ground.

She helps the boy to his feet and pushes the shelf back to its rightful spot against the wall.

"Are you alright?" Rory asks.

"No, I am not!" he cries. "Sissy locked me in the closet!"

Exasperated, Rory follows the 5-year-old, whose feet stomp down the stairs angrily.

"Sutton," Rory says, reproachfully. "How many times now have your moms and I talked to you about this?"

"Yeah!" Cohen echoes, pushing himself onto the stool next to his sister's. "How many times?"

Sutton places the open book face down on the counter and throws her arms up in defense, but wears a deviously wicked grin on her proud little face. Feigning innocence was never her strong suit.

"Well, if he insists on rifling through my toys, then I simply insist he lives with my toys."

"Sutton," she warns.

The girl rolls her eyes and turns toward her little brother. "I'm sorry for locking you in my closet."

"It's okay," her brother calmly responds. "I'm sorry you were born."

She sticks her tongue out at him.

"Cohen," Rory turns to the boy now. "That is not a very nice thing to say to someone."

Cohen mumbles an apology.

"Sutton, kiddo," she begins, stepping behind the girl to adjust her headband, "I know, it's hard sometimes, but you have to have a little patience with him. He's little. You've got to teach him the right thing to do."

She tucks a lock of her slick black hair behind her ear, and readjusts the adjustment Rory had just made for her. Rory gives up.

"That is so easy for you to say," Sutton quips. "You're the nanny. My moms pay to be patient and teach him 'the right' thing to do. It's literally your job."

She resists the temptation to roll her eyes at a 9-year-old and instead busies herself with considering getting her tubes tied while she fixes Cohen a bowl of cereal.

••

Nannying was something Rory just happened into; she began taking a few babysitting jobs here and there when strapped for cash. The Arden-Stephens had known her father; Ava worked with him on one project or another, and they remained friends over the years. She'd watched Sutton and Cohen a couple times before, usually on weekends.

Eventually, though, their mother Ava went back to work, and they needed more full time care. They liked Rory, and thus she became the first person they'd asked. The rest, as they say, is history.

It's far from a natural fit ㅡ Rory's not innately good with children, and she's not the most patient person in the world ㅡ but she is responsible and hard-working and good at helping with homework. It's become an efficient way to pay her bills and work her way through grad school, and more than that, she genuinely likes the kids in her care.

••

From mid-morning into the afternoon, Rory knows peace. Usually. After finishing some light housework, she is graced with enough of an intermission to get homework done or catch up on reading. Or sometimes, work on a freelance piece for The Birch, a local paper wherein she is often featured as a "local voice."

This afternoon, however, is nothing like that.

After lunch, she is summoned back to Astor Prep by the headmaster himself, on account of an issue involving Sutton. She shifts in front of the door to the main office before entering. An unpleasant blend of dread, unease, and concern rumbles in her gut.

Twenty-five years old, and the mere idea of the principal's office still makes Rory second-guess herself.

She pushes the office door open and steps inside. Sutton is sitting on a bench beneath one of the several notice boards that line the walls, her back turned toward a scowling boy Rory recognizes as Henry Ackerman.

Of course an issue involving Sutton would involve the Ackerman boy as well. Rory sighs.

Sutton's gaze shifts toward the door as Rory enters the room, and the girl sinks into her seat, folding her arms across her chest. Her guilt is palpable. Rory gives her a questioning look.

"Hello, I'm Rory Gilmore," she says, turning her attention toward the front desk. Her voice is calm and collected. "I'm here for Sutton Beau-"

"Yes, yes, the nanny," the office aide cuts her off. "Of course. Headmaster Moises is expecting you."

Rory has spoken with Headmaster Moises a number of times; at various school events, and on occasion, when he would circle the courtyard at drop-off and pick up. He is a kind, older man with broad shoulders and a faint Haitian accent; the kind of man that just feels like everyone's grandfather.

Regardless of this, and of the fact that Sutton is not actually her child, the headmaster's office is still the headmaster's office.

"Good afternoon, Rory," he smiles as he greets her warmly. "We are very sorry to pull you away from your afternoon. How are you doing today, dear?"

"Oh, you know. I'm fine," she answers, with a casual shrug of her shoulders. "What seems to be the issue?"

"Well," he begins, leaning forward in his seat, "as you may well know, Miss Sutton and her classmate Henry have had… Well, their fair share of disagreements in the past."

That's one way to put it, Rory thinks.

Moises continues on to reveal that what he referred to as their competitive nature escalated into a physical altercation in the cafeteria during their lunch hour, and while the details surrounding the fight were unclear, the fact of the matter is that Sutton was found by a very distressed staff member kicking Henry in the groin.

In any other situation, if this were any other kid, Rory would be going to hell for laughing. Or at least, be trying really, really hard not to laugh.

Headmaster Moises carries on. "Now, we all adore our Miss Sutton. And we do encourage a sense of healthy competition here at Astor, but-"

"No, no, of course," Rory shakes her head in disapproval. "I'm so sorry. This is absolutely unacceptable. I'll be sure to sit down and discuss this with her parents this evening."

"If Sutton was another child, this might be a different conversation. But she achieves excellence consistently, and this behavior of this magnitude is unlike her, so in lieu of suspension, we will be requiring both children to spend their lunch hours for the remainder of the week in the disciplinarian's office."

"I understand, sir. That sounds more than fair. Thank you."

"And please, if you can, encourage her mothers to set aside some time to arrange a formal meeting in my office with the Ackermans," he requests. "See if the grown-ups can try and get to the bottom of this."

"Of course," she promises. "I will speak to them this evening. And again, I'm very sorry about this."

"So, as we will not be releasing Miss Sutton from her afternoon classes," he informs her, "you, my dear, are free to go."

On her way out of the headmaster's office, Rory releases a long, heavy sigh and crosses over to the seating area and informs Sutton that she is to get back to class, and promises that they would talk about this later on at home.

Reluctantly, Sutton rises to her feet and slips out of the office and into the hall, leaving Rory alone on the bench next with Henry Ackerman himself.

She decides to wait in the office for his nanny, Amanda, to arrive. Amanda is about Rory's age, and a natural with kids. The two of them get along surprisingly well, despite the fact the children in their care seem pretty hell-bent on killing each other.

Usually, when there is a problem between Sutton and Henry, Amanda seems to know just what to say or do.

But moments later, when the doors to the main office swing open once again, it isn't Amanda who steps through the entrance.

No. Instead, it's him.

Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world.

Her anonymous encounter. The man who had spent most of Saturday night, in some shape or form, nestled between her legs. Whose voice has been a constant hum at the back of her mind for the past two days.

Her body trembles in recollection.

He doesn't notice her immediately; doesn't realize she's sitting there frozen, staring blankly at him. He strides over to the office aide's desk and leans forward, murmuring something in a low voice. The woman points him toward the seating area and he turns his head, his eyes immediately landing on Henry.

"Hey," he calls out to the child sitting next to her. "Is there anything you want to tell me before I head in there?"

Henry silently drops his gaze to the ground in response.

There is a shift in the man's expression when his eyes find hers. He nods at her in acknowledgment, a subtle grin playing at the corner of his lips as he holds her gaze. He studies her with a curious concentration; there's warmth there, but there's smugness, too.

Rory feels naked all over again.

He almost opens his mouth to say something, she thinks, so she pretends to receive a text message and pulls out her cell phone, redirecting her attention to the device in her hand.

Once the man has disappeared into Headmaster Moises's office, Rory shuffles to her feet and hastily moves to vacate the campus.

She feels hot and uncomfortable, as though she's grown an extra layer of skin made entirely of wool. Not even the bitter November air seems to offer a counter effect.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Her head is swimming.

Surely, he can't be the boy's father. Can he? They certainly look enough alike ㅡ the same brown eyes and blonde hair and small, sloped noses.

If he is the father, it would make him an incredibly young one. He can't be that much older than she is, can he? She does the math. Theoretically, she's old enough to have a kid in the 4th grade; her own mother was no older than Rory is now when she herself was a 4th grader.

Raising a child that young requires sacrifice, though, and he doesn't strike her as someone who has had to make a lot of sacrifices in his life.

Then again, she barely knows him. Actually, she doesn't know him at all.

She knows what he tastes like, what he looks going down on her, but she doesn't know his name. She doesn't know if he's married or single, or if he's a divorcee shacked up in some GQ stereotype of a bachelor pad.

She feels sick to her stomach with the thought that she might have aided and abetted someone carry out the act of adultery.

Her car's engine roars to life, and the clock on the dashboard indicates she has just under three hours until she's due back at school to pick up the kids. She takes a few deep breaths and peels out of the parking lot.

There are still things to be done; emails in her inbox awaiting her response, research notes she should be organizing, after school snacks she should be prepping. More than enough to keep her mind occupied.