April 2003

There was no response to Rory's knock on the door, but she wasn't going to go away that easily. She knew Paris was here. Nanny had confirmed it. Plus, she could hear the TV playing from inside her room. She knocked again.

"Come back for the tray later, Nanny."

"It's not Nanny, Paris, it's Rory. Can I come in?"

"I guess," she heard Paris approve...less than enthusiastically.

Rory pushed the door open and made her way into her friend's bedroom, holding a stack of books and papers in one arm. Paris was lying in bed, pillows bunched up behind her head, still clad in pajamas despite it being 3:30 in the afternoon. There was a box of half-eaten chocolates by her side. "Hi. I brought a bunch of school stuff from the past few days. If there's anything missing, I can bring it over later."

"Thank you." Paris took the stack, barely looking at it or Rory, and placed it on her nightstand. "No offense, but my soap's starting." She picked up the remote on her lap to turn up the volume.

"So, you're sick, huh?" Rory asked over the increased noise of the TV.

"You know what's wrong. You of all people." Paris wasn't wrong. Rory did know; she knew Paris' humiliation on a visceral level, seeing as Paris had made her an integral part of it. First, by putting Rory on the spot with their speech on national TV, and then by hijacking said speech to inform the world that she hadn't gotten into Harvard…and that she'd lost her virginity…and that Rory had not lost hers. "That's Martin," Paris pointed at the TV, trying to change the subject. "His sister-in-law got kidnapped and he thinks his former lover is behind it."

"Juicy," Rory nodded placatingly.

"So, don't you have an announcement?" That was Paris, always assuming everyone had an agenda. Assuming Rory was there to gloat and not to genuinely check on her. Well, that wasn't Rory. Paris was hurting enough, she had no desire to add to that despite their on and off competitiveness throughout the years.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you get in?"

"You know, we don't have to…"

"I know you did," Paris cut her off. "You've got that Harvard glow about you, the glow of destiny."

"Paris."

"Just tell me."

"I got in," Rory confessed. There was no point in denying it; Paris would find out eventually. It wasn't like Rory was prepared to keep where she was going to college a secret for the next four years. And even on the off chance she went against the plan and chose Princeton or Yale, word got around. People would know if she turned down Harvard—and if people knew, Paris would know.

"Ugh," Paris was still looking at the TV and not at Rory. "Amanda and Richard. I'm so over them."

"So, you've been incommunicado lately." Paris couldn't talk about soap operas forever; Rory wasn't going to keep letting her avoid the subject. She took off her backpack and took a seat, settling in for the long conversation.

"I've had Nanny hold all my calls, and the mail. My parents are away, so I've been totally Howard Hughes-ing it." It wasn't a totally unreasonable course of action. Rory had learned from Lorelai years ago about the importance of wallowing. Sure, that had been about her break-up with Dean, but being rejected by your dream school was just as wallow-worthy as being rejected by your dream guy. But wallowing was temporary; a way to process and grieve. It was about moving on. Rory had moved on. She was with Jess now. And Paris would move on too. She'd find Yale or Columbia or whatever school it was she was meant to go to. But first she needed to actually face her current reality.

"So did you tell them about Harvard?" she asked.

"No."

"Don't you think you should?"

"No."

"Well, don't you think they'll find out?"

"How?" Jeez, the girl really was in denial. Not that Paris wasn't a pro and only seeing the world the way she wanted to see it, but that was different. Usually her stubbornness was about convincing herself that she was in control. This was about giving up. She'd never seen Paris like this before; it was unnerving.

"Well, you not moving out might be a tipoff," Rory pointed out.

"I'll get an apartment in Cambridge, buy a Harvard sweatshirt, talk about Mira Sorvino a lot. It's doable." Paris paused. "I did tell my mother about having sex with Jamie, and her only reaction was to talk about how my father hasn't pleased her in fifteen years."

"Yikes." That was way more information than Rory needed to know about Paris' parents. Or anyone's parents. Or anyone in general.

"Like I couldn't tell."

"And what's going on with your boyfriend?" Rory asked. Paris had just gone through a major life milestone with him and yet here she was wallowing alone. Had she so much as sent him a carrier pigeon since they'd slept together?

"I haven't called him either," Paris confirmed.

"So the only people in your life right now work at General Hospital?" Rory nodded at the TV.

"This isn't General Hospital. I don't deserve General Hospital." The pitch of Paris' voice went up at the end, demonstrating the first modicum of real emotion she'd seen from her friend since she'd walked in that door. At least it was a start.

"Okay, you've got to stop doing this."

"What happened?" Paris finally exploded, throwing the remote control in her hands down to her lap and sitting up. "Harvard was my destiny. I was flipping through Harvard class schedules when you were still delighting to The Adventures of Gumby and Pokie."

"I was more of a Pee Wee Herman kind of gal." A little humor never hurt.

"It's partly my parents' fault; they didn't brand me properly. I should've been at the 92nd Street Y, or Brick Church."

"Prep schools?"

"Pre-schools," Paris clarified. "It decides everything. But I'm not totally blameless," she admitted. "I found the spot in my interview that I'm sure doomed me." She picked up a small tape recorder off her bedside table, placed right on top—a sure fire indication that she had recently been listening the whatever was inside…and Rory was pretty sure she could deduce what was inside.

"You recorded your Harvard interview?" she asked in disbelief. Though she shouldn't have been surprised, Paris was, well…Paris, after all.

"The plan was to archive everything," Paris explained as she hit the rewind button, "then donate it to the university upon my demise. Little did I expect that my demise would come this early."

She hit another button on the recorder and her voice emanated from its speaker "…shouldn't even be taken into account. This dovetails nicely into my feelings about population control…" Was this playing on double speed or something? "It's a little hot in here, can we do something about that? Anyway, population control has been dramatically successful in most European countries to the detriment of some, especially Italy, which is experiencing a marked drop…"

"Do you think this has anything to do with…" the interviewer tried to intercede. Paris—the present Paris—was looking at the ceiling in humiliation as she listened to her past self bulldoze her way through the interview.

"Whoa, whoa, just let me finish my thought here!"

"But Paris…"

"Please!" Paris clicked the recording off.

"Well," Rory tried to find something encouraging to say, "you said 'please'—that's very polite."

"I sound like a meth addict." Rory wished she could argue with Paris, but there was no arguing with the evidence they'd both just listened to. "I might as well record the new Justin Timberlake over this." She slammed the recorder back down on her nightstand.

"I hate that you're torturing yourself like this, in bed like this." Rory'd decided on a more truthful form of compassion. Yes, Paris was passionate, and opinionated. And sometimes she let that get away from her. But she was also smart and funny and quite often misunderstood. Her friend needed someone to support her…faults and all.

"Proust wrote all three thousand pages of In Search of Lost Time in bed. If it's good enough for him." Okay, that was enough. Rory stood up, grabbing the remote control from Paris' lap and turning off the TV. "Hey!" Paris objected.

"Bed is not a life plan," Rory explained. "And you, my friend, need a life plan." Paris had always had a plan. That's what made her so formidable. That's what kept her going through thick and thin. That's what made Paris Paris. "So here it is," Rory explained as she started straightening up the room. It was always easier to think when things weren't cluttered. Plus. She figured showing action was the first step in getting Paris to take action. "You need to tell your parents about Harvard. You need to start taking calls from people. You need to check the mail so that you can see the other millions of universities that have no doubt accepted you and that are probably dying to be in the Paris Gellar business. You need to call your boyfriend back because he's going to be worried about you and because none of this is his fault," Jamie was probably freaking out about her. "And you need to start by getting the hell out of bed."

"You did not just say 'be in the Paris Gellar business.'"

"You know what I meant."

"There is no alternative to Harvard," Paris shouted.

"Except Princeton, Yale, Columbia, Stanford, Sarah Lawrence, etc., etc." Rory ticked off just a handful of the amazing schools she knew Paris had applied to.

"Well…" Paris hedged, "maybe you're right."

"I'm unquestionably right." There weren't many times in Rory's life where she felt comfortable being this arrogantly staunch in her opinion, but this was something she was sure of. Paris could make the world cower at her feet; she'd be successful no matter what college she went to.

"But I'm not jumping up this second," she protested despite her admission.

"You don't have to rush it," Rory conceded as she started putting her backpack back on so she could make her bus home. As long as Paris' wallowing was temporary and an actual attempt to grieve and not just hide, she'd allow it.

"And I'm going to have to keep watching this…" she pointed at the TV. "At least until Adriana's wrongful conviction for aggravated assault is overturned."

"I understand."

"Thanks." Paris acknowledged. Rory didn't bother responding; that's what friends were for.

December 2005

"Alright, Kiddo, I think it's nap time. For you and your sister." Gigi looked up from her spot sitting cross legged at the end of Rory's bed, holding her Jasmine doll in her hands.

"But we was in da middle of da magic carpet wide, Daddy," the little girl announced.

"Wow, that sounds like so much fun. And it's very nice of you to show Rory a whole new world. But you're gonna have to finish the rest of the tour later because you need to take a nap and then you're supposed to go to the movies with Max."

"But Daaaaaaddy," Gigi whined.

"No 'buts,' Miriam is waiting for you in your room. Go." Gigi pouted dramatically as she got up off the bed and stomped out of Rory's room.

"Thanks," Rory told Christopher once she was gone. "I thought that magic carpet ride was never going to end."

"She's just happy to have her big sister around."

"I know," Rory nodded. And she did. There were plenty of times in her childhood when she wished she had a big sister to play with her. Of course, Lorelai wasn't that much different from a big sister at times, but still. And Gigi didn't even have a mom in her life, so she was probably relishing in this all the more. "And I enjoy getting to have my little sister around. She's just a little exhausting is all."

Christopher chuckled. "Just you wait."

Rory placed her hand on her stomach, her face falling at her father's words. She knew they were meant to be in good humor, but the truth was, she could barely stomach thinking about what it was going to be like once Samuel was here. She was terrified.

"Hey." Her father's voice was warm and encouraging. He'd clearly noticed the distress in her face. He sat down on the edge of her bed. "It's going to be alright. Yeah, it's a lot of work, but you don't have to do it all alone. You've got support now." That should have been comforting, but it wasn't. All the mental preparation she had done had been based on the premise that she would be doing it alone. She knew it made no sense, but somehow it seemed less daunting doing it alone. Because at least then, she didn't really have any options. She'd go to work. She'd take care of her son. She'd do whatever it took to survive. But now, she had help. And suddenly her life had possibility again. She wouldn't just be expected to survive, she'd be expected to thrive. She'd be expected to be a multidimensional person with hobbies and interests. She'd be expected to be not just a mother but a daughter, a friend, and a girlfriend. And most of all, she'd be expected to have not just a job, but a career…possibly to go back to school. And she still had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. When all her plans for the future had fallen apart, she didn't have to worry about coming up with new ones. Because she wasn't going to have time for plans or a future; she was going to be a single Mom, doing it on her own. But now, now there were so many other things to plan for. "You've got Logan. And I mean, yeah, part of me wants to pummel him for all of this, but also, it's clear how much he loves you and that baby boy of yours. And you've got me, and your mom…"

"Don't," Rory held up her hand to stop him, her worry turning immediately to anger at the mention of the 'm' word.

"You've just got to give her some time. She'll come around."

"I said, 'don't,'" Rory repeated. She couldn't deal with listening to her father make excuses for her mother right now. Lorelai had made her choice; she'd chosen to double down on her ultimatum at Westin's that day. It was her way or the highway. Rory was welcome home if and only if, she did what Lorelai wanted.

Christopher let out a sigh as an awkward silence settled over the room. His eyes darted around uncomfortably until they landed on a booklet on her bedside table. His eyes lit up, clearly happy to have something non-Lorelai related to talk about. "Oh, did you get a chance to look through the catalogue yet? We really need to order a crib ASAP."

"Oh, umm…" She had looked at the catalogue, but it was difficult to choose when she hardly knew what she was choosing for. This was only a temporary home, a short-lived solution to her housing problems. She and Samuel couldn't stay here forever. She had Logan to think about. They would need a place of their own. Would there be room to give Samuel his own nursery? Would they need something they could squeeze into their room with them? What about putting it together and taking it apart since it would need to be set up here first and then moved to the new place? She couldn't just expect her father to buy expensive baby furniture for just a few weeks of use; no matter how much money his dead grandfather had apparently left him in his will. She had thought maybe Gigi's old crib would still be around for her to borrow but he'd transitioned her to a regular bed when they'd moved to this fancy new apartment after he got his inheritance a couple months ago, and they had left the old crib behind.

"Can't choose?" Christopher surmised. "No problem. We'll get him two. You'll need one for your new place and the other can stay here. My grandson deserves to have a room of his very own at his grandpop's."

"Oh, Dad, that's really generous, really, but…" She was cut off by the ringing of the doorbell.

"I better go get that," Christopher said. "Miriam is probably still wrangling Gigi in for her nap." Her father got up and headed out of the room.

Rory reached for the catalogue again. She felt weird accepting all this stuff from him—cribs, diapers, strollers…he was practically offering to bankroll her entire life for her. It was weird. But then again, he was her father. And she doubted he'd ever bought a crib for her as a kid, so maybe in a way he still owed her one. She knew he couldn't ever make up for not being present for her childhood, but he really seemed to be trying to be a dad this time—and not just with money. And sure, there had been times in the past when he seemed like he was trying and it hadn't stuck, but there was something different this time. For starters, he'd never gone against Lorelai before. That was huge for her father…to stand up to Lorelai. And he did it for her.

Rory was just peeling open the cover to the catalogue when she heard a commotion coming from somewhere outside her room. A door slamming, some muffled voices…and then one voice came through loud and clear. "I know she's here…I know you're here, Gilmore." Oh crap! There was the sound of stomping feet and a door slamming open. Thank god Gigi's room was further down the hall. Finally, her own door burst open and a petite blonde stormed in. "So, it's true." She looked her up and down with a scowl on her face.

"Hi, Paris," Rory replied sheepishly, instinctively sliding further under the covers as though the down comforter and Egyptian cotton would protect her from the wrath of the very scary woman before her. Christopher appeared in her doorway a moment later, trying to catch his breath.

"I tried to stop her. She's got like, superhuman strength or something."

"She's also trained in Krav Maga," Rory warned.

"Do I need to call for back up?"

"Do I need to call for back up?" Paris repeated in a mocking voice, shooting a withering glare Christopher's way.

"It's alright, Dad. I've got this."

He looked back and forth warily. "Alright, if you need anything, call." He disappeared from view again.

A charged silence settled in the air. "So, you are alive," Paris finally broke it. "And multiplying." She waved towards Rory's visibly pregnant stomach.

"Well, it's either that or I really need to cut back on the carbs."

"You think this is funny? Just an opportunity for some casual fatphobia?" Paris scolded. "Do you have any idea what the last six months have been like worrying about you?"

"I've been told a few times," Rory admitted. A part of her was tired of hearing about it, but the other part knew she deserved to hear it; to be forced to face the consequences of her actions and feel the guilt.

"Fine then. Let's forget about you and focus on me then, shall we? Do you have any idea what the last six months have been like for me? The IRS came for my parents and froze all our accounts, so I'm broke and my family has fled the country. I moved in with Doyle to a building that doesn't pass basic fire codes and there's a 'do-wop' group that loiters outside the building that hasn't harmonized a day in their lives—unless it's harmonizing the right ratio of uppers and downers. Terrence got sent back to court ordered rehab. I lost my only real competition at school—you. And, oh, in some finally good news, I got elected editor of the Yale Daily News next semester. Only I had no one to even celebrate with." And Paris certainly always could be counted on to bring the guilt.

"Oh," Rory replied meekly, feeling ashamed of herself. "Wow." She'd barely given a thought to what Paris had gone through while she was away. She'd been so caught up in her own crap that when the thought of her friends came up, she realized now, she'd seen them almost as though they were frozen in time. She just assumed that everything was the same as always. How selfish did she need to be to not realize their lives would go on without her. Finding out she'd missed so much was just another punch to the gut along with all the others she'd had lately. And she wasn't talking about the kind that Samuel delivered to her uterus.

"Wow? Wow?! That's what you've got to say for yourself? Wow?" Paris' hand was on her hip, her foot tapping like a mother scolding her child for not putting their toys away. Rory didn't know what to say. Were there any words that could make up for how crappy a friend she had been?

"That's…a lot," she managed to get out.

'Yeah," Paris scoffed. "It is. It's a lot. And you know what the worst part is?"

Oh god, there was more? What else could be worse than what Paris had already told her. Did Nanny get diagnosed with cancer or something? "Umm…"

"I mean, it's bad enough that you put your trust a person, you rely on them, and then one day you turn around and they're just gone without so much as a goodbye. But, to top it all off, not only did you not tell me you were leaving, but you also didn't even bother to tell me you were back. I had to hear it from Doyle…who heard it from Bill who heard it from Sheila who heard it from Michael."

"So…everyone knows?" Rory grimaced. She was actually wondering how Paris had found out.

"Everyone but me," Paris sneered.

"Well, I mean, you know now."

"I was the last one in the newsroom to hear. Do you know how humiliating that is? I mean, to be the last reporter to hear any breaking news…let alone news I should have gotten direct from the source?" Paris scoffed. "You're supposed to be my best friend."

"I'm sorry," Rory admitted.

"I didn't even rate one little phone call. I mean, how hard is it to pick up the phone and say, 'Hey, Paris. I'm alive and I'm staying at my father's in Boston. And, oh, by the way, I got knocked up by my Lance Bass look-a-like boyfriend and I'm about to pop like a water balloon.'"

Man, Paris sure did have a way with words. Also, what the hell? Logan looked nothing like Lance Bass. "It's not that I didn't want to tell you…it's just…I mean, when I left everything was falling apart. School…my Mom…De…ating life…" Rory tried to make a quick correction from almost spilling out the one secret she still couldn't share. "I just…didn't think I could take one more rejection."

"So what? You just automatically assume I would reject you? Thanks for the vote of confidence," Paris huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and reigning down a withering look on Rory from her position standing over the bed.

"Okay," Rory shrugged a shoulder. Rory was used to Paris' withering looks; they didn't intimidate her anymore. "What would you have said if I came to you and told you I was pregnant and dropping out of school?"

"I would have told you to get rid of the little parasite and get your ass back in school so you didn't wind up married to a two-timing man whore whose stays late at work every night to screw his secretary while you stay home and plan tea-parties as a distraction." Rory looked at Paris with a 'told-you-so' look. "Okay, fine," Paris continued on in self-defense. "But when you decided to keep the baby I would have tried to help you—despite the fact that I'm literally allergic to children…they give me hives."

"Look," Rory insisted. "I was going to call you but it's been kind of a lot what with dealing with my family and being in the hospital. I needed some time. And as for me leaving in the first place, it wasn't personal. I just…I couldn't face anybody. I needed to figure things out on my own."

"That's idiotic."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, I know they say pregnancy saps your brain cells or whatever, but I thought you were smarter than that."

"I am…I mean…that's not…I'm not…"

Paris did her the favor of talking right over her pitiful attempt at a defense. "When shit falls apart you don't figure it out on your own. That's what you have your people for."

"Says the woman who laid in bed and self-isolated for weeks after getting her Harvard rejection letter."

"And humiliating herself on CSPAN."

"And humiliating her friend on CSPAN," Rory reminded her.

"Yeah, well, you forgave me….and brought me my homework and told me to get my ass out of bed…and reminded me that I needed a life plan. And sure, you also convinced me to mutilate my face, but…"

"I did not tell you to get your nose pierced," Rory defended. "You did that all on your own."

"Whatever," Paris dismissed, waving her hand as though she could just sweep the words away. "The point is, I forgive you and I'm here to bring you your metaphorical homework and help you make a life plan and tell you to get your ass out of bed—not literally because you're on bed rest…"

"Okay, but…"

"No buts!" Paris cut off her objections, reaching into her bag to grab a notepad and pen.

"Hey, I at least let you finish General Hospital first."

"Yeah, well, you just got discharged from General Hospital and I'm not you, so your mooning time is over. Now…" Paris started shoving Rory over and sat down next to her on the queen-sized mattress. "Let's start figuring out who's gonna get to be in the Rory Gilmore business." Rory sighed, but inwardly, she felt the tiniest bit of pressure lift off her chest. Maybe it wasn't so bad to have possibility in her life again.