Title: Is to Fear Life (The title is part of a quotation from Bertrand Russell: To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead.)
Rating: PG… I guess?
AN: This is what I get for starting a fic the day before an episode. Due to 5.10: But Not as Cute as Pushkin, I've made certain adjustments which in effect semi-spoil the episode. I also skip over a scene that is in the actual episode, between Rory and her grandfather. I finished this the day 5.10 aired but FF has been screwing me over so I'm only posting it now. EDIT: Reposted the first half because I sort of hated it. Hopefully it flows better now (and it also works with the next chapter).
Disclaimer: Everybody involved in this fic, including myself, belong to Amy Sherman-Palladino and The WB. They are collectively my daddy.
I: Always the Last to Know
"Marty, slow down!" Rory ran into his back when he stopped abruptly. "Ow," she rubbed her nose as he turned around.
"What are you doing here?" he asked sharply.
Rory looked around in confusion. It was a house party hosted by one of Logan 's innumerable friends.
"Um, hanging out?" The were outside now, on the sidewalk in front of the aforementioned house. Hugging herself for warmth, Rory wondered where Logan had tossed her coat.
"Are you dating him, Rory?"
"Who?" The cold had numbed her, and all she could think about was luring Marty back inside.
"Damn it, Rory, you know who!"
His anger surprised her, and she forgot about her discomfort. "You mean Logan ?" She paused. "Well, um, we're kind of, uh..." She trailed off, unsure of the answer.
"It's a simple question, Rory," Marty gritted out.
"Well, we're on a date tonight… sorta."
"Jesus, Rory!" he cried, smacking a tree in frustration. Startled, she could only stare at him with wide eyes. "You know how I feel about those guys! No," he corrected himself, "you know what those guys are like! They're jerks. They only care about whether they're having a good time and when the next one will be."
" Logan 's not like that. He's-"
"What? Spoiled? Arrogant? Rude? Cocky? Condescending? Bourgeois?"
"Marx?" She blinked. "Marty, the only time I've seen you two interact before tonight he was nothing but friendly. Colin was the ass."
"Is there even a difference? Those guys are all the same."
"What's going on? Why is this such a problem?"
"A week ago you couldn't stop talking about how much you hate him, and now you're on a date? What's that all about?"
Rory shrugged. "I honestly don't know. One minute I feel like tearing his head off, the next thing I know, I'm having an amazing time at dinner with him."
"Whatever," he mumbled, looking away.
Rory put a hand on his arm. Intent on gathering her words, she missed his flinch at her touch. "I appreciate your concern, Marty, but I can take care of myself. This shouldn't bother you," she said gently.
"But it does! You're my friend, and he's only using-"
"Don't finish that sentence," Rory cut him off sharply, her eyes flashing.
Marty averted his own. "Rory, I just..." He focussed on something over her shoulder and she glanced behind her to see Logan on the porch, casually leaning against a pillar, arms crossed over his chest. Finn was there and they appeared to be talking, but Logan caught her eye long enough to confirm his presence was not accidental. Marty's voice turned her back around. "I know him. I don't want you to get hurt."
"I'm a twenty-year-old girl, not some porcelain princess," she shot back, irritated. "I have enough people in my life trying to protect me. I don't need you questioning my actions on top of everyone else. You're supposed to be my friend, Marty," she finished, hurt.
The anger seemed drain out of him. "Your friend," he repeated. Sighing, he offered flatly, "I just don't think you know what you're getting yourself into."
Clenching her fists, she heard a cacophony of voices: Lorelai, Richard, Emily, Paris, Dean... "I am so sick of people thinking they know what's best for me," she said bitterly. "I'm not as innocent or ignorant as you think. There's a lot you don't know about me, Marty."
He stared at her for a moment. "You're right," he replied quietly, stepping around her and returning to the house.
She was still staring blankly at the spot he had vacated when Logan materialized at her side, hands in his pockets. "Everything all right?" he asked.
"Yeah, I guess," she muttered, turning to him. "Actually, no. I'm going to have to fix that, I think." His face was carefully neutral, but she detected the tiniest bit of concern. "Why didn't you step in?" she asked.
A slight shrug. "Why would I?"
"Huh," she nodded slowly, acclimating to the concept. Hands on her hips, she cocked her head thoughtfully. "I guess the guys I've dated have been a bit more over-protective. You know, swing first, check with the girl later."
"You're all grown up, Ace. You seemed to have the situation under control, and it wasn't my business. Besides," he bent his head toward her to catch her eye, "I'm not the jealous type."
Rory corrected him. "Oh, it's not like that. Marty's just looking out for me."
His face broke into the familiar half-smile, half-smirk. "That is so cute," he said, chucking her under the chin.
She swatted his hand away, annoyed. "Don't do that. Don't belittle my friendship with Marty."
"Rory," he spoke slowly, as if she had comprehension issues. "Marty's in love with you. Why else do you think he's always hanging around?"
"Because we're friends," she retorted. "Guys and girls can have platonic relationships, Logan . It's evidently a concept you're unfamiliar with—"
Rolling his eyes, Logan cut her off. "Don't be so naive." He gestured toward the house. "I'm going to get a drink. Coming?"
"In a second," she responded stiffly. Shrugging, he strolled off, leaving her to lean back against Marty's tree. Shivering, she stared blankly down the street, trying to resist the urge to cry.
"Why am I always the last to know?" Rory wondered out loud.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Stop being so naive, Rory.
The words spun in her head as she slipped into her suite. Paris, sitting on the couch reading, didn't look over but tossed out a, "I told you she was after our men."
Ignoring her, Rory dropped her coat on the table. "Can you believe Marty thinks Logan likes me?" she said casually. "He even called me naive! As if I can't tell when a guy likes me. It's crazy, right?" Forcing a laugh, she eyed her roommate's reaction.
"You can't," Paris stated, again without taking her eyes off her page.
"What do you mean? Yes, I can. It's pretty obvious. I can tell," Rory said defensively.
Finally looking up, the blonde repeated, "No, you can't. Tristan? Jess?"
The names gave Rory pause. "Those were years ago," she dismissed. Shaking her head, Paris resumed reading. "Besides, what happened to friendships between guys and girls? Can't people be friends without sex getting in the way?" She grimaced unconsciously. "I can't believe you slept with Doyle."
Slamming her book shut, Paris stood. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she asked evenly.
Rory back-pedalled. "Nothing, it's just surprising," she said quickly, donning her most innocent expression.
Her roommate's eyes narrowed. "Look, Gilmore. The little media tsar likes you. It's a fact. I know it, Marty knows it, the tsar's entourage knows it, your entire class and your prof know it. Everyone knows it but you. In fact, my sources tell me—"
"Your sources?"
"—he hasn't so much as touched a piece of Prada-clad ass tossed his way in three weeks. You officially re-entered the market—" Paris pretended to think about it for a split second, "—exactly three weeks ago! Wow, what a coincidence," she finished sarcastically.
"He didn't even know I was off the market in the first place."
"Well he knows now."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means that your grandmother is planning the engagement party with his mother as we speak, while their husbands outline the pre-nup. Now, whether he wants you for a notch on his bookshelf—"
"Paris!"
"—because, let's be honest, I doubt there's space left on his bedposts, or for the future Mrs. Media Tsar—"
"I'm keeping my last name," Rory muttered.
"—he's into you. So shelve the innocent act because no one's buying it." Stalking to her room, she shouted as the door slammed behind her, "You should be grateful he's taller than you!"
Surprised, Rory stared at the door for a minute. Just when she thought she was getting used to Paris… Worst day, ever. How had she managed to upset everyone she knew?
Frowning, Rory retreated to her room to call her mother. She refused to acknowledge the rush she'd gotten from Paris's apparent confirmation, which wasn't so hard accompanied as it was by a knot of dread in her stomach. Until she had more convincing evidence, she wasn't taking anything for granted. She was a journalist after all. Right. Besides, analysing how she felt right now was moot. Especially since she mostly felt like throwing up.
She picked up the phone to dial her mom's cell when another part of what Paris said sank in. So he thought everything was a game, did he? Grinning deviously, she selected speed dial for her grandfather, instead.
"Hi, Grandpa? I have a favour to ask…"
The next afternoon, feeling very smug, a tap at her window disturbed Rory. Saving the file she was working on, she turned from her laptop to see what caused the distraction and was surprised that, rather than a cryptic envelope, Logan stood on the other side of the pane. Trying to suppress a grin, she strolled over and opened the window.
"Forget your tape?" she asked pleasantly.
"Nope," he answered, hefting himself up on the windowsill.
Panicked, Rory stepped back. "What are you doing?"
In the process of slinging a leg into her room, he paused to glance at her. "As an aspiring reporter, Ace, you should be aware that questions with obvious answers only annoy your sources."
"You can't come in here!" Her outrage warred with satisfaction at seeing him try to navigate the narrow entrance.
With a final heave, he landed on his feet in her room. He couldn't fall on his ass like a normal person, could he? Heaven forbid he experience a less than graceful moment. "I had to. Can't very well do this from outside," he added, dropping to one knee and pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. Popping the box open, he spoke solemnly. "Will you?"
Rory couldn't be sure, but she thought she felt her chin scrape against the hardwood floor at her feet.
Ignoring her reaction, Logan stood, slipped the ring on her finger and continued. "Richard stopped by this morning to fill me in on the details and, wanting to do this properly, I picked up a ring after class and came straight here." Still in shock, Rory let him grasp her hands in his and pull her close. "You've made me a very happy man, Rory." Leaning closer so their lips were nearly touching, he breathed, "Say you will."
The flock of butterflies in her stomach that took flight at that point brought her to her senses and she pushed him away. At that distance, she noticed the glint in his eyes and the smirk on his lips, confirming she'd been had. "What?" he said innocently.
Rather than anger, however, she felt amusement. Without an audience, his jokes were somewhat entertaining. "I just don't think it's going to work, Logan," she replied carefully, as though letting him down gently. "My mom really doesn't want ugly grandkids."
"I'm willing to keep trying if you are."
Laughing at his earnest expression, she raised her hand to examine the bauble he'd placed there. It was large and gaudy, blatantly brass and glass. "I will keep the ring, though," she nodded, satisfied.
"Hey, I have a deposit on that!"
"I'll pay you back the quarter," Rory assured him, her eyes twinkling.
Placing his hands in his pockets, he cocked his head to one side and smiled slightly. "Why don't you let me take you out instead?"
"Oh! Um, I, uh..." she stammered, looking away and nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear that immediately fell forward again.
"It's a simple question, Ace."
His condescension riled her and she mentally kicked herself for being so flustered. "Sure," she tossed back defiantly, picking up the gauntlet he'd thrown.
He grinned at her tone and stepped forward, tucking the lock of hair back again. "Thursday?"
"Works for me," she answered nonchalantly, attempting to stifle the buzz she felt at his touch.
Smiling, Logan backed away. "Thursday it is. I'll use the door if it's all the same to you. This dorm must have been a convent at some point," he mumbled, frowning at the window before slipping out of her room, leaving Rory rooted in place, wondering what she'd just agreed to and why she was always the last to know.
AN II: If you've read this far and have not seen But Not as Cute as Pushkin, I assume you're ok being spoiled. Rory calls her grandfather in to pull a prank on Logan after he embarrassed her in class with a fake profession of love. Richard more or less assures him that in light of his declaration, their engagement has been arranged and all appropriate documents and newspaper alerts confirmed.