Pairings: Established relationships for L/L and P/J; R/T…eventually
Rating: R
Spoilers: May reference anything from seasons 1 & 2.
Disclaimer: The characters depicted here were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino, and are the property of Hofflund-Polone and Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions. They are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from their use.
Author's Note: The Cubs are predicted to win the World Series, and I'm putting out two chapters in two days. Obviously, the Apocalypse is nigh. Anyway, this chapter goes out to Roxy, because she's cool, and to Jamie, because she writes fantastic smutty Trory goodness.
I apologize in advance if anything seems implausible from a medical standpoint. My medical knowledge is largely gleaned from ER, which I don't even watch anymore.
Incidentally, this chapter's title quote is from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.
Unholy Alliance
by Grace
Part Thirty-three: The happiest man alive could use this mirror like a regular mirror; he would see himself the way he is.
As Tristan was parking his car in the rental return at Bradley International Airport, his cell phone began to ring. Glancing down, he saw that the caller was Paris, and he groaned. There was no way he was answering it. There would be plenty of time for her accusations, recriminations, and overall dressing-down of him. Right now, he was just going to focus on getting the hell out of Dodge. Resolutely, he ignored the persistent ring. When it started up again two minutes later, he simply turned the phone off.
Back in Hartford, Paris snapped her phone shut in irritation. "Where the hell is he? Why isn't he answering his phone?"
Calmly, Jess pointed out, "He probably doesn't want to talk to anyone right now. I'm sure he thinks you're just going to scream at him for running away. It's not like he has any idea what happened to Rory."
"Well, he should know what happened! It's because of him that she went flying out of here like a bat out of hell! He must have said something to her."
"You're not blaming him for the accident, are you?"
"Of course not. But that doesn't mean I don't think he should be here, by our sides. By her side."
Sitting in the waiting area of Hartford Hospital, Paris and Jess looked up as Luke and Lorelai came bursting through the Emergency Room doors. After the accident, Paris, Jess, and Ryan drove Richard and Emily's car to the hospital, theirs having been totaled in the crash. Luke and Lorelai had taken the three children, along with Richard and Emily, to Lorelai's parents' house, where they would watch them while Luke and Lorelai were at the hospital.
"Any word yet?" Lorelai asked, her face tear-stained but composed.
Paris shook her head. "No one's come out to tell us anything."
"Dammit, what's taking so long?" It was clear her fragile control was slipping. "My baby is in there, and no one even has the decency to tell us what's going on?"
Luke wrapped an arm around his trembling wife. "I'm sure someone will talk to us as soon as they can. Do you want me to find you some coffee?"
She nodded, and allowed him to lead her to one of the chairs beside Paris and Jess. "Keep an eye on her, okay?" he said quietly to his nephew.
"Where's Ryan?" Lorelai asked abruptly.
Paris scowled. "In the bathroom. Apparently he doesn't 'do well' with hospitals, and when they wheeled somebody through from the ambulance bay, he completely lost it. Useless man, if you ask me."
"Have you…have you managed to reach Tristan yet?"
Paris shook her head. "No. I think he's ignoring my calls. Probably just thinks I'm calling to yell at him. Which I plan to do, of course, but this is more important, obviously."
Luke returned with a steaming cup of coffee just as a doctor came out into the lobby. "Is the family of Lorelai Gilmore here?"
Lorelai shot to her feet. "I'm here. I'm her mother, Lorelai Gilmore. Lorelai Danes. Lorelai Gilmore-Danes. Dammit, how is my daughter?"
"Please calm down. Lorelai…"
"Rory. Her name is Rory."
"Alright. Rory sustained massive trauma during the crash. She's bleeding internally, and there's some swelling around her brain. She's being taken into surgery now, and we'll know more soon."
Lorelai sank back into her chair, shaking. "Is there anything we can do?" Luke asked.
"Not really. If you'd like to donate blood, they can tell you how at the nurse's desk. Right now, unfortunately, it's a waiting game. We'll see how she comes through the surgery, and go from there. She's in good hands, I promise you that."
"Thank you, doctor," Luke said, extending his hand to the other man. "Let us know when you hear something."
"I will." He walked away, and Luke turned to his wife. "It's going to be okay, Lorelai. They'll take good care of her."
Lorelai nodded. "I think we need to call Christopher."
Luke nodded, and fished her cell phone out of her purse. "I'll go take care of it. You stay here."
He walked out to the vestibule, and stared at the electronic contraption in his hand for a moment. Tentatively, he began poking various buttons, and finally found an entry labeled "Chris." Hitting the talk button, he braced himself for the conversation. "Hi, this is Luke Danes. You need to come to Hartford Hospital. It's Rory."
* * *
Brooke Davis sat in the opulent ballroom of the country club, her eyes damp with tears. After the announcement had been made about the accident, many of the guests had left, but there were still quite a few milling about, gossiping. She was, for all intents and purposes, stuck here, since her date had left. She was pretty sure Tristan didn't even realize what he had done. She wondered if anyone had managed to get a hold of him yet. On impulse, she reached for her cell phone and dialed his number. It went immediately to voice mail, and she left a brief message. "Hey loverboy, it's Brooke. You left a little chaos back here. Call me when you get this."
She ended the call, and stared off into space for a few minutes. Love certainly made people do crazy things. Although she didn't know exactly what had conspired between Tristan and Rory, she was sure he would feel guilty and blame himself for her accident. She wondered what would happen to the young woman that she had only just met. Brooke had wandered outside earlier, and seen the police cars, ambulance, and fire truck crowded around the tiny crumpled vehicle. She couldn't bring herself to step close enough to see Rory, afraid of what the scene might reveal.
Life was too short, she decided. Everyone danced around each other, so careful not to do or say the wrong thing. No one wanted to take a risk, forgetting that simply living was the greatest risk of all.
Resolutely, she dialed a familiar number on her cell phone. "Peyton? Hi, it's Brooke."
"I'm okay. Things are a little crazy here. How are you?"
"Wow, I can't believe that Patrick is almost two years old already. How are Jake and Jenny?"
"That's great. It sounds like things are really going well for you guys. Look, I know this is a little out of the blue, but…do you know how to get in touch with Lucas?"
"He's living where?"
"That is so bizarre. I mean, I know it's a big city, but that makes it seem like such a small world. How come you never mentioned it before?"
"Yeah, I guess I'm not sure I wanted to know before either. So you have his number?"
"Great, thanks. Look, I have to go, but let's try to keep in better touch, okay? I miss you, babe."
"You too. Love you forever. Bye."
She hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and dialed one more time. This time, the voice on the other end was warm and familiar, an echo from the past. "Lucas? This is Brooke…Brooke Davis, from Tree Hill…"
* * *
Tristan settled comfortably into his seat in first class, a blanket across his lap and a pillow behind his head. He had made a short hop from Bradley to JFK in New York, changed planes, and was now ready to continue on to Rome. As he watched the last few coach passengers board the plane, he pulled out his cell phone and turned it on. He wanted to check his messages before the flight crew decreed cell phones off-limits for the duration of the flight.
His eyes widened in fear and panic as he listened to Paris' strident voice. "Tristan, call me immediately. Rory was in an accident, and she's being rushed to the hospital. I don't know where you are, but you'd better get your ass back here on the double."
He turned off the phone and shot to his feet, earning a disapproving glare from the businessman in the seat beside him. Immediately, a flight attendant was by his side. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to sit down and fasten your seatbelt."
"You don't understand—I have to get off this plane."
"I'm afraid that simply isn't possible, sir. We've already pulled away from the gate, and we'll be taking off momentarily."
"Then turn the plane around, or pull up some of those rolling stairs or something! I can't be on this flight!"
The female flight attendant was joined by a much burlier male counterpart. "Sir, if you don't sit down immediately, we will be forced to report you to the authorities, who will meet you upon our landing in Rome."
Reluctantly, Tristan sat down. "Can I at least make a phone call? It's something of an emergency."
The woman's face softened a tiny bit. "I'm sorry, sir, but you're going to have to wait until we reach cruising altitude. Then you can feel free to use our in-flight phone," she said, gesturing to the handset embedding in the seat back in front of him.
"I suppose that will have to do," he replied.
* * *
Seconds ticked by into minutes, and minutes dragged on into hours. Finally, the doctor from earlier emerged in the lobby and headed for Luke and Lorelai.
"How is she?" Lorelai asked, a note of panic in her voice.
"Your daughter is out of surgery, and her condition has stabilized. There was a lot of internal bleeding, which we managed to stop during surgery. We had to remove her spleen. The swelling around her brain has gone down significantly, but right now she is in a comatose state. At this point, we don't know when she will emerge from it."
"What does that mean?" Luke asked.
"It means that for right now, the best thing for all of you to do is get some rest. Rory has just had major surgery—regardless of how things go in the long run, she won't be waking up in the next several hours. We'll be keeping an eye on her, monitoring her responses, and hopefully we'll be able to tell you more soon."
"Thank you, doctor," Luke said.
"Can I see her?" asked Lorelai. "I want to see my baby."
"She's in a post-op recovery room right now. I'll have someone let you know when she gets moved to a room in the ICU. You'll be able to see her then."
"Thank you," she whispered.
Once the doctor was gone, she turned to face Rory's assembled family and friends. Christopher still hadn't arrived from Boston, but they were expecting him any minute. Ryan had finally emerged from the bathroom, although he was looking a little green around the gills. Paris and Jess were still in the same chairs they had sat in upon arrival, stoic and silent. "Jess, I want you to take Paris and Ryan back to the house in Stars Hollow. There's no point in all of us sitting around here—you heard what the doctor said."
"Lorelai, I want to stay," Paris protested.
"Paris, you need to think about the baby right now. Rory wouldn't want you to take any unnecessary chances because of her."
This mollified Paris somewhat, and she nodded. Ryan, it should be noted, offered no objection to leaving.
Lorelai turned to her husband. "Luke, why don't you go with them? Christopher will be here soon, and he can sit with me."
He wrapped his arms around her waist, his forehead resting on hers. "I'm not leaving you and Rory. Period."
Fighting tears, she nodded. "Paris, can you give my parents a call, let them know what's going on? I just don't have the energy to talk to anyone." She lowered her voice so Ryan couldn't hear. "And please keep trying to get in touch with Tristan."
Paris nodded. "I will. We'll come back tomorrow morning, first thing, okay?"
Lorelai nodded, and sank down onto a loveseat, pulling Luke down beside her. Resting her head on his strong shoulder, she settled in to wait.
* * *
The plane had reached its cruising altitude of 35,000 feet, soaring high above the Atlantic Ocean. Tristan practically ripped the telephone from the back of his seat, and hastily swiped his credit card to activate the appliance. It seemed like forever before he heard a voice on the other end of a familiar number.
"Hello?"
"Paris, it's Tristan."
"Where the hell are you?"
"I'm on a plane headed for Italy. I didn't get your message until just before take-off, and by then it was too late to do anything. I'm sorry."
"You know, if you had just answered the phone like a mature adult, instead of refusing to speak to me…"
"Can we do this later? I need to know what happened to Rory."
"There was an accident. Car v. semi. The semi won."
"Is she…okay?"
"She's alive, but in a coma. They had to remove her spleen."
"Oh, God. How did it happen? When?"
"It was right after you left. She pulled out of the parking lot, and the truck hit her."
"Right after I left? How is that possible? I saw her go back inside."
"Apparently you didn't see her go back outside, after borrowing the keys to our car."
"Where was she going?"
"After you, I presume."
He swallowed hard. "Are you sure?"
"Pretty sure. She came flying in here after you left, mumbled something that included your name, and demanded to borrow our car."
"This is all my fault," he moaned. "No one…no one else was in the car with her?"
"No, she was alone. Now, how soon can you be back?"
"I don't know. My plane won't land in Italy for close to eight hours. I'll try to catch the earliest flight back. I'll call you when I know when it is."
"Okay. Hurry, please. Tristan…did you say something to her before you left?"
"I told her I loved her." Without preamble, he hung up the phone.
Miles away, in Stars Hollow, Paris stared at her phone, and muttered, "Well, shit."
To be continued…