Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything up to Jews and Chinese Food is fair game. Past that, it's just where my mind takes over.
Teaser: When Rory and Logan's arrangement goes prematurely sour, his friends take it upon themselves to intervene. Sequel to Keeping it Casual
Story Title: Nothing A Good Friend Wouldn't Do
Chapter Title: Postmortem
Lorelai walked in through the back door, as she normally did on the mornings that she arrived home between waking up at Luke's and making a quick turn around to head to the Inn. She ripped open a package of Pop tarts, put one in the toaster and turned to go upstairs. She stopped mid-turn, staring unabashedly for a beat at the scene in front of her.
Her daughter's skirt lie abandoned just outside the doorframe, evidently having been forgotten as soon as it was shed in the haste of the moment. A man's dress shirt lay just before the foot of the bed, buttons scattered across her rug like they'd been dumped out of a sewing kit. She could feel her heart give a lurch by the time she skimmed her gaze over the bed, the final blow of seeing her daughter's form pressed into that of Logan's, only a sheet covering their bodies.
She blinked and turned, willing her heart to beat normally. There was no parental code as to how to act upon finding your only child in such a state. Especially your grown, independent daughter and her equally grown boyfriend. It wasn't like she didn't know they did this, but the reason as to why they were even here—like this or not—was a complete mystery as well.
The phone rang, sending her into panic mode. Suddenly the only thing worse than having seen this display was having them wake up to know she'd seen this display. She ran for the phone, her shoes making the loudest noise she'd ever heard on the floor as she went, and yanked it off the set.
"Hello?" she whispered.
"Lorelai, where are you?"
"What? Sookie, I'm--,"
"You need to get here right away. Michel's not here, and it's just me, and two bellmen, and there's a wedding party trying to check out, and--,"
"Sook, calm down, I was just changing, but I--,"
"But nothing, I don't know what I did, but the computer is making this noise, and Lorelai, hurry!"
"Fine, fine, I'll be right there!"
She threw the phone at the couch and raced upstairs to change into anything more acceptable than the warm-ups and tee shirt she'd worn over to Luke's late last night for their evening in. If nothing else, Sookie's panic took away the immediacy of deciding what to do about the array of limbs and shed clothing in Rory's room.
She decided to brave the kitchen one last time on her way out the door, to retrieve the only chance at breakfast she would get this morning. Taking a paper towel to wrap around the warmed pastry, so grabbed her purse in the other hand, almost free to hit the door.
"Mom?"
She looked up, feeling as if she'd crashed Rory's house as opposed to the other way around. "Oh. Hey."
Rory had pulled a robe around herself and pulled the door mostly closed to block the majority of the evidence of what had transpired here the night before.
"You off to work?"
"Yeah, I, well, yeah."
Rory could feel her mother's discomfort, surmounted only by her own. "I didn't plan on coming home last night."
"Oh. Well, it's your home too," Lorelai nodded, her comfort still not multiplying.
"I just wanted to explain, we--,"
"Oh, Hon, look, I really have to get to the Inn," she bit her lip, knowing the weirdness and uncertainty flowing between them, "But we can talk later. Are you staying around?"
"Oh. Well. I'm not sure. But if we leave, I'll call you."
"Right. Call me. Oh, and if Sookie calls sounding panicked, just tell her I'm on my way," she added as she pulled her keys from her purse and left. Rory stood in the kitchen, staring at the door after her mother had shut it and she'd heard the Jeep fire up and pull out of the driveway. She turned to see her skirt lying on the floor, and she bent down to pick it up. She eased her door open again to find Logan sitting up in her childhood bed, looking at her sheepishly.
"Morning."
"Morning."
"Was that?"
"Yeah."
"Right."
"Yeah."
A beat of silence passed between them, and she allowed her gaze to shift back to the floor. She saw the buttons that had been extracted from his shirt last night, and a flash of memory swept over her, remembering the tugging and urgency of the act.
"Your shirt," she breathed, picking it up with her other hand, holding up the buttonless garment for inspection.
"Rory, come here," he said, pulling the sheets back a bit for her to climb back under.
"I'm sorry," she said, handing it back to him. He broke into a smile as he ran his fingers over the side where buttons used to line up down the front of the shirt.
"Why are you smiling?"
"I was remembering you doing that," he couldn't help himself.
"You're not mad?"
"Mad? No. Are you?"
"I'm," she paused, as if truly considering what she was feeling. "I'm confused."
He nodded. "I can't apologize for anything I said last night," he informed her.
"Me either," she agreed.
"Good. No matter what happens, I need you to be honest with me."
She nodded. "So, what do we do now?"
"We talk."
"Right," she said, settling down next to him in her bed. He was still warm from the cocoon they'd created with their bodies under the sheet during the night. Though it was cold outside, it'd been unbearably hot in the room as their frenzy drove them. She couldn't remember falling asleep, but she could clearly visualize all of their argument as well as their venting of their frustrations. She'd never known she could have such a good time during a fight.
"I'm a little scared," she admitted.
He nodded, not gloating--just listening. "Of me?"
"Of what might happen if I stop concentrating on making a name for myself as a journalist."
"You're good at it, you're going to make it."
She blushed. "You can't plan for everything, things … happen."
"Things like?"
"Like my entire existence."
"Rory," he breathed, throwing his shirt off to the side of her room to wrap his arm around her. "That's crazy."
"My parents were sixteen, Logan. They didn't plan me, my father was never there for me, and he wasn't there for my mother. She had to do everything herself, give up everything, and all for me. If I don't become something great, make it worth it," she had begun to tremble, as she vocalized these fears for the first time to anyone. He tightened his grasp of her, holding her silently as she let out her fears in shuddering bursts.
"You're putting way too much pressure on yourself."
"I didn't mean to get so upset with you, about your father, it's just," she gulped, taking in as much air as she could. "He's there for you. He cares. He's created something for you, and he's involved in your life."
"He does it for him."
"But he does it."
Logan began to understand her freak out. It really didn't have so much to do with him, as it did with her and her own estranged relationship with her father. "Do you talk to your dad much?"
She shrugged. "He's pretty busy with GG."
"GG?"
"His new daughter."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Her mom took off and left, evidently she's not the motherly type."
"Karma's a bitch, huh?"
Rory shrugged again. "I don't want that to be me."
"It won't be."
"See, this is the kind of stuff I didn't want you to know."
"Why?"
She looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean, why?"
"You think this makes you any more screwed up than me or my friends?"
"I didn't want to have to push you away."
"Then don't."
She moved closer into him, settling down into his arms. She lay her head on his chest, and took a deep breath. "What about you?"
"How am I screwed up?"
"Yeah."
"My parents did plan me, in fact, they'd hoped my sister was a boy. They wanted a son to take over the business, whether said child wanted to inherit the business or not."
"But you're good at--," she began, but he put a finger to her lips.
"That doesn't matter. I was never given the option to decide. When I was little, do you know what I wanted to be?"
She shook her head, her curiosity peaked.
"A fireman."
"What? Why?"
He smiled, "Because it seemed so exciting, they got to ride on that big truck, sirens blaring, and save beautiful women from burning buildings," he explained.
"That they do."
"And do you know what my father did when I told him what I wanted to be, at the age of four?"
She shook her head, watching as his face changed. "He told me not to be stupid, that I was going to be a newspaper man, just like him."
"Wow."
"I don't want that to be me."
She ran a hand over his face, slowing over the stubble that was forming in the late morning hours, and looked into his eyes. "It won't be."
"So, is the mystery gone?"
"Yeah. Pretty much," she feigned disinterest.
"Onto the next victim?"
"I think I'll keep you around, for a while longer anyway. There are still some things you don't know about me."
All joking aside, now with fears put out on the table, they clung to one another in the safety of her bed. Every time they were together, she was convinced it was impossible to feel closer to his man, more connected in the most primal of ways, but he always surprised her. She felt as if she'd disappear if he did. He knew things about her that'd she'd never admitted to anyone—things he'd seem to have known without her speaking the words, pushing her to purge her concerns. She sat up to look at him again, her eyes seeing him in his entirety for the first time, with his exterior cracked. She knew hers was as well, and he wasn't going anywhere. She offered a hesitant smile.
"So, how pissed was your mom?"
"Not pissed. More freaked."
"Should we," he began, but she shook her head.
"I'll explain it to her, later. She had to get to work. She'll be glad that this all worked out."
"You're kidding."
"No. I mean, she'll make us pay for years, for the mental scarring that she suffered, but deep, deep down, she'll be glad that we were happy."
"For years, huh?"
"I just meant," she felt the familiar rush of her heart as words she hadn't meant to slip out showed her true feelings.
"I know what you meant."
"Right," she breathed, looking down at her lap.
"Rory?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you," he whispered, kissing her for the first time this morning. She fell into him, no signs of struggle or pulling away. She felt as if she were literally sinking in to his body. Her skin hummed at the contact, and she smiled into the kiss.
"We should probably get back," he groaned.
"To study?"
He smirked. "My friends are dying to hear how dinner went."
"Well, at least they won't be disappointed," she giggled, finding some humor in the situation. "Do you think your parents," she trailed off, hating to think of the fact that her grandmother probably already knew she'd stormed out of the house last night.
"They're fine."
"Good."
"Let's go," he reiterated, and they began to right themselves, wandering back over their hurried trail from the night before to reclaim all that they'd come with. Rory found a spare flannel shirt in the dryer of Luke's to loan him, in place of his unclosable shirt that he'd worn over the night before. After writing a quick note to her mother, the two got back into his car and headed back towards school.
XXXX
"You sure you wanna go in there?"
"I wanna make sure I get a fair portrayal."
"You want to hear them mock me about the shirt."
"I have no idea what you're talking about. I have no such devious motives," she grinned widely, watching as he unlocked his door.
"Right," he shook his head, stepping into the room that held Colin and Finn. They were sprawled out over the couches, watching some unknown movie that got turned off as soon as Logan was recognized.
"You're back," Colin stated.
"We are."
"What'd they keep you overnight for observation?" Finn asked. Colin shot him a look, but he just shrugged. "It's happened."
"No, we uh, actually left after dessert. Or, rather, in the middle of dessert."
"What is with the flannel? You giving it up to go all lumberjack on us?" Colin asked. Rory snickered, and laid her jacket over the back of the couch and sat down next to him.
"Hey, if he wants to be a lumberjack, that's okay," she giggled.
"I'm going to change. And I'm taking her with me, so you can't have any details," he threatened, yanking Rory up by the hand suddenly.
"We're sorry, hey, we're sorry!" Colin exclaimed, pouting as Logan and Rory disappeared into his room and the door closed behind them.
"Damn."
"I liked the shirt," Finn mused.
"You would. You think it went okay?"
"They're alive and together, right?"
"That they are," Colin agreed, and turned the movie back on, settling down against the cushions to await the reemergence of his friends.
