Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Gilmore Girls, actors, characters, plots, etc, that would be the wonderful people at WB. Although if I did, I'm pretty sure they'd be some big changes coughChadcough. Anyway if you do feel inclined to sue me, some people have strange urges and we must accept them for who they are, I'm currently flat broke so all you will get is a used textbook, on organic chemistry.
This chapter is for my family… Chapter 8She had hoped for a dramatic, yet graceful exit. But the powers-that-be in weather-world, decided that the one time she needed clear skies out of Miami, a tropical storm had to start up, grounding all flights until the morning. After a fitful sleep in the departure lounge, the last thing Rory wanted to be was on the same flight as her newly-minted ex-boyfriend and three of his closest friends. However someone up there really had it in for Rory that particular morning and so as departure lounge began to fill with passengers, she caught sight of the familiar blonde hair of Logan. At least she had managed to get an Economy class seat.
"Are you okay?" Finn asked, approaching her cautiously, he slipped into the empty seat beside her.
"I see you drew the short straw," Rory replied dryly, "Logan not brave enough to venture into the untamed wilds of the normal people?"
"He was never much of an adventurer," Finn joked, with a half-smile, "I, on the other hand, will try anything once, even slumming it with a not-so rich and famous."
"Does he care so little for me?" Rory asked, frowning sadly.
Her stomach grumbled reminding her that she had missed breakfast. Rory dug through a bag of food she had picked up at one of shops in the airport. A small bottle of orange juice, a packet of chicken-flavoured chips and an apple.
"His pride's a little worse for wear. And he needed to rejuvenate his ego. But he does care, Rory, more than he knows how to put into words… What about you, are you okay? You do realise you're eating an apple?"
"I'm hungry," Rory replied, staring at the apple which she had taken a sizeable chunk out of, "Finn, I never should have gotten back with him."
"I know."
"But I will be okay," she added firmly, taking another bite out of the apple.
"I should go, boarding will begin soon."
"And you have to report back to the Chief."
"Years of friendship and he makes me do recon for him."
"What will you tell him?"
"That if he wants to know how Rory Gilmore is doing, he's going to have grow himself a pair of balls and ask her himself," Finn replied standing, "And it's a myth, the ordinary people don't bite, not unless you ask them too!"
--
The journey back to Yale had been like a game of cat-and-mouse. Rushing out of the arrivals lounge, Rory managed to get to the taxi rank just ahead of Logan, and like something out of a money, he had ordered his taxi-driver to follow her taxi. All the way back to her dorm, Rory had caught glimpses of Logan chasing after her, always one step behind. She would make it across and intersection just as he reached it and so on. But by the time she reached her suite, he had caught up with her.
"Rory, dammit, can't we be mature about this?" Logan asked, running after her, "We're adults after all."
"No, I'm an adult," Rory retorted, unlocking the suite-door, "You just like being in adult situations."
"Oh, come on, is that really necessary?" demanded Logan, following her into the suite before she could stop him.
Paris, who had been watching some documentary on tv, looked up in shock to see the supposedly-perfect couple fighting.
"You're right, it's not," Rory conceded, "But I have no interest in speaking to you."
"I spent the whole flight back trying to work out how to make it up to you, will you just give me a chance to explain?"
"No, Logan, you had the whole flight to come and talk to me."
"Logan, maybe you should leave," Paris interrupted, for once she was the one trying to diffuse the anger.
"Not until I get a fair hearing."
Rory stormed into her room and Logan moved to follow her, but stopped when Paris motioned for him to stay there.
"Rory," Paris began cautiously, entering the room, "I have no idea what's going on and I can't say I'm the expert of relationship issues, but if you want my advice, don't go about this, this way."
"Paris, I should have listened to you before, when you told me not to get back with Logan," Rory sighed, tears escaping her closed eyelids.
"And you should listen to me now," Paris replied, handing her a tissue.
Rory was silent for a while, hugging a pillow to her chest, she stared out the window. She could see people, her fellow students, going about their normal lives. A group of guys were playing a makeshift game of football. A group of girls sat under the huge oak trees, laughing and gossiping. She wondered how many of the girls had slept with Logan. Slowly she turned around, leaving the pillow on the bed, she left the room.
"You know Logan, I thought I could take having an open relationship, but I can't," she told him, her voice strained with emotion, "I just can't be with you knowing that you were with someone else the night before and you will be with someone else the night after. I just can't do it."
"Rory –," Logan began, reaching a hand out to her.
"No, Logan, how many times do I have to tell you?" Rory interrupted, moving out of reach, her voice becoming stronger, "It's over between us. Just leave, already."
"Fine, I will, but don't come crawling back to me like you did last time when you got back from New York," Logan couldn't resist the retort as he headed for the door.
"Oh believe me, that won't be happening again," Rory replied harshly slamming the door after him.
"Rory, what's gotten into you?" Paris asked, when Rory returned.
While Paris was glad that Rory had finally ended her emotionally-masochistic behaviour and broken it off with Logan, but even she found Rory's behaviour to be a bit too harsh.
"I don't know," Rory replied wearily, "I'm just tired I guess."
"Okay."
Silence stretched between the pair, Paris trying to busy herself, rearranging papers at her desk, Rory fidgeting nervously with her bedspread. Finally Rory couldn't take it any more.
"Paris, I'm late," she whispered, hoarsely.
"Well then hurry up," Paris replied ever the practical one.
"No, I'm late," Rory repeated.
Paris paused for a second, her eyebrows drawing together.
"Oh, I see," Paris replied quietly.
They stared at each other for a second.
"Well, it happens. Anyone can be late for any number of reasons."
"Paris, I haven't been late in eight years."
"Oh, well in that case, I don't know."
"Paris! Right now I need Paris-with-all-the-answers, take charge of the situation now, know exactly what to do, not Paris-I-haven't-done-my-research, I-forget-we-had-a-test, slept-in, my-dog-ate-my-homework."
"Okay, okay! We don't know anything for certain, first we need to know why you're late, I mean we could be freaking out over nothing."
Paris rushed to her wardrobe, pulling out boxes, clothes and bags.
"Ah huh," she exclaimed, reaching the bottom of the cupboard, she pulled out a slim box.
"You keep home-pregnancy test kits?" Rory asked incredulously.
"You can never be too prepared," Paris replied, "So take this."
She shoved the box into Rory's hand and pushed her into the bathroom. A few minutes later Rory opened the door.
"Well?" Paris asked, dreading the answer.
"I can't look," Rory murmured.
Paris took the plastic stick from her friend's hand and compared it too the guidelines on the box.
"Oh, Rory," she murmured, the resignation in her tone was enough to make Rory start crying.
"What am I going to do?" Rory whispered, "Logan. My grandparents are going to kill me. And my mom, I haven't seen her in ages and now she's probably not going to want to talk to me ever again."
"It'll be okay," Paris tried to sound reassuring, but her usual commanding tone was gone.
The situation demanded a very un-Paris-like gesture and leaning over, she hugged Rory, letting her friend cry on her shoulder. Once Rory had calmed down a bit, Paris excused herself to quickly finish up a couple of things she had to do that day, saying she would be back in an hour. Before Paris left, she told Rory to read a book and try and take her mind off what was happening until she got back.
--
Digging through her closest, Rory pulled out her most comfortable pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Slipping them on, she curled up in bed, William Makepeace Thackary's Vanity Fair to keep her company. Some time later, Paris entered the room, stack of books in one hand, a fresh coffee in the other.
"Rory, why are you wearing a Stanford shirt?"
"A what?" Rory asked dumbly, taking a second to register the question, "Oh this, I don't remember. It was in my closest."
"Right, well, I'm going to take a shower," Paris replied, "And Rory, when was the last time you did your laundry?"
"Umm…"
"Yeah, I thought so."
Rory frowned slightly, playing with the hem of the t-shirt. It had a distinctly clean masculine scent, of soap and aftershave. The material was soft, any fresh starchiness was long gone, suggesting it had been worn and washed many times. The word 'Stanford' had been printed on it, the red ink faded in some spots.
She tried to imagine what the previous owner was like, how tall he was, was he an athlete, how did he like his coffee. Was this is favourite shirt? Oh god, had she adopted somebody else's favourite shirt? What kind of person was she to do something so terrible as that? He might of spent years searching for this one shirt, wearing it down to just the right softness and stretch. And where had she gotten that shirt? Rory closed her eyes, trying to remember… New York! Oh god. The guy, the one-night stand and the note. 'Rory'. By the time Paris returned from her shower, Rory had knotted herself into a mental mess.
"Paris, do you know anyone who goes to Stanford," Rory asked uneasily.
"Mmm, I think a couple of family friends, why?"
"Just, I don't know, the shirt got me thinking."
"When did you get the shirt anyway?" Paris asked.
Rory was silent for a while.
"Do you remember the weekend I went to New York?" she asked, after a moment
"Yeah," Paris answered, a little unsure of where this was going
"I might have gotten a little inebriated at maybe had a one night stand with the previous owner of the shirt," Rory continued, bracing herself for lecture, the kind that only Paris could give.
"Rory! What were you thinking?"
"I wanted to forget Logan and this guy was there, and I don't remember and I woke up in a different hotel room with this shirt."
"And the guy?"
"Gone. The thing is, it's about the right time ago, so maybe he's the father, not Logan. Trouble is I didn't ask him his name, I didn't tell him mine, but he left a note which had my name on it. At the time I thought he must have looked at my driver's license, but that says 'Lorelai' and the note said 'Rory'."
"You don't happen to still have that note do you?" Paris asked apprehensively.
"Yeah, actually I do," Rory replied, hurrying to her closet, she pulled out the purse she'd taken to New York, she pulled out the card and handed it to Paris who paled visibly as soon as she saw it.
"What?" Rory asked, concerned.
For a moment Paris couldn't speak, she could recognise that hand writing anywhere.
"Rory, I've got to go do something. Um, I'll be back later. We'll talk then, okay?" and with that Paris bolted from the suite, her mobile phone in one hand, the seemingly innocent little card in the other.
Paris tapped her fingernails rapidly against the tabletop, waiting impatiently for the phone to be answered.
"Hello?" she said as soon as the ringing stopped not waiting for the person at the other end to respond first.
There was a pause before a warm, masculine voice, coloured with concern filled the line.
"Paris? What's going on?"
"There may be a situation."
"You got a B on you're English Lit essay?" the man joked.
"Dammit it listen, this is more important than that. Were you in New York about five weeks ago?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Did you go to the Ashfords' Ball?"
"Yeah. Paris, what's this about?"
"What happened after the Ashford Ball?"
There was silence, and for a moment, Paris thought he'd hung up on her.
"How the hell did you find out about that?" it was his turn to do the demanding.
"So it was you!" Paris exclaimed triumphantly, she was always right, "What the hell were you thinking?"
"I didn't know it was her until it was too late," his tone was apologetic and regretful.
"So you left a card with her name on it?" scoffed Paris.
"What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic. Give me Serendipity and a five dollar bill," he replied sarcastically, "Maybe I wanted to stroke my ego, she looks at the card, remembers me and crosses the country looking for me and everybody says 'what a guy'."
"Well I've got two words to burst that rapidly inflating ego," Paris retorted, she took a breath before continuing, "She's pregnant."
"What?" The exclamation was of shock, but Paris could hear the concern in his tone and she had a strong feeling that his concern wasn't for himself.
"And you may or may not be the father," she finished, she felt far from victorious now.
--
AN: Okay, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that wasn't what you were expecting.