Notes: Hello, my friends. First off, I'm so sorry this took a couple months to get out. I actually ended up losing this entire piece when my laptop died, and I had to wait a month to get another laptop, and then I had to write the whole thing over. Which, in the long run, is probably a good thing, because I think the second go turned out better than the first one.
I really wanted to get this out on Christmas for you guys as a present from me to you, but today was the best I could do. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone (a day late)! I love you guys, and you're all very supportive of this story and I want you to know that I'm still extremely in love with, enthusiastic about and devoted to the Adventures of Rory Huntzberger and Logan Hayden.
Smaller Note: The beginning flashback may be confusing for some of you. Let me just say this, so perhaps you'll understand a bit better: Rory Huntzberger has no association with the Gilmore last name, except for having heard it in passing. She has no idea that the name has anything to do with her. Here's a small hint about why that is: Just because Lorelai is ten years older than she is in canon, doesn't mean Richard and Emily's ages have changed at all. Think about that a little before you head into the flashback. ;)
All in all, I'm so glad to be back and I hope you guys are happy to have me back. Enjoy. :)
III. Rory
December 24th, 1989
The Avon Golf club was not Lorelai's ideal location for a Christmas Eve party hot-spot, that was for sure, but it was far away from Mitchum, and given the tumultuous nature of their relationship as of late, the stuffy, posh establishment felt like a sharp breath of relief. Besides, the view underneath the admittedly tacky fake tinsel trees was beyond heartwarming. Her two little girls—little devils, rather—were huddled under expensive ornaments and silver branches, their heads bent together, whispering conspiratorially. Honor's blonde hair was braided down her back in shimmering gold, smile mischievous and hazel eyes sparkling, with Rory's baby blue eyes wide and childlike, her dark hair splayed over her shoulders like a curtain. Gossipy, fake women and their ostentatious Christmas decorations aside, spending Christmas Eve with the three most important women in her life was nothing to scoff at, wherever the locale. A lot of people in the world didn't have that good fortune. When a hand suddenly rested itself on her shoulder, she turned around quickly, only to sigh in relief at the sight of her mother.
"Geez, Mom—wear a bell, will you? I almost smacked you across the face in fear you were trying to rob me," she said, a wicked smile on her lips as her mother frowned in return.
"Charming, Lorelai," she scolded half-heartedly.
Lorelai didn't answer immediately, her attention still on the two little girls under the tinsel tree, smiling and laughing without a care in the word, an utter obliteration of any kind of restraint that their father may have instilled in them.
"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Her mother's voice seemed a thousand miles away.
A genuine smile light on her lips, for once, no joke or sarcastic retort came to mind. "Absolutely."
"You did a very good job with them, Lorelai," Emily said softly, her attention turning away from her granddaughters. "I mean it—despite everything…"
"Despite my husband, you mean," her daughter snorted, uncouth but completely unconcerned.
Emily wrinkled her nose but did not take the bait. "Despite everything; despite your sham of a marriage, my situation, your environment… and yes, your husband too." She paused, taking in her daughter's serious expression. "There are many little girls in this environment who aren't as lucky as they are—who didn't have a role model like you."
Lorelai hesitated, her voice small but assertive, "Mom…"
"For god's sake, Lorelai, get over your goddamn pride and take a compliment for its face value, will you?" When Lorelai had nothing to say to that, Emily smiled and continued; "You gave up your dreams, your freedom, everything you could've had to save my life. I never asked you to do that, I never expected you to do that. I know how you've always felt about this life, and I never wanted—"
Lorelai sighed in resignation that this conversation was not able to be avoided—"I know we bicker a lot, Mom, but you underestimate my loyalty to you. That was always my first concern, and I think you know that."
"I do," Emily confirmed; "What I'm trying to do is to thank you; I don't say it enough, Lorelai, but you're the reason I'm still alive, and I don't take that for granted. You've taken a horrible situation you endured because of me and made something beautiful come from it. Those girls are beautiful people because of you. You've persevered and set a good example in a horrible world, and that's no small feat."
Lorelai's bright, keen blue eyes were glistening a little when she tried to speak. "Mom, we—"
"Emily!" A boisterous, commanding voice floated across the room, and both women looked up to see Pennilyn Gilmore striding towards them, arms linked with a small boy, his light green eyes intelligent and inquisitive, his dark hair a muss of messy curls. "Emily Hessington? My goodness," she put a hand to her chest, "It's been so long since we've seen you. And your daughter, of course." She nodded politely at Lorelai. "I swear the last time I saw either of you was at Lorelai's college graduation."
Emily's smile was forced, her tone cold. "Yes, I believe that is the last time we saw each other."
"How have you two been?" The blonde woman asked, ruffling the young boy's hair. "This is my youngest, Aston. He's quite a handful; he'll run off if I don't keep a good hold on him."
"I'm the runt of the litter, did'ya know?" The boy exclaimed exuberantly.
"Aston Terrence Gilmore," she scolded forcefully, "Where did you learn that horrible phrase?"
"Charlie taught it to me, Mom," the boy muttered sheepishly.
"Boys," she said, and shook her head. "All boys, I've had," she said to Emily and Lorelai now, her voice fond; "They're a challenge, but I wouldn't have it any other way."
"Neither would I," Lorelai said suddenly, her voice bordering on belligerence. Her mother sent her a warning glare, but Lorelai ignored it. "Both of mine are girls, you know. They're tricky little things, they could give your boys a run for their money, I'd bet."
Lorelai's smile was sharp as a blade, a poisonous invitation that Pennilyn seemed very eager to take. "Well, let's see, shall we? They're here, aren't they? My husband and another of my sons, Weston, are around here somewhere. I'm sure they'd get along smashingly. Your youngest is around Aston's age, isn't she?"
"Rory's seven, yes," Lorelai said, her contempt only thinly veiled. "Rory!" She raised her voice slightly so her daughter could hear her—"Come over here for a second, can you?"
Her younger daughter, her innocent little girl with the bright, childlike eyes and enthusiastic spirit locked eyes with her tentatively. Lorelai nodded with a smile, encouraging her that it was was okay to feel a little nervous. Rory was the sweetest little girl, but a little socially anxious sometimes.
Truthfully, while Lorelai adored Honor for more reasons than she could count, her special bond was reserved for her younger daughter. She and Rory were especially close, mostly because she was the one person Rory ever trusted enough to let her guard down with. Her daughter was very shy, and didn't necessarily like a lot of people, but when she and Lorelai were alone together, Rory was like a whole different kid. Instead of shy and timid, she became excited, exuberant and very outgoing—sometimes, it was hard to handle the raw enthusiasm Rory had when she was comfortable with someone.
It helped that this was the one day Rory was especially outgoing with everyone. There was nothing that Rory loved more than the holidays, which, of course, she shared with her mother.
Both of her girls were up and walking towards them now—because of course, Honor would not stand for being left out—but Emily cut in smoothly before either girl could reach the group.
"Perhaps another time, Pennilyn; we were just getting ready to leave, see. My daughter's husband should be back home by now, and, of course, the girls want to see their father before they tuck in for the night. It was lovely seeing you, of course. Let's arrange something soon," Emily said, almost dismissively.
If Pennilyn had picked up on it, she didn't show it. "Of course, I'll call you sometime next month. It was lovely to see you again, Lorelai. Come along, Aston," she called her son as he lagged behind.
Aston took Lorelai by surprise as he took her hand, kissed the back of it, and said, "Nice to meet you, Miss," with a darling little crooked smile. Despite his harpy of a mother, she gave him a genuine little smile back.
Once they were gone, she rounded on her mother, a growl under her beath—"I'm very capable of handling the Wicked Witch of the West myself, y'know."
Emily's voice was a low, terse warning. "Lorelai, don't do this with me right now—"
Lorelai's voice was almost as soft as a whisper so her approaching daughters were out of earshot, and, with a scoff, she said, "Well, everything's okay now that they're gone, isn't it? Who gives a shit about what I can handle or what your granddaughters want, everything's just peachy as long as no one ever knows your dirty little secret."
"As long as no one knows—even the man himself, for god's sake—that your entire family are just the bastard offspring of international insurance mogul Richard Gilmore, right?"
When Emily didn't respond, her face pale and impassive, her lips pursed in a thin line, Lorelai raised her voice to her daughters, once again seemingly carefree and jovial, as though no harsh words had been exchanged between she and her mother; "C'mon girls, we're going to head to the park before we go home and wait for Santa. Say your goodbyes to your grandmother, alright?"
December 4th, 2003
Rory Huntzberger hated the holidays. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah and whatever else was celebrated in these two months of complete and utter goddamn torture. She was already in a bad mood this morning due to those idiotic Whiffenpoof bastards singing Christmas carols in front of the coffee cart. This time of year never failed to dampen her spirits, but jolly jingles getting in the way of her caffeine fix was just the icing on the cake. Then, of course, because her day wasn't sour enough already, she had to come to her 9 a.m. Ethics class to find out they were discussing this.
Eyes narrowed rigidly in contempt, fists balled up at her sides and her heart pounding fiercely in her chest, she did not concede even slightly to this girl's nonsensical vitriol disguised as a coherent argument. This girl didn't give a flying fuck about the subject, she just wanted to rile up the notoriously apathetic Ice-Queen Huntzberger—and she was succeeding.
"No one has the right to play God like that, not even doctors," Rory spat harshly, her voice sharp with indignation; "Leaving the fate of a human being in the hands of one solitary person's uneducated and selfish decision is playing God, and it's ridiculous to boot. Why should one ignorant person get to decide whether to pull the plug or not? It's not a goddamn phone cord, it's a person's life support—"
"But that's the point!" The girl argued back, her face a deep berry hue, "It's not a person anymore, they're brain dead. What part of brain dead don't you comprehend, Huntzberger, the 'brain' or the 'dead'? Dead, as in no longer alive. It's science, simple as that."
She had to take a deep, slow breath before her nails dug so far into her skin they'd peel off. Malice and passion in her voice, she growled, low and terse, "Since when has science outweighed decency and common morality?"
The girl smirked victoriously, knowing her comments had stung deep. Everyone in the room was watching with rapt interest—even the professor had yet to chime in to interrupt this heated debate. Rory hadn't spoken one word in this class since it began and they were two weeks away from the end of the semester. If she actually had any opinions, no one heard them, because she was as apathetic as they come. But now, this—it wasn't clear whether it was the girl she was arguing with or the subject itself that had her so riled up, but riled up she was. Smirk still etched into her lips, the girl said snidely, "I know your family raised you with antiquated views, Huntzberger, but in the century everyone else has moved onto, science outweighs emotional plights that interfere with common knowledge."
"Alright, enough Ms. Baker. Personal insults have no place in rational discussion—" the professor hurriedly interjected, but Rory wasn't anywhere near done.
"What about the ramifications of the decision, hmm? You know the decision to take away a brain dead patient's life support doesn't just affect the person who's making the decision." Rory swallowed back a choke of emotion in the back of her throat and plowed on, "These people have families, friends… people who have opinions and feelings that may differ from those of the one who's appointed to make the decision. Should we take them into consideration, then, or are they too just as useless as the brain dead corpse?" Rory spat in derision.
"The people are suffering, they're better off—"
"Better off dead, really?" Rory asked rhetorically, her face flushed. "I forgot I was talking to someone who's actually been brain dead before, my apologies. Tell me, Baker, when you were brain dead and suffering, did you want someone to pull the plug?"
"Well, they aren't around to make that decision, are they? Someone has to." Baker raised a condescending eyebrow. "You can't seriously disagree with that, can you?"
"Mr. Gilmore," the professor quickly interjected, thankful for another voice in the discussion. Before either girl could continue, he nodded at the boy, "You have a thought to share?"
Rory turned to assess the new voice—he was a tall, well-built guy with striking green eyes, artfully messy brown hair and a crooked smile. Aston Gilmore. She'd heard his name in conversation before, but she'd never actually met him. If he had been a focal point of any conversation in this class before, she hadn't noticed.
Aston shot a supportive, secretive smile her way and said, "Both sides of the argument have valid points. Someone has to make a decision, that's obvious, but the issue isn't the decision itself, it's who's authorized to make it. Rory's right, one person shouldn't have that kind of power over a life, brain dead or not. It isn't natural, and it certainly isn't ethical. Sure, science says they're dead, but how can we trust that? There have been several instances where doctors have deduced from science that someone is brain dead and they wake up despite that. We're putting too much power into the individual—the doctor is literally God in this situation, and the appointed person is basically the anointed one. There are more people who make up that person's life than a doctor and their closest relative—it's too much power for one person."
Rory stared, a mixture of suspicion and gratitude etched in the curve of her mouth.
The Baker girl scrambled to argue back, but the professor put his hand up, "Save that thought for next class, Miss Baker, because we have to adjourn. Thank you everyone for your input, and do keep up on your readings. It makes me look good to the board, and if I look good to the board, you do better in my gradebook," he joked with a sly smile.
While everyone was collecting their books, Rory was steadily collecting her thoughts and moderating her labored, heavy breathing. She hadn't felt this much emotion in—had she ever felt this much emotion? Negative as it may be, there was something intrinsically satisfying about the sensation of feeling. Yes, Baker had pissed Rory off with her nonchalant and completely uninformed view of an important topic, but all the same, Mr. Jensen's sensitive topic choice and Baker's blatant ignorance had given her something even her closest kin had failed to give her—an opinion. The insatiable, burning desire to not only have emotions, but to share them. It was certainly an unorthodox reason to feel pleased, but Rory Huntzberger was nothing if not complicated.
Perhaps she should send Baker a fruit basket, she considered with a wry smile. The yoga enthusiast, health conscious Whole Foods shopping hipster bitch was just the kind of person who would prefer fruit to a good ole' slice of pie. What kind of person didn't like pie?
It was her light, humorous ruminations on emotions and pie that let her take Aston Gilmore's greeting with a sense of grace and diplomacy she hadn't felt just a few minutes ago.
"Aston Gilmore," he introduced with a suave smile, his light brown hair falling handsomely in his eyes. His lips curved in amusement as he said, "That was a quite a show you and Baker put on. I don't think anyone would've protested a charge for admission."
She raised her eyebrows, uncertain in how she felt about her new acquaintance. On the one hand, he seemed far too smooth and slick for her liking, but on the other hand, his smile was incredibly disarming and she felt… something. A kind of natural, primal comfort level with him that she couldn't articulate even in her own head.
"Rory Huntzberger," she said back in greeting, rewarding his kindness with a weak, uncertain smile. "Baker just likes to argue." When Aston raised his brow in skepticism, she clarified, "Just because I don't participate doesn't mean I don't listen," she teased; "If she thought she could get away with fighting Jensen on his tenure position, she would."
Aston laughed, a pleasant, warm tenor that instantly brought down her wrought-iron defenses. "All the same, you made her look like a fool."
"No," Rory dismissed easily; "I think that was you." She hesitated, her normally icy heart's unusually pleasant reaction to this guy a little unnerving on several levels. "Thanks for the save, by the way."
"I didn't jump in because I thought you needed the help."
Rory's blue eyes sparkled with mirth. "I wasn't accusing you of anything."
"Then you're welcome," he said with an endearing, crooked smile. His bottle-green eyes held a lot of hesitance as she gathered her books and made to the door, and she paused a step, waiting for him to speak. "Do you want to go out for coffee this weekend?" The immediate reaction of panic on Rory's face made him rush to clarify, "Platonic coffee."
"Platonic coffee?" She mimicked back at him, a little good-natured jest in her tone.
"Absolutely." As a mocking grin was still twitching on Rory's lips, he said, "Oh c'mon, it could be a thing."
"Not in my world," she said, a little despondently—but if he had noticed, he didn't comment. "I've never had platonic coffee with a guy before. I don't know if I've ever had platonic anything with a guy before. Most guys only want one thing from me, and it isn't friendship."
Aston's smile diminished somewhat at her blasé dismissal of the way most guys treated her. "Well, I happen to be an expert on platonic coffee dates, so I'll just have to teach you. You seem like you could be a quick study."
She couldn't really help the now genuine tugging of a smile at her lips. "Then it's a deal. You teach me the etiquette of friendly coffee dates, and I'll teach you the fine art of distinguishing the outstanding coffee from the mediocre stand-ins." She reached down to her notepad, tore off a corner of one the pages and wrote her phone number on it. "I'm something of a coffee god," she said with a sly smile.
"I look forward to being educated by a legend, then. Saturday sound good?"
"Perfect," she answered, and she was halfway out the door when he called back to her.
His smile was different now, more concerned and sympathetic than playful. "Oh, and Rory?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry," he said softly, "For whatever it was that happened to you that made the topic of sustaining life support so sensitive."
It felt like all the air had been knocked out of her lungs. She couldn't see straight, little edges of blurriness crept up in her vision. Her voice rang out, wavering with uncertainty and unwelcome emotion when she challenged, "What makes you think something happened?"
He sighed, gathered up his own books, and there was so much maddening empathy in his striking green eyes that she wanted to gouge them in retaliation of this horrible subject. "In my experience," he said empathetically, "No one reacts with that much vigor unless it's personal."
With nothing but another warm, crooked smile, he walked out, her watery blue eyes staring vacantly at the place he'd just been.
Still reeling from the odd encounter she'd had with Aston Gilmore, Rory wanted nothing more than to curl up in her comfy sweatpants, her vintage wool blanket and watch hours of 'Whose Line Is It Anyway?'. She was fairly certain Paris was at Doyle's, and a nice, empty dorm sounded perfect right about now. She turned her key in the lock, twisted and opened it only to find three girls sitting on her extravagant—(read: obnoxiously ostentatious)—furniture, chattering a mile a minute. Well, two of them were; the third girl looked decidedly nervous. What the hell were they doing in her dorm?
"Rory, about time you got here—" Rose exclaimed in annoyance, "We've been waiting for you for hours. Where have you been?"
Somehow, every time Rose or Juliet spoke to her, the pitch of their voices gave her a headache. Maybe that's why she was such a bitch all the time. "Uh… classes?" She asked rhetorically, with a heavy dose of sarcasm and derision.
"Oh," Juliet giggled; "I forgot you actually go to those."
Rory bit back a response, knowing whatever she said was just going to cause an argument, and she was in no mood for that. Instead, she leveled her gaze at Stephanie Vanderbilt, who, until now, was one of the only members of Yale's elite, pretentious bratpack that she didn't despise. "That key was for emergencies only, Steph," she said tersely.
The blonde had the decency to look a little sheepish, her eyes still staring at her shoes. That wasn't new; everyone was intimidated by her, even people she called 'friends', and it was a strange reality she had yet to become comfortable with. Steph looked up and stole a disgusted look at Rose's wicked smile and then back at Rory, her eyebrow raised. Rory sighed, knowing exactly what that meant. Rose was the most headstrong person in existence—if she wanted something, she'd badger and bargain and manipulate until she got it.
"It is an emergency, Ror," Juliet said in a hushed, secretive tone, as though whatever had concerned them so much was of utmost importance. Rory had to admit—she was intrigued. Rose and Juliet never really took anything seriously except men and their reputations, and she couldn't seem to connect how that could be involved here. "Lawrence Kemp and Daniel Cruszhel saw some freshman kid they knew as Logan Hayden running out of your dorm at 8 in the morning a couple weeks ago. We would've intervened earlier, but everyone was keeping it quiet from us. I only overheard 'cause Karen Dietz was broadcasting it all around campus this morning. You know she's always hated you."
Yeah, Rory thought bitterly. Who hasn't? "I don't see the problem here," she said truthfully. "I didn't sleep with Logan, if that's what you guys are worried about. We're… uh, well…" she broke off, wondering to herself exactly what she and Logan were. They weren't friends, he'd made that perfectly clear, but some inexplicable emotion deep inside her hesitated to claim that they were nothing. She finally settled on the truth—"We were watching a movie."
"You were… watching a movie?" Rose asked, eyebrows raised.
"Are you deaf?" Rory asked scathingly; "Yes, we were watching a movie. A motion picture. A silver screen production."
"With a guy? You watched a movie with a freshman geek and he didn't try to make a move on you?" Juliet asked, just as shocked.
Rory sighed, rubbing her temples in exasperation. "He's not like that," she defended immediately, out of subconscious instinct. Both their eyebrows raised even higher. "Look, what I do with my time has never been and will never be dictated by you. So I watched a movie with a guy, what's the big crisis?"
The patronizing look on Rose's face made Rory's hands twitch with want to smack it right off. "It's not the movie that's the problem, Rory—it's the guy." She took a deep breath, looked around as if someone unsavory was listening in, and whispered, "He's not like us, Ror. He's not from our world, he doesn't come from money. He doesn't understand how we operate."
"I'll say," Rory laughed bitterly. Truth was, despite his apparent hatred of her, she still preferred Logan's company over these two. Paris was right, what was the point of further entertaining this ridiculous charade of a friendship? She hated these people—all of them.
"Then what are you doing with him in the first place?" Juliet asked, confusion written all over her face. "You're not fucking him, apparently—not that we thought you would be—and we know you and your anal perfectionism better than to think you'd trust anyone else to do your schoolwork." Her tone was amused now, her smile sharp with cruelty; "Have you really run out of real men to play with? Is this like a 'How to Lose a Geek in Ten Days' kind of thing?" She paused a minute, a devilish, callous smirk on her lips—"That's actually kind of hilarious."
She had no idea why her blood boiled at Juliet's insinuation, but she couldn't stop the words from flowing straight out of her mouth, fluid and passionate—"He's not a geek, Juliet, he's a writer. And a damn good one. He and Marty Fell created their own fucking website, and he's actually made something of himself. You sure as hell can't say the same thing, can you?"
But neither can you, her subconscious pointed out scathingly. How can you condemn these girls as airheads when you've done just as much of significance in your life as they have?
The question burned in the back of her mind, swirling incessantly, causing her cheeks to flame pink under the intensity of emotions she didn't even know she was capable of. Goddamnit, this was crazy; she had been more publicly passionate and emotional in the last six hours than she had been in the last six years. What was wrong with her today?
Everyone's jaws dropped—even Stephanie's, who had been uncharacteristically quiet up to this point. Apathy was Rory Huntzberger's trademark—none of them had ever heard her care about someone enough to talk at length about them, let alone defend them. Rose found her voice first to accuse, "What the hell is wrong with you? When you finally decide to care about something other than yourself, it's the reputation of some freshman nobody and his loser boyfriend? Who the hell is Marty Fell anyway?"
Rory was so entrenched in these new, confounding emotions that she didn't even notice the sudden crease of horror in Stephanie's brow and the flinch she exhibited at Marty's name. She took a deep breath and took a stand for something—for anything—for the second time today. It was actually becoming quite addicting, this 'having opinions and acting on them' thing. "Look, I'm done with this. I'm done with you. You're vapid, obnoxious and petty—both of you. You don't give a shit about actual hard work, you just skate by on money and status that you didn't even earn."
Rose laughed—high, tight and cruel like a hyena. "That's rich, coming from you. You haven't worked a day in your life—you haven't cared a day in your life, about anything. You say we have messed up priorities? Well, you don't have any."
She hadn't felt this empowered since she had been with Col—no, she scolded herself vehemently. Not going there. That was the past—there was no way to fix that now. God knows she'd tried everything in her power to fix it in the beginning. The only thing she could do now was focus on the future. "Well, all that is about to change," she spat harshly. "And you can mark my words on that. Go tell Karen Dietz and let her tell the whole fucking school for all I care—hell, I want you to. I want everyone to know that I'm no longer associating myself with you."
Juliet's voice was a offended growl. "You're going to regret this, Huntzberger. We're the only ones who ever put up with you—everyone else hates you. You'll be a social pariah without us."
Rory smiled, all saccharine sweetness. "Then it's all uphill from here." At their shocked faces, she laughed, high and condescending. "Excuse me, ladies—I have somewhere to be. If you're still in my dorm when I get back, I'm calling security."
Before she turned on her heel to leave, she stopped in front of Steph, holding out her hand expectantly. The other girl handed over the key, her eyes boring straight into Rory's, an apology already embedded in their deep brown depths. "Ror, I'm really sorry—look, they…"
"Save it," Rory interrupted curtly, pushing past Stephanie and walking out the door without a single look backwards.
She allowed herself to feel almost giddy at what had just transpired—and now, she finally had a plan. Her subconscious was right—she'd never made anything of herself. She'd never done anything for someone else. Well, she knew just what to do to change that.
When Logan opened the door, he was expecting take-out from his favorite pizza place, but his face schooled into a bemused expression when Rory Huntzberger appeared on the other side of it. Truth was, he'd been thinking about her nonstop since he ran from her dorm room two weeks ago. Following the explanation to Colin, neither of them had dared broach the subject since, but that didn't mean Logan had forgotten about it. As he let the situation sink in around him, he felt horrible. Whatever had happened between Colin and Huntzberger, it was between them, and despite the pain and heartbreak she had caused his best friend (and all the pain she had indirectly caused him because of cleaning up after Colin's messes all those years), he had resolved to stop hating her for reasons that weren't his own. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't his right.
She didn't immediately speak, and although her stance appeared determined and purposeful, he could see the little cracks in her exterior—the slight slump of her shoulders and the dulled gleam of her usually fantastic blue eyes. Something had happened, and she looked almost defeated at whatever it was.
He'd known Rory Huntzberger to be a lot of things—many of them conflicting—but defeated was never one of them.
"I'm not here because I wanted to make up or anything," she said finally, the set of her jaw pugnacious and resolute, "I don't want to be friends. I'm not going to force you int—"
"I know," he said, an uncertain, hesitant smile on his face, "I read the note you left when you dropped off my bookbag. It was very nice—succinct and to the point." His smile was teasing, mirth dancing in his eyes; "Have you ever thought of being a writer?"
"Hilarious," she deadpanned, although her bright, brilliant smile put a little bit of light back into her dead eyes.
"So, uh…" he wasn't sure how to approach their dynamic anymore. Now that he resolved not to hate her, he wasn't sure how to act. It was so much easier to hate her as though he were nothing but an extension of Colin. Acting simply of his own accord, he didn't know how Logan Hayden felt about Rory Huntzberger. "What are you doing here?" It wasn't accusatory, as it would've been a few weeks ago; by the tone of his voice, it was actually slightly empathetic.
"I have a proposition for you. An offer you can't refuse," she joked with a salacious smile.
His eyes widened. "Oh, so when you said you didn't want to be friends, you meant…" he let the insinuation hang in the air, a sharp, lascivious grin on his face.
"Get your mind out of the gutter, Hayden; I'm talking about a business proposition—as in, concerning your newspaper, not your dick."
He laughed aloud, and a small grin tugged on the corners of her mouth. "Alright," he said, amused, and more than a bit intrigued. "Shoot."
"I want to write for you. I'm here to ask for a position as a staff writer."
This time, his eyes almost bugged out of their sockets. "Uh…" he broke off, baffled. "You—"
"As Renée Holloway," she clarified with that uncharacteristic shy, timid smile that he'd grown to adore. "I could give you work samples, but I know you've read plenty of them. Honestly, you could interview me until your throat is dry, but we both know that's unnecessary. You're a smart guy, you know having Renée Holloway writing for you and not the Daily News—especially after her last piece about your magazine—will give your publication enough credibility to expand further than you could've ever imagined."
"I… I don't know what to say," he admitted truthfully.
"Say yes," she said plainly, giving him a charming smile.
"I'd have to conceal your identity from everyone else working with us," he stated. It wasn't a question.
"Of course," she verified smoothly. Eyebrows raised, she asked, "Will that be a problem?"
"No, I just…" his hesitancy was written all over his face, reflected in the furrow of his brows and etched in the curve of his lips. "You're right, this would be a huge boost to Syntax and its credibility. What I don't understand is what you're getting out of this. I'm really not trying to disparage your character here, but I can tell you're not doing this out of the spirit of the season or anything."
He didn't expect such a direct answer, so her succinct honesty threw him off a bit. "My father is investigating Renée Holloway—he thinks she's a threat to my dominance over the Daily News. The more he digs into her, the more he'll learn about her, and it won't be long after that until he realizes she doesn't exist. I…" she stopped abruptly, feeling paralyzed under the gaze of his attentive, perceptive eyes. She wasn't sure how she felt about his ability to throw her off her natural rhythm—in some ways, it was refreshing to have such a different dynamic with someone. In other ways, she was so far out of her comfort zone and she'd always thrived on structure, on order… on things she could predict.
"I need to take her out of the equation, but I can't just drop the name altogether; I've made so much progress writing under her, and I won't let that go to waste. At the same time, I can no longer do what I'm doing at the Daily News."
Logan's lips were pensive, thoughtful. "So you want to move her off your father's radar, while at the same time continuing to build her repertoire."
"Exactly," she said excitedly, perking up a bit more as he seemed to be seriously considering the idea.
"So… we'd be business partners," he said, tasting the words on his tongue, testing them out as one would an expensive wine.
"Yes," Rory said, brightening up at the prospect. She liked the idea of that—not friends, not enemies, but all the same, not nothing. Not strangers.
"Well, Huntzberger, it sounds like a good—"
"Rory," she interrupted, and he looked affronted. "Call me Rory, please." She knew with certainty that she had never said the word 'please' with more sincerity and desperation in her life. "Everyone calls me Huntzberger…" she broke off, the '…and I hate it' hanging between them, unspoken but understood.
"Rory," he said tentatively, the wavering of his voice betraying his unease. Truthfully, he hadn't just called her Huntzberger as a formality, or to piss her off. He didn't want to call her Rory. It was so too… intimate. And… perfect. It fit her so well, too well—at least, it fit the person she was when they were alone.
Huntzberger was the public persona—an aggressive, over-confident girl who cared for no one but herself, who lived an extravagant lifestyle she did nothing to deserve, who was closed off, detached and unemotional; a girl who destroyed lives without a single thread of repentance, his best friend included.
Rory was the girl he'd seen glimpses of in private—a girl who was a little shy, a little timid, but intensely endearing and charming; a girl who enjoyed movies, junk food and stimulating conversation; a girl who preferred frank sincerity to schemes and manipulations, nights of solitude to sweaty, thumping nightclubs.
He didn't want to call her Rory—because then she'd be Rory.
"Logan?" She questioned after he didn't speak for a moment.
A little half-smirk twitched on his face at the sound of his name on her lips. It was sweet and raw, like a careful caress.
"Alright, Rory—welcome to Syntax."
Business partners, he said to himself, over and over again. Business partners. This was okay, this was allowed. Colin was a very rational person; he'd surely agree that having Rory on staff would be a huge advantage for their paper, and Colin knew how much Syntax meant to Logan. He wouldn't be mad, not as long as business was the way their relationship stayed.
But of course it would stay that way. Why wouldn't it? There was nothing between them but a mutual love of journalism and the benefit they were both getting from this arrangement. Right?
Notes: So Rory is standing up for herself and learning how to care again and she and Logan are business partners. Raise your hands if you think that Logan is wrong and their relationship isn't going to stay strictly business. ;)
Notes 2: If you at all detected any underlying flirting between Rory and Aston, it's not intentional on either of their parts. I feel like, in the way I view Aston, that he's kind of a flirty person by nature, with everyone. And I feel the same of Rory Huntzberger. Not sure if I feel the same of Rory Gilmore, but all the same...
Either way, Rory & Aston are never going to be romantic or even have underlying romantic vibes. They will, however, find out at some point that they're related, and that'll be fun to write. So Aston's not going anywhere anytime soon. ;)
In Other News: I'm actively seeking a beta. It's very important for me to have my story be fluid, my characterizations be consistent and my plots to be well tied together. I'm not really looking for someone to give me a grammar crash-course (although picking out a few of my typos would be great). I am looking for someone to be a great plotting partner for me. The only two other people in my life who watch Gilmore are not enough. My best friend hasn't finished the series yet, and my mom - while a great editor for me - does not at all comprehend the concept of something this AU. When I tried to explain this story to her, she just went, 'Huh?' and 'How would that even be possible?' So if you are interested in helping a neurotic, (occasionally) insane but always entertaining writer fulfill the best Rogan stories she can write, (or if you know someone who might want to), please send me (or have them send me) a PM. I'd love to hear from you. :)
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays (for whatever you celebrate) and Have a Great New Years, guys! :D
Thanks for reading, and please leave a review if you have comments, suggestions or constructive criticism. :)
