Thanks always to our wonderful beta, paulanka!
Not Even Wishes
Chapter 6
The next two days went surprisingly quickly—once there were plans to make and arrangements to take care of, Rory felt much less helpless, and even working in Logan's room felt more normal. If she got distracted enough, she could almost pretend that his attention was elsewhere, or that he was working on something else or sleeping—that they were living side-by-side, taking comfort in each other's mere presence.
Besides, as much as she would love for life to stop because he was injured, it didn't, and after the first horrific day, Rory knew she needed to keep her own life going. It was nowhere near getting her own life back to "normal," because she knew that wouldn't happen for a very long time, but she needed, even if she didn't want, to start thinking about going back to school and dealing with the hectic schedule that was sure to come of that.
The first priority was the paper—Rory knew that Bill would be only too happy to take over the primary editorial duties for a few weeks, and he had done an admirable job in her unexpected absence. Even so, she warned him that she would be in the office at least two days a week, and that she would be on the phone to him every day, beginning that day, getting things ready for Monday's paper. He, surprisingly, didn't complain—Rory had never heard him agree to anything with so little argument or sarcasm—but she wasn't about to question it. Instead, she pulled out the notebook that she had bought at the drugstore with all her scribbled notes in it, realizing yet again that it was definitely time to get some of her things—she needed more than the bare necessities that had come with her in that initial middle-of-the-night rush.
Logan's room remained in a fluid state. Rory, Colin, and Finn were in and out all day—at least one of them was with him all the time, but even after two days, there were fewer times when they were all there together. Finn had to go back to New Haven for his class and to get their stuff; Colin was working out the details of their apartment; Rory was doing as much work as she could without any of her books. She had to make an emergency trip to the Barnes and Noble on 86th to get a few books to read—one double copy of a textbook, just so that she could feel like she was doing something, and a few novels, because she needed something to focus on that she didn't feel like she had to think about.
As often as possible, she tried to time her walks and errands with the doctors' examinations, leaving the room only when she needed to. She knew, logically, that they didn't need her out of the room for the hour and a half that it took her to run to the bookstore, browse, and come back, but at the same time, she felt slightly less guilty about staying away for so long if she had been kicked out in the first place. It gave her a chance to get some air and exercise, and if she didn't let herself think too hard, it didn't feel as much like abandonment as it could. Late Monday morning, when the doctors needed the room vacated again, Rory decided to take a walk while she hashed out the details for Tuesday's issue with Bill.
She started heading towards the coffee shop she had found earlier, wandering a little bit off the most direct route as she explored the neighborhood, walking past rows of brownstones and apartment buildings, a playground and tennis courts, a church and an elementary school, and a tiny movie theatre. It crossed her mind that she should try and find the building where Colin had found the apartment, but she had forgotten to get the address before she left, and her conversation with Bill was pulling her back to reality by the time she found herself in the crowded coffee shop, grumbling under her breath at the lack of empty tables.
She finished the phone call and paid for her coffee and muffin, then sat on a bench outside Gotham City, sipping her coffee while she tried to balance her notebook on her lap and write down the main points of the phone call. After a few minutes of catching either her coffee or her notebook just before it fell, and picking up her pen from the ground, though, she was about to give up when the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Rory!"
Rory sighed. "Hi, Paris. What's up?"
"This list you left on my voicemail makes no sense," Paris complained. "I have no idea what you want me to send back with Tweedledum, here, and for some reason, he's anxious to get your stuff and go."
Rory heard Finn's voice in the background. "Rory, love, just tell her that I can pick out your stuff for you!"
Rory laughed. "You're at the apartment with Finn?"
"Yes," Paris said sharply. "I'm in your apartment with Finn. Now are you going to tell me what to send with him, or are you going to let him find it for himself?"
"No!" Rory said, laughing. "I love you, Finn, but I don't trust you in my dresser."
Paris' voice was muffled as Rory heard her pass the message along, and then there was a scuffle, and the next voice on the line was Finn's. "Rory, love, will you please tell her that I don't have to sit on the couch with my hands folded in my lap as long as I'm in your apartment?"
Rory laughed. "Maybe that's the best way to keep you out of trouble," she teased.
"Rory..." Finn whined, "just tell her what to send. I think I'm going to have a coronary if I spend too much time alone with her."
There was another scuffle, and Paris' voice was the next one Rory heard. "He's going to have a coronary? Does he even know what that means? Just tell me what you want, Rory."
Rory laughed again, thankful for the light-hearted diversion. Paris and Finn. Why hadn't anyone thought of putting those two in a room before to see what happened? It was, Rory found, the most amusing entertainment she'd been privy to all day.
She directed Paris through her things, telling her which books to send, where her laptop was, which clothes she wanted, and where the toiletries were. Once Finn was busy amusing himself at the pool table (he was the only person Rory knew who could play a full game with an imaginary opponent), Paris calmed down, only muttering about his inanity every time she walked past him, instead of constantly sniping at him as he followed her around the apartment. Rory had always thought the pool table was a little too bachelor-pad-esque for her, but she had to admit that she had never been more grateful for it than at that moment. A few minutes of "The Finn and Paris Show" were beyond entertaining, but if she had to listen to them sniping at each other the entire time, Rory probably would have just given up on the whole idea of having any of her things before she went and got them herself.
Fifteen minutes later, Paris had a backpack and messenger bag packed, and Rory could hear her yelling at Finn in the background, telling him that he needed to stop playing and get back to New York.
"Paris," Rory said into her phone. Paris ignored her, continuing to rail at Finn. "Paris!" she yelled, hoping to get the other girl's attention.
"Don't think I'm finished with you," Paris said, slightly muffled, then "What?" came across the line.
"I'll let you finish yelling at Finn in peace," Rory said. "Thanks for doing this."
Paris' tone softened. "Well... you know I wouldn't put up with him in an enclosed space for just anyone."
"I know," Rory replied. "Thanks, Paris. I really appreciate it."
"You're welcome," Paris said, slightly brusquely. "And..." she paused. "I hope Logan's okay."
Rory smiled. "I'll tell him. Now," she said, after a short pause. "Go be mean to Finn if you must, but keep him in one piece. I'd kind of like him to get back here." She flipped the phone closed, laughing to herself. "I can't wait to hear about that one when he gets back," she muttered, turning the phone over in her hand as she walked, turning a corner that took her back in the general direction of the hospital, letting the warm spring sunshine wash over her.
On impulse, she flipped the phone open again and dialed quickly. "Hey," she said when she was connected.
"Hey yourself," Jess answered. "You sound calmer."
"I am... sort of. We've kind of gotten things figured out, at least for the time being, and Logan's sister will be here tonight so we should know more about his condition and stuff."
"Are you holding up all right?"
Rory paused and thought about it. "Yeah, I am. It helps to concentrate on what needs to be done."
"I know the feeling."
They were silent for a moment, and then Rory spoke again. "It's kind of weird, you know? I mean, I can make lists and schedules and plans for every minute, and I can try everything I know to make it make sense, but it's not going to change anything. You know? This isn't a decision that I can make with a pro-con list, because the decision has already been made, and I just have to jump in and start swimming. This whole thing is kind of surreal—I still feel like it's not actually happening."
"I feel that way about most of my life most of the time," Jess admitted.
"This morning, right before I woke up, I could have sworn I was—um, not there." Rory cut herself off before she said "in bed with Logan," abruptly realizing who she was talking to, aware that, while he might be willing to be her confidant in this, he definitely didn't want to hear about her being in bed with Logan, for any reason.
"Funny how your brain does that," Jess commented. "It's still sometimes a surprise when I actually open my eyes and find myself in my apartment, and everything about what my life actually is comes back to me. It's not a bad surprise," he added, "but I'm not where I think I'll be."
"Where do you think you are?" Rory asked, innocent curiosity in her voice.
"Anywhere but Philly. Sometimes Stars Hollow, sometimes New York, sometimes Liz' old place."
"Sometimes, before I wake up," Rory confided, "I still feel like I'm a little girl sleeping in the shed at the Independence Inn with my mom. I always used to wake up before her, and I'd lie there with this beat-up old bear in my arms, and listen to her breathing. We were so close to each other that I could hear every movement, and I could always tell what she was doing—if she was turning over, if she flipped from her right side to her left, if she pushed the blanket down with her feet—by what it sounded like."
"It didn't keep you awake?" Jess asked.
Rory thought for a second, and then smiled softly. "No, actually, when we moved into our house, I couldn't sleep for the first few nights. I know, it's kinda pathetic. I was eleven, and I shouldn't have been scared to sleep by myself, but I never really had, and it was just too quiet."
Maybe that's why she had adjusted so quickly to sleeping in the same bed as Logan, Rory realized. She'd never quite broken herself of the habit, and even though she'd learned to sleep by herself, she always slept more deeply if someone else was in the room with her—if she could hear someone else's breath and movements.
Jess laughed. "Yeah, I had the same problem in Stars Hollow," he was saying when she began paying attention again, "but for entirely different reasons."
"Did you sleep better when you went back to New York?" Rory asked. "Did the noise make it easier again?"
"Not really," Jess said slowly, as if he was trying to recall those months. "I was just starting to get used to the quiet, and I went back to the noise, and then nothing worked. I don't think I slept soundly for at least six months."
As they talked, Rory wandered back toward the hospital, finding herself in Logan's room which was quiet and empty, with the boys still somewhere else and the doctor already gone. She sat down on her chair, eyes fixed, as always, on Logan's still face and closed eyelids. It looked so much like sleep, and yet nothing like sleep at all, and Rory wondered what, exactly, was going on behind his eyes. What did Logan think he was going to wake up to? In that moment before he opened his eyes, where would he be?
"Sometimes," she said, taking the conversation back to a lighter tone, "I think I'm going to wake up in my dreams. And there are some very weird ones, too—but still, I think I'm going to wake up and be flying a plane, or… did I ever tell you about the dream where Madeleine Albright was my mother?"
Jess laughed. "No, you didn't. That would be something strange to wake up to."
"Yeah," Rory grinned. "I wasn't sure whether to be flattered that all of a sudden I apparently had these amazingly intelligent genes, or to be devastated that we weren't the same size any more, so I couldn't borrow Mom's clothes."
"Sometimes," Jess began, "I'll think I'm going to wake up in some place I've never been, with someone I've never woken up with."
The corners of Rory's mouth turned up slightly as she remembered her own mornings, especially in that first semester of Yale, waking up, expecting Jess to be beside her and being disappointed, even in her sleep, that he wasn't, even though there was no precedent for the expectation.
"I know what you mean," she said. "It's not really even a dream—it's just that your brain wishes so hard for something that it forgets it's not real. And during the day, you can remind yourself otherwise, but when you're asleep..." her voice trailed off, and they sat in silence again.
It was one of those moments that she would never be sure of, but Rory was fairly certain that they were thinking the same thing. If she was thinking about Yale, she would bet anything that he was thinking about that year, too—that year of "where is he," and "why can't I move on?" and "why does he keep appearing in my life?"—and it suddenly felt like dangerous ground. Dreams about Madeleine Albright and sleeping in the noise of the sirens were one thing; dreaming about each other was another thing altogether, and she wasn't going to cross that line.
"Anyway, I should let you go," she said, allowing herself to be anchored to the room by Logan's monitors and his still presence on the bed. "I don't want to keep you from work or anything."
"Yeah, well..." Jess cleared his throat. "I'm glad you're doing better."
"Yeah, I'm getting there. Thanks, Jess." Again, Rory felt that word was far too simple for how grateful she felt to have him be there for her through this.
"It's fine," he said softly. "I'll talk to you later, okay?" Jess had never been one for drawing out the end of a conversation, and before she could say goodbye, Rory heard the soft click on the other end of the line.
"'Bye," she said quietly as she shut the phone and stuffed it into her pocket, getting comfortable in her chair beside Logan's bed and rubbing her thumb back and forth across his knuckles. "Did I ever tell you about the shed my mom and I lived in when I was a little girl?" she began. "It was our place—our first home, and it wasn't much to look at, but she made it the most beautiful and magical place I could imagine…"
