Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls. The good folks at Warner Bros. do. I do however give all sorts of kudos, glompings, and massive amounts of MSG to the splendiferous Kal, the best beta on Earth. May her personalities forever multiply!

Chapter Nineteen

Paris sighed in frustration as she clicked off her phone. What was happening to her friend? Rory never forgot deadlines. She had practically scheduled her entire life from birth. She sighed again as she walked passed her boyfriend, ignoring the appreciative gaze he shot her. Doyle's idea of foreplay hovered somewhere between cute bumbling and slightly disturbing, and left her with a definite sense of annoyance and frustration. Still, Doyle deserved something. He was giving up sex-time for her to do Rory's errand. She twirled in a little pirouette and flashed him a brief view of her cleavage. Then, she coyly waved and stepped into the common room.

A quick print was all she needed and then she would be back in bed finishing what Rory had inadvertently interrupted. However, skills gained over years at Chilton forced her eyes to scan the article before printing. She silently cursed these skills as her mouth dropped in shock. The article was terrible. Rory had never turned in something this pathetic. It was sophomoric, infantile, and urbane. It pandered to the basest and most primitive of human conceits. And, that sentence was atrocious.

"Hey. You coming to bed?"

"In a second, Doyle. This article isn't finished yet." Paris started reading in earnest.

"So? It's Rory's piece. If she says it's done, then it's done." He looked at the screen. "She wrote that?" Doyle's mouth dropped in shock.

Paris shook her head in defeat. "I keep reading it to see if I'm missing something, but I'm not. It's just that bad." She pointed at the offending sentence. "If you take it away, the piece makes no sense. If you leave it, the thing is revolting." She gave a dejected sigh and printed the article. "Alright, let's go back to bed."

Doyle grinned, "We could do that." He followed her into the room and promptly smacked his head on the nightstand in his haste to remove his plaid green boxer shorts.

Paris sighed with resignation at her boyfriend's lack of grace. Sometimes, Doyle's awkwardness annoyed her. It had been cute in the beginning to have a boyfriend who seemed as skittish and unsure of his place in their relationship as she felt. However, months later, that anxious embarrassment had grown old and tired. She was comfortable with their relationship, why was he still unsure? She groaned and repositioned herself next to him to accommodate his smaller stature. She was more frustrated with herself than Doyle. He was a great guy; some would say the perfect guy. He was kind and loyal, and they seemed alike in so many ways. However, she could not be content with him. What was so wrong with her that she was not satisfied with a comfortable, stable relationship? Doyle smoothed his hands across her belly, kneading the soft flesh, and she gave a soft whimper of encouragement, which spurred him to even new heights.

The phone rang again.

"God damn it!" Paris viciously snarled in frustration and stormed into the common room, knocking Doyle off the bed. Portuguese expletives erupted from her mouth as she yanked the phone to her ear. "Yeah?" she fairly screamed into the phone. Did everyone in the free world suffer a mid-evening lobotomy? When did it become appropriate to call someone at such an ungodly hour?

"Paris?"

Oh. Lorelai. Great, what did she want? "Rory's not here. She'll be back after her last class tomorrow, so call back then."

"So you've heard from her?"

"Yeah. She's up in Vermont with Logan for the weekend. Didn't you know?" That was odd; the two always told each other everything. She idly considered checking the stars to see if they were out of alignment.

"No. I've been trying to call her cell, but it's not answering and…"

"She left it here, the battery's dead."

"Can you tell her I called when she gets back?" Lorelai's voice seemed filled with more than just typical maternal concern.

"Sure, Lorelai," Paris looked at the ceiling and cursed herself a thousand times over. There was no way she was getting sleep tonight. "Lorelai, I'm worried about her too."

"What? What's there to be worried about?" Lorelai did not feign incredulous very well.

"You filled our answering machine with not being worried." She picked up the article and leafed through it. "She's different, now. She's changed. It's not a good change, either."

"What do you mean?"

"It's her writing, mostly. She's lost her voice."

"She's gone mute?"

"Her voice," Paris rolled her eyes in annoyance. Was Lorelai trying to be circumspect? Or was she just incredibly dense tonight? "Her opinions. Her spark. Rory's writing has nothing of her in it anymore. It's bland and vacant. I wrote better than this in the first grade. She wrote better than this in the first grade."

"Wow."

"She's pandering to the sensationalist sex-driven mindless masses." She sighed and tossed the article back on the table. "She's lost." Bitter drops trailed unnoticed down her cheeks.

Lorelai, however, seemed to have noticed. "Paris, is something wrong?"

Paris wiped the tears from her cheeks and tried to steel herself. "Just focus on your own damn kid!" She sighed and cursed herself again. Great, someone was reaching out to her and she attacked her. She had to, though; it would be a sign of weakness otherwise. Paris Geller was never weak. "Look, I'm…"

"I know I'm not your mom, Paris. I'm just Rory's crazy Giver of Life. But, I am here. I'm always here to talk." Surprisingly, the woman sounded sincere.

"Thanks."

"Any time."

Paris hung up and slid back into bed. She closed her eyes and fell asleep dreaming of arms wrapped around her pressing her tightly to his chest and not around a pillow facing the other side of the room.