Story Title: Razor
Chapter Title: Sweet and Divine, Razor of Mine
Pairing: Lit
Rating: T (for now); some language
Summary: Future Lit; Rory's trying to get a foot in the door in the journalism world and she's dragging Jess along with her against his will. If past performance is the indicator, he wants to avoid any contact with her; professional or otherwise. Story and Chapter titles taken from the Foo Fighter's song, Razor off In Your Honor.
Fatherhood. The concept at once held a weight that terrified him and still managed to elude him. It had never chosen him in the past in any form. His own father had walked out on him before his first night-time feeding, and none of the deadbeats his mother had ever allowed into their home gave a second thought to showing him any attention. The only constant male figure in his life had been his uncle who, while never failing in his dependability, left something to be desired in the bonding department. Jess was fairly sure he would give the same care to a house plant he was watching for a neighbor that he gave any kid that came into his care.
Not that Jess was complaining. He'd gotten over his demons, in regards to his incredibly unorthodox upbringing by a woman who was a verifiable, if not well-intentioned, nutcase, and a father who gave a new meaning to the word nomad. Until recent years, that was. Sure, his mother was still crazy, but she was married to another person that was more certifiable than she was, but they made sense somehow. And his father was sticking around for a kid that wasn't even his, 3000 miles away from where he'd left his own child without a trace. The fact that Jess had come to terms with both his parents had come more out of his own sense of survival rather than any need to connect with his parents.
It struck him, however, that if fate saw fit to bring a child of his into this world his conscious would not allow him to put a faultless infant through what he had survived. In his eyes, he'd gotten lucky after hitting rock bottom. He was perhaps not an upstanding citizen, but he was respected by some in his field, and he'd known love—he could have so easily taken a wrong turn after failing out of school and getting kicked out by the only relative he thought would ever be around for him, yet somehow he was resilient. He wouldn't wish his trials and tribulations on anyone, least of all his offspring.
On the different side of that same coin, his child might not ever be given a chance to be screwed up. He supported a woman's right to choose—and he had always foolishly believed that it would most likely be the safest option in any scenario that a woman ever inform him that he'd had a part in getting her pregnant—but now that he found himself sitting back and waiting to see what Rory's decision was…. He couldn't help but feel pain at the thought of losing what might be the one woman and the one child he wanted to be around for, to love.
Jess sat on the subway, yet again in New York, at her insistence, to come hear the test results. He'd given her the chance to be alone, if that's how she wanted it to happen, but she never hinted that she preferred solitude while he was present. It had been two weeks—two weeks that had been unlike any other in his life. His agent had put him on a schedule—he had to produce pages by a deadline, or he'd threatened to walk. Jess had joked that it wasn't a good threat, as it would be a reward to his sanity, but in the end he knew that his continued success wasn't just about him anymore. He owed it to the other guys at the publishing house, the ones that took a chance on him in more ways than one. He would never say he owed it to his readers, because that sounded too pompous, but if he was going to get another book out, it was either going to take dedication or a major heartache to prompt him, and he preferred the first option, if he could get it.
He also spent a good chunk of the waiting period coming into New York to stay for several days in the absence of the other man in Rory's life. Her boyfriend was off in Europe for business, which prompted Rory to ask him to come and stay. To keep her company is how she put it, but after he checked in with his partners in Philly and acquired a large stack of manuscripts to work through, he did as she asked, trying out the role of supportive partner and potential father. In the moments he was able to forget that he was living in another man's apartment and sleeping in another man's bed, he found that it came with ease, the tending to her newly acquired system-the one that prompted her to eat seven times a day, to flee to the bathroom to throw up at four in the morning and again two hours after she ate lunch. He covered her with a blanket when she fell asleep on the couch watching reruns of The Office and pretending to be working on notes for work before they shared dinner. He stumbled out of bed in the middle of the night to put a cool washcloth on her neck and hold her hair back while she emptied her stomach. But in the end, he couldn't stay, not forever. Soon it was time to clear out, to give her time to get the space back to how it was expected to look to a man that was oblivious to the predicament she found herself in. No matter what, she'd told him when he stepped into the hallway to leave, she wanted him there when she found out. She needed a familiar face, she needed comfort. And he'd become more than adept at providing that for her, even in their state of suspension.
As he climbed up the stairs from the subway tunnel, he checked his watch to find he had a good half hour before he had to be at the doctor's office. He'd been late the last time, and he knew it unnerved her. He figured her nerves had been through enough lately, and wanted to cut her a little slack. Even if the kid wasn't his, it deserved a peaceful atmosphere. He stopped in an independent coffee shop, wondering if she was still gazing longingly at mugs of the warm liquid, as she had been erring on the side of caution and only allowing herself one slip a day into her comfort ritual. His body was still his own, and therefore he had no qualms other than the fact that she might smell it on his breath and shoot him a glare for having imbibed without her. The fact that she might well find out she was pregnant with another man's baby and exit his life weighed in the back of his mind, and he ordered a triple espresso and put aside any notions about fairness.
He felt the same uneasiness that he had the first time upon stepping off the elevator on the floor that held her doctor's offices and a few other medical offices. It wasn't that he minded stares that a man garnered from walking into an OBGYN's office, or the assumptions that came with it. He knew it was the mounting anxiety of first being there to give his DNA and today the apex of it all—to find out if his DNA matched the cells that were busy multiplying and growing inside of her.
This time, however, he didn't have to check in with the receptionist or hope to not walk in on the wrong pregnant woman. This time when he opened the door to the waiting room, she was seated along the opposite wall of chairs, a magazine closed on her lap, her eyes trained on the door, instantly fixed on him. He closed the door and made his way directly over to join her, sitting down as if they hadn't just spent four agonizing days apart, in separate states, living separate lives, connected by this one life-altering circumstance.
"Hey. How was the trip?" she asked, just as she would any recent traveler. He tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. He didn't know what was appropriate conversation anymore either.
"Fine. Uneventful. Did," he began, but thought better of bringing up the other man's name.
"Yeah, he's back," she offered, knowing his mind. They'd fallen into each other so well while he stayed with her, a domestic aptness that allowed them to finish sentences, to anticipate needs, to not need to talk in order to communicate or feel comfortable.
"Did you tell him?" he asked, wondering if she was still sharing secrets only with him. He didn't know if that would make him feel better or not—the burden of knowing a secret like this was not pleasurable, but the thought of the other man being the one she turned to didn't exactly thrill him either.
"No. He thinks I have the stomach flu," she bit her lip.
"Right. Still queasy?"
"Like clockwork," she nodded. "Listen," she began, but the nurse came to the admittance door, calling her name. She stood up and he followed her, back to the small sterile room where they'd learn the fate of their affair. The nurse did the usual vital checks, even though Rory wasn't really being seen for a true appointment. The doctor wanted to meet with her to discuss the results, so she wasn't given a gown after her blood pressure was taken and her weight recorded.
They were left alone until the doctor came back, and Rory gave him a tight smile from her perch on the exam table.
"You were about to say something," he reminded her at last.
"When?" she furrowed her eyebrows.
"Before the nurse called you back. In the waiting room," he prodded.
"Oh. Right. Nothing, I've just been thinking, since you left. Well, before that even. Before the baby, or the pregnancy, it seemed so complicated, but now I wish that's all I had to think about. Still, sometimes I wish I could just make that decision, and then figure out," she put her hand on her stomach. He wondered if she could feel anything more than nausea. He'd flipped through her book on pregnancy while she was sleeping one night, reading the section most relevant to her current stage, and he knew she probably wasn't able to detect anything other than a little bloating. But still, her hand still instinctively went to her abdomen more and more lately. He wondered if she even realized she was doing it.
"It's kind of too late for that," he sighed.
"Oh. Yeah. I know," she frowned.
"Do you know what you want to do?" he posed.
"Well," she began. "It's not so simple. I mean, it's the reason I couldn't bring myself to tell Logan. If it was his, and he found out, he'd want me to keep it, no matter what I wanted."
Jess frowned. "And you're not planning to tell him, ever?"
Rory looked up at him, puzzled. "Didn't you hear me?"
"Yeah, and not to defend the guy, but as someone in the same boat, I can tell you, this isn't just your problem—it's not just your kid. It's not fair to him, to make this kind of decision about his future, without him ever knowing."
She raised an eyebrow. "He'd want to get married. He's not easy to dissuade, once his mind is set on something."
"Sometimes we have to lie in the bed we make, Rory. Is that why you told me, you thought that I wouldn't give a damn what you decided, as long it made things easier for you?"
His words stung her, he could tell from her reaction. She curled her arms around herself, her gaze averted. "No. Jess, but don't you see, it's not fair… it's not fair for me to make any decisions, if it's not what you want, and if it's not yours… I don't feel like my life is my own completely anymore. I have to take other things into consideration. I have too much on the line here."
"You want to take that job," he reasoned.
"And I can't saddle anyone else with a kid while I do that," she said, her eyes once again looking into his.
"Those are the kinds of decisions that parents make," he said, though his never had. They'd never been that ambitious, nor had they ever chosen him, not in any real sense. He felt more and more strongly, this was a job he could do, if he chose—if they chose this life together.
"I know. But I can't predict what the test results will say, Jess. What if it's his? Then we're done? I just won't see you anymore? I turn down the job, get married, and what? Is that what you want?"
"Damn it, Rory, do you really care what I want?" he asked, frustration enveloping him.
"Yes! I can't do this by myself, Jess," she practically yelped, her voice and hands now shaking.
He stood up and walked over to her, putting his arms around her. "You won't have to," he assured her as the doctor knocked at the door, a brief warning before opening it into the room.
"You all ready?" she asked the pair, still holding onto one another on the exam table.
"You ready?" he asked, softly in her ear.
She nodded, "It's time. So, you know?" she asked the doctor.
The doctor held up an envelope. "Some people like to read it themselves. Others can't bring themselves to look. It's up to you," she offered.
Rory hesitated. "I'll do it."
"If you're sure. If you need a referral, to talk to someone or anything else, let me know. Otherwise, just make an appointment for next month on your way out, okay?"
Rory nodded and took the envelope in her hands. The doctor left the room, and they were once again alone in the room—and yet, there was the sense that they were not alone. There was a heft of information in her hands, and he cleared his throat as they both stared at the sealed envelope.
"I guess it's time," he said quietly.
"Yeah. I have to find out. It's just," she paused.
"What?" he asked, secretly glad for a few more moments without the full disclosure finally able to aid her decision.
"You know how some women are sure they're having a boy or a girl, before they find out?" she asked.
"I guess," he said, more to encourage her to continue than acknowledging common knowledge.
"Well, it's just, even though I don't know who the father was, or if this is a boy or a girl, I've just had this image in my head. Every once in a while, when I'm just waking up or just about to go to sleep, it sort of flashes through my brain. Sort of vision I guess," she hedged, turning the envelope over in her hands.
"And what do you see?" he asked, not used to sussing out the details from most women's thoughts. He knew it wouldn't make a real difference; it wouldn't change the test results. But still, it made a difference to him, to know what she envisioned in those quiet moments.
"It's just this scene; a bed, with a little boy, sitting between us in bed, holding a book, pretending to read it, not letting us help him, but still too young to make the words out himself."
He smiled, despite himself. "Sounds like my kid," he offered.
"I better open it," she said with a sad resolution. "I won't ask you for anything you don't want to do," she promised him.
He nodded. "I know. But I can't interfere if it's his kid," he reminded her, more out of obligation than anything else. They'd come so far, so close so many times, and he hated the idea that another man's decree could wipe it all away, but yet, there they were.
She nodded and took a deep breath, slipping her finger in the edge of the seal, sliding it across the top, leaving a jagged paper edge in her wake. He knew that she could be about to do the same thing to his heart, but he tried to put his own feelings to the side. This was much more than just what he wanted, what he'd planned.
Jess watched her face instead of trying to read over her shoulder. She gripped the paper with both hands, as if she might wring the life out of it once she was done. Her expression was that of concentration as she skimmed the words, and he was almost sure she was rereading it for certainty as her eyes darted back and forth over the same spot more than once. She held out the paper after a moment, her expression softer, but not one he could place.
He looked from her to the paper as he took it from her offering hand. His eyes took in the medical jargon and the numbers and interpreted the clear message it was conveying. He blinked and looked up to her expectant eyes.
"What was the book?" he asked, causing her to frown a little in confusion.
"What?"
"In the vision you had. What book was the kid trying to read?"
She smiled. "Where The Wild Things Are," she offered.
He smiled back. "Care for a trip to the bookstore?" he held out his hand to help her off the exam table. She took hold of his hand, and immediately he gave it a soft squeeze. He didn't know how else to let her know it was all going to work out—he was never one to offer guarantees.
"Jess, there's so much we have to," she began, but he shook his head and she stopped.
He stepped up and put his hands on her face. "I know. Come on. I'll show you an article I read in today's paper that said two cups of coffee a day showed no detrimental effects to fetuses."
He kissed her nose, teasing her, and she shook her head. "I guess we can talk after the bookstore."
"It's nice to know you can still be led around with the lure of books and coffee," he said as he opened the door for her to pass through.
She shook her head and laughed at him, and he just watched as she moved. She was carrying his child, and from now on the decisions she would make would be a part of his life. She now had a hand in altering his history, his course. Not that she hadn't in the past, but now it was so much more tangible—visceral in the sense that he felt a part of him was no longer accessible without her. Cutting her out of his life had been like trying to cut off his hand and hoping a new one would grow back. It left marks, scars, and changed the way he did things. But he had survived. Now that he had readied himself to live with or without her, having her was a gift that he knew how to use. All the rest would come. But he was never going to pass up an excuse to frequent a bookstore.