A/N: You guys, you have no idea what the reviews mean to me. They really keep me going, especially since I am getting busier and busier as the new Virtual Season draws near. Thanks a ton! I love you all!

This chapter...well, actually, this story would cease to exist without the usual suspects. Send your thank you cards to Filo, Grizzly, Pink Hammer, Mags, Olivia (or Jane), and lulu. It certainly takes a village to get me to write a chapter.

:comedic interlude: This story is coming at you all the way from AZ. And, boy, is it's arms tired.

On with the show!

Chapter 3: Champagne

Sometimes she forgot.

She grabbed the glass of champagne unconsciously, stealthy sliding it off the passing tray as she had done at many parties, before retreating to her hiding spot on the staircase. It wasn't until she had pressed the glass to her lips that she had realized what she had done and why it was wrong. Old habits die hard.

So, she resorted to looking through the glass, turning it into a rudimentary kaleidoscope, watching the way the dresses of her mother's friends swished with the bubbles, and smiling at how the glass distorted the faces of her father's friends.

He found her like that sometime later, the skirt of her emerald satin dress taking up almost three steps, and a flute of champagne pressed to one eye. She had been so entertained by the champagne glass that she hadn't seen him approaching until he stepped on her dress. He shoved some of her skirt aside in order to sit next to her on the step, and she turned just in time to see him push some of his curls back with his fingers. He needed a haircut.

He nudged her in the ribs, and she nudged back. It was nice to know that some of their childhood habits remained, even though they, and their relationship, for that matter, had changed so drastically recently. It was the very reason why she sank into him as he put his arm around her. It was comforting, he was comforting, and that was what she needed that night, even though she was supposed to be happy. It was, after all, her birthday.

"Nice dress," Christopher remarked, running his eyes up and down the satin. He patted the poofy sleeves with a smirk, waiting for Lorelai to explain the ensemble.

She rolled her eyes. "Emily," she stated with exasperation, the one word answer enough to encompass all sorts of atrocities, least of all the reject frock from the Emerald City collection.

"I especially like the sleeves. Very you."

"Yes, not only does the skirt make me feel like an extra from Tara, but the sleeves can be used as a floatation device in the event of a crash landing over water." Chris laughed, and she smiled, attempting to feel like she was more involved in the conversation than her thoughts were. Her thoughts were far from this staircase, this house, and even this universe.

"What in the world was she thinking?" he asked, shaking his head.

"That the sleeves detract from the protruding belly, would be my guess."

The comment seemed to ignite a change in his demeanor as the conversation halted and he clammed up. He was still uncomfortable with the very idea of "it," so it wasn't at all unexpected. She just wished he would react sometimes. Cry, yell, and maybe even throw things, like she had done. It would certainly make her feel more comfortable about "it". But, he hadn't yet, and that worried her.

"You done with that?" Christopher asked after a few minutes of silence, gesturing to her impromptu plaything that was now sitting by her feet. But, he didn't wait for her response and reached over her knees to pick it up, downing the champagne in one gulp.

And she couldn't help but feel sad about this.

"Shouldn't the more appropriate question be what am I doing with a glass of champagne?" she said snidely, attempting not to look forlorn as he placed the flute a few steps above them, out of her reach.

Chris shrugged."That's a bad thing?"

"Oh, come on. You aren't that dumb," she said with a sigh, rolling her eyes again. "I forgot," she explained quietly. "I forgot and picked up the glass and almost took a drink before I realized what I was doing. Weird thing to forget, I know, but, yeah…Sometimes I do."

"Me too," he admitted softly, unable to look at anything but the red Converse tennis shoes he had somehow managed to walk out of the house wearing. "Everyone is wondering where you are," he said quickly, in an attempt to change the subject.

"Everyone who?" she asked, even though she didn't want to ignore his admission about their current situation. It was like pulling teeth to get him to bring the subject up, and even harder to keep him on topic when he did.

"John, Jenn, Steph, Beth, Greg…"

"Oh, that everyone. The usual suspects."

He nodded. "We're in the poolhouse. I told them I would go and find you."

"Guess the sub-party's in full swing, then."

"Pretty much."

She leaned against the rails of the banister, pressing her head on the wood, and observed the party below without her champagne telescope. It was no longer amusing. In fact, it was frightening, and she dug her nails into the skin of her arms as she caught a glimpse of the path that was in front of them.

"Do you really see us like this?" she questioned, not turning to look at him.

"Like what?"

"The tuxes. More of these dresses. The parties. Champagne. Wearing a bowtie and pretending you're even interested in insurance. Me splitting my days between the DAR and planning events for your clients. Our kid with the nanny. Doesn't really seem to fit, does it?"

"It could work, Lor," he said after a long pause. She could hear his sneakered feet shuffling uncomfortably, and she had to suppress a sob. She dug her nails into her arms more, wincing from the pain.

She couldn't break down now, not like this.

"I didn't ask if it could work," was her reply, voice choked and unnatural to her ears.

"There you are!" Emily's voice reverberated off the walls of the small staircase. Lorelai and Christopher jerked their heads up to face the older woman, a vision in topaz taffeta. "I've been looking all over for you."

"Well, I've been here," Lorelai said smartly, pressing her fingers under her eyes to stop them from welling up.

"It's time," her mother announced primly.

"Time?" Lorelai questioned, even though, in the back of her mind, she knew better than to ask that question.

"You are the hostess of this party. You need to make a speech. You need to thank your guests for coming to your birthday party."

"Oh," she said, scowling. "That." She shot a helpless look to Christopher, who was still staring at his shoes like he had been caught doing something wrong. She rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time that night, only to be met with a withering glare from Emily.

"Lorelai," she said, pronouncing every syllable of her name with annoyance. "Let's go."

"Duty calls," she mumbled under her breath and used the banister to help herself up.

She followed her mother down the stairs, not able to bring herself to look at anything but the way her mother's taffeta skirt swayed as she walked. Emily waited for her on the last step, stiffly linking her arm with Lorelai's as she plastered on a smile to conceal her vexation. Lorelai mimicked this gesture, cheeks instantly aching from the exertion.

Emily leaned in close to Lorelai, the smile still present. "I think under the circumstances, I've been very fair tonight. I didn't cancel the party after what happened. I tried very hard to make your sixteenth birthday beautiful, just like the one I have imagined for you for years. I haven't asked you to do anything to prepare for it. But, I am asking you to do this. I think it's only right, after everything I've done for tonight, after everything I've not asked you to do, that you get up and show my friends and your father's friends what a graceful and refined young lady you have become, especially since this may be the last chance for you to do so as our daughter and not someone else's wife and mother. Do you think you can do that?" She said the last part stiffly, attempting to keep her voice devoid of emotion, even though Lorelai could sense the desperation in her mother's speech.

"Okay," Lorelai found herself answering, because even though Emily drove her crazy, and even though they were at odds 99.9 of the time, it did sound fair. Her parents had been fair to her. They hadn't kicked her out of the house. They hadn't pushed the abortion or adoption issue. They had come up with a plan that would provide well for her and her child for the rest of their lives. And even though it was the complete opposite of what she wanted, and even though she wasn't happy, she had to give them that.

"And, for God's sake, put your shoulders back! Honestly, you are much too pretty to be constantly slumping your shoulders like you should be ringing bells for a living."

But, then again, maybe she shouldn't give them that much credit.

Richard met them at the bottom of the stairs, still engrossed in a business conversation with Floyd Stiles, the man that, to Lorelai, represented everything that was wrong with the world. Richard politely ended the conversation Floyd with a friendly pat on the shoulder, and gave Emily a peck on the cheek before finally fixing his gaze on Lorelai. In the past, he may have told her that she looked lovely, or that her dress was very pretty, but this was no longer the past, and he had hardly spoken more than three words to her since the big announcement a few weeks ago.

"Well," he said, rubbing his hands together thoughtfully. "Shall I announce you?"

"Go up a few more steps, Lorelai," Emily commanded, pointing behind her.

"I just walked down the stairs. You want me to go back up them?"

"People need to be able to see you."

"Well, you should have told me as we were walking down. Would've saved me some time and effort."

"Listen to your mother, Lorelai," Richard said dully, looking at his watch. It annoyed her, the way they were acting. She didn't understand how they could put on this façade, why they would even want to throw a party in the middle of all this. And, most of all, it really bothered her that her father wouldn't even look at her. At least Emily had the decency to do that.

A waiter with a tray passed by the staircase, and noticing that her parents' backs were turned, Lorelai leaned forward and snagged what appeared to be pate on French bread and a napkin. She climbed up a few more steps, as her mother had demanded and bit into the bread. She immediately spat it back out.

"Oh my God!" she said loudly, face distorted in disgust.

Emily whipped around. "What on earth?"

"What the hell is this?" she asked, using her teeth to scrape the remaining flavor off her tongue.

"Not now, Lorelai," Emily hissed as Richard cleared his throat to begin his introduction. She gave her daughter a light tap on the shoulder, an unspoken push to get her up a few steps.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Richard bellowed, his loud voice carrying over the din of the gathered crowd. One by one, they silenced, and Emily gave Richard a quick nod, to urge him to continue. "My daughter, Lorelai Victoria, tonight's honoree, has a few words to share with you."

"Uh, hi everyone," Lorelai began uncertainly and she looked down at the wadded up napkin in her hand. "God, hope you didn't try the pate. Well, I mean it's good, but only if you like eating Clorox."

Emily shot her a look, and seeing her react like that made Lorelai smile in twisted pleasure. It was wrong, but it did make her feel better, and it was her birthday, so she went with the feeling. "Great party, huh? I mean, it's everything I dreamed about for this day and more." Her voice became high pitched and syrupy, taking on the tone of many of her female classmates, and it seemed to fit the persona she was attempting to mold herself into for this speech. "I especially love the candles all over the place. What a nice touch. And, did you notice? Exactly six inches apart…Although, I hate to be the one to point this out, but the set on the mantle in the parlor? One is off by about two centimeters. But, I guess that stick has to be pretty high up your butt for you to notice."

She was on a roll, the insults undulating off her tongue effortlessly. She couldn't bring herself to look down at her mother, but she could feel her seething from her perch a few steps down. And she knew if she focused on the faces of the crowd, she would have to stop. It was terrible, what she was doing, but she felt compelled to keep going. The rest of her life had gone to hell, what harm would a few more sins do to her now?

"Oh, and thank you so much for all your generous gifts. Checks are great. You can never go wrong with checks. I really appreciate gifts that come in envelopes, because, frankly, anything else would have to collect dust behind a slab of glass in this house."

Richard cleared his throat loudly, and she took it as her cue to wrap her speech up. "Anyway, it was great to see all of you. We really should get together like this more often. But, if you promise to keep this little tidbit a secret, I know my parents are planning another little shindig in my honor in just a few months time... So, thanks, and again, great to see you. I'll be here all night and be sure to try the veal!"

And, with that, she turned on her heel and marched back up the stairs, not giving a second thought to Christopher's stunned expression until she slammed the door to her bedroom.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, on her bed emerald skirt fanning out around her. It wasn't until she looked at her clock that she realized that hours had passed. She had expected Emily to follow her immediately after her speech and make her endure the lecture to end all lectures, but she never came. If she had pulled a stunt like that before, it definitely would have happened. But, as she reminded herself several times that night, it was no longer before. Funny how a little pink stick could change so much.

She sank back onto her pillows, effectively crushing the curls her mother's personal hairdresser spent so much time on. She didn't care anymore. It took her awhile before she noticed that her palm was resting on her growing stomach. That had been happening a lot lately. It hadn't been real before, when her stomach was still flat and her parents were still oblivious. But now that she could see her body beginning to change and now that her parents had been told, it was real. So fucking real.

Hot tears rolled down her face and into her hair. She brought her other hand to her stomach, gently massaging her skin as she ran her fingers over the tiny bump.

"Some night, kid," she whispered with a sniff.

There was a knock at the door, and after a short pause, her mother walked in, still radiant in her taffeta gown. Lorelai rose up on her elbows and sighed.

"Sure, come in," she said sarcastically, and pushed herself up until her back was against the headboard again.

"I don't think I can take any more of that from you, young lady," Emily spat. "I hope you're happy with yourself, because you certainly made a mockery of this entire family."

"No," she said quietly, her eyes only able to focus on the hand still resting on her stomach. "I'm not happy."

Emily shook her head wearily. "Well, that makes two of us." She turned toward the door, the sound of her heels on the floor reverberating off the walls. When she reached the door, she placed her hand on the doorframe and stopped. "I honestly don't know what to do anymore," she said, disappointment evident in her voice, her back still to Lorelai. "Or what I should say to get through to you. You had so much promise, Lorelai…So much potential." Without even one last glance at her daughter, she walked out of the room and closed the door.

And only then did Lorelai finally let out a sob.

A/N: So, this chapter veers a little from what you might be expecting from this story, but I hope you liked it anyway. I feel that it is very important to the overall story being told. But, you wanna know the best way to let me know what you think? I bet you know. Come on...Yes! That's right. A review! Please review.

:comedic interlude: What's brown and sticky?

A stick!

Sorry, I had a longer joke lined up but it's 4am and I need to go to bed.

:juggles:

:drops all the balls:

:remembers that she can't juggle still: