Gilmore Girls 1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **You know they're not mine.

**Author's Note:** As always, **cinefille**, **bridges**, and **lulabo** made me think more deeply about the story I want to tell, and with their fabulous feedback and a lot of tweaking, this chapter is much better for their help.

* * *

"Hey, do you think I'll need to bring both of my black skirts?" Lorelai asks from where she is sitting at the table in Logan's apartment.

Rory glances at her mom, who is alternately scribbling on a notepad and chewing on the end of her pen. She can hear the brittleness in her mother's voice, can hear how much she is forcing the enthusiasm, trying to pass herself off as fine. They're both pretending it's working. "Depends on how close the dry cleaner is."

Lorelai smiles weakly. "And I have no idea about that, so I guess they're both coming."

Rory watches, unsure exactly why they're playing this game – why they're trying so hard. When Luke and her mom had broken up last year, Lorelai let herself collapse, let herself wallow, and most of all, let herself lean on Rory. That she's not doing that now is like some sort of signal but Rory can't figure out what it means, except that there seems to be something her mom isn't telling her.

"Hey, Mom?"

"Yeah?" Lorelai already sounds wary and Rory wonders what it is in her own voice that gives her reason to be.

Rory takes a breath and asks softly, "Does Luke know that you're leaving?"

Lorelai's head snaps up, and she stares at Rory for a long moment. Then she gives a few small shakes of her head, watching her finger fidget with her pen as she whispers, "No."

"Are you going to tell him?" Lorelai shrugs and Rory continues, her questions gentle, but insistent. "Don't you think you should?"

Her mother's eyes are narrowed and defensive. "Why?"

"I don't know." Rory finds herself taken aback by her mom's resistance, unable to understand why that's not a reasonable question. "Because he'll wonder where you are. Because he'll worry."

"He doesn't need to worry about me anymore," Lorelai responds sharply.

The finality of her words startles Rory. There's such resignation in her mom's voice. "I just don't understand how you can give up so easily. One ultimatum and it's done? Over?"

"We're not going to fix this," Lorelai insists quietly.

"You can if you talk to him."

"I just…I can't, Rory."

"But _why_, Mom? Why you don't even want to try to work it out?"

"Rory." It's a protest, possibly meant to be forceful, but it's really just weary. The fatigue in her mother's posture and the beaten expression are just so uncharacteristic, Rory can't let this be the end of the conversation.

"No, Mom, I don't understand. You love him. I know that he's hurt you, but are you really going to write him off like that? Has he really been so thoughtless that you don't even want to marry him anymore?

Her mother closes her eyes and ducks her head, shaking it from side to side. "No, it's me. I'm the horrible one."

"How can you say that?" Rory asks, incredulous. "You've been so patient. More than you should have been. Luke should be apologizing to you."

Lorelai's head is still moving in slow, silent disagreement, and when she speaks her voice is so soft that Rory can't make out the mumbled words. Except for the last two: "…your dad."

Rory feels her entire body freeze, and she closes her eyes as she wonders if she's heard her mother right. "No," she says, shaking her head. "Please tell me you didn't. Please." She's trying not to notice that her mother isn't saying anything, that she's just staring at her clenched fists. "Please, Mom. Please tell me you didn't throw it all away." All she hears is a choking gasp, and a profound sense of dread settles over her. She asks, in a horrified whisper, "You slept with Dad?" Lorelai doesn't respond, but brings one hand up to cover her eyes, and it's confirmation enough.

The ferocity of her anger takes Rory by surprise, but before she has a chance to think, she's spitting words out at her mother. "What the hell were you thinking? How could you be so stupid?"

"I didn't mean for it-"

"What? It just happened?" Rory snaps, her words taking on a sarcastic bite. "You just went there because you needed a friend? Don't give me that. You know I would have dropped everything for you."

Lorelai gives her a plaintive look. "It was your last night with Logan."

"No, don't you dare lay this on me. You did this all on your own." Rory shakes her head in disgust. "God, Mom, I thought you'd grown up. I thought that _you_ at least had moved beyond whatever it is that makes you and Dad repeatedly crawl into bed together. I mean, you had _Luke_. Why would you do that to him?"

Lorelai closes her eyes in shame, but then moves her head slowly back and forth. "I'm not sure I really had Luke."

It sounds a little too much like an excuse and Rory's not willing to let her mother explain this away. It's too big a screw-up to justify. "Because he wouldn't jump in a car with you and elope? You know Luke doesn't work like that. You _know_ him." She stops for a moment and looks at her mom, taking in the defeated posture, and the way that she's buried her face in her tightly clenched fists. It's the giving up as much as the indiscretion that rankles. When she goes on her voice is quieter, but with a hard edge. "For years, Luke has done almost anything you wanted, even before you were together. And now, he's not right there all the time, instead of fighting for him, you just give up and go to Dad? As soon as he's not at your 24-hour beck and call, you just go find someone who will be?" It's harsh and she knows it, but she's having trouble getting a grip on her anger.

"It wasn't like that," Lorelai answers softly, from behind her hands.

"What was it like then? Because you're wearing Luke's engagement ring. You're engaged to Luke and you slept with Dad." As soon as the words are out of Rory's mouth she knows she's crossed a line, and she waits for her mother to throw the words in her face, the way that she'd done when Lorelai had confronted her after she'd had sex with Dean. She waits for the bitterness and anger that always accompanies their most emotional fights.

But Lorelai just looks up at her, two tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. "I know," she says quietly.

Rory just stares back at her mother, unsure what to make of this broken person in front of her. She wants to rage against the foolishness of Lorelai's actions, but it's hard to fight with someone who's not fighting back, and it's hard to berate someone who's agreeing with you. Most of all, Rory thinks, it's hard to point out all of her mother's faults and bad habits when she isn't acting like her mother at all. 

It's that thought most of all that makes her anger falter, and makes her stunned, "Mom?" more a question than a reactionary outburst.

"Rory, don't. You don't have to play nice with me because you're my kid."

"Who am I to talk, though? What right do I have to judge you?"

"You're right. About all of it." Lorelai looks down at her list, but then, without warning, her jaw tightens as she crumples the paper and drops the pen.

"Mom, I'm sorry."

"No, you can't take it back. You were right." Rory steps from behind the kitchen counter and walks toward her mom, prepared to try to offer comfort or apologies. "Please, Rory, I just need to…" Lorelai looks around, but Logan's apartment, for all it's comfort, doesn't have rooms to hide out in, so her mother heads to the powder room and closes the door. It's a clear signal that the conversation is over, at least for now.

Rory can imagine her closing the door, leaning back against it and sliding down to the floor, can actually picture her mother sobbing on the bathroom floor. And, for the first time, since her mom arrived, Rory realizes that she doesn't recognize her. This isn't the Lorelai that she knows, not because of the huge mistake she's made, but because even when she's made mistakes before, her mom has always defended them or even pulled the 'adult' card.

They've fought before, fiercely, saying things they didn't mean, and things they did but were usually careful not to voice, but she can't remember ever seeing her mom like this, defeated, resigned, hating herself. It's sad, but more than that, it's frightening. Lorelai has always been the strong one, always the one Rory looked up to and admired, and she can't help but wonder if that strength was just a façade, masking an underlying fragility. Or if perhaps Rory's seriously underestimated how much these last few months have hurt her.

Rory regrets the severity of her words, remembering her mom's understanding in the aftermath of the 'boat incident.' She hadn't yelled, or berated. She'd just listened, and though she teased, she hadn't judged. And yet, when confronted with her mother's own mistake, she'd acted as judgmental and bitter as Lorelai had when she'd caught Rory with Dean.

Feeling the tips of her fingernails bite into her skin as she closes her fists, Rory walks over to the bathroom door, and holds her hand, poised to knock, trying to figure out what to say. After a few moments, she sighs and drops her hand. Taking a breath, she calls through the door, "Hey Mom?" She pauses, waiting for a response. When none is forthcoming, she settles down against the wall next to the bathroom door.

After another long pause, she starts again, hesitantly, but loud enough to be heard through the door. "It's okay if you don't want to talk to me. I wouldn't want to talk to me right now either. I just hope that you're not answering because you don't want to talk and not because you're asleep. Because that would be gross. Don't get me wrong, Logan has a very competent and thorough cleaning service, but, and I won't get into specifics, I know that people have thrown up in there. So, I just really hope you're not sleeping."

Rory pulls her legs into her chest, clasping her arms around her ankles, and rests her chin on one knee. "I want you to know that I understand that you're hurting. That might not have been obvious from the way that I yelled at you. I'm sorry about that." She takes a long breath, trying to make sense of all her conflicting emotions.

"I just don't understand why you let this happen, why you let things get to the point that you'd go off the deep end like this. I mean, Luke is different, and _you_ are different with Luke. It's almost like you've never really done anything just for yourself, until he came along. You weren't with Luke because he was 'the right guy' or because he was 'the wrong guy' or because you thought I might like him. You just love him, and you don't care who knows it. I've never really seen you like that with a guy." Rory bites her lip and shakes her head in sadness when she thinks about what her mother may have thrown away.

"I was _so_ glad that you were finally doing something just for you, that you let yourself be happy. I never had to wonder if you were happy either. I could see it. Everyone could see it. And, I know that I wasn't around when you proposed to Luke," she swallows back the memories, "and that's my fault, but I know you didn't need a pro/con list to figure out whether to marry him."

Rory stops to rub her palms over her sleepy eyes, in a futile attempt to give her mother a chance to respond. When Lorelai doesn't speak, she says, her voice apologetic, "I'm not sure why I'm going on about this. I guess I needed you to know that I can see this is killing you. I've seen how hurt you've been about Luke leaving you out of things with April, and I don't understand why you haven't told him that, but I _have_ seen it. I'm sorry if the way that I yelled at you makes you think that I don't know how much you care about him." This time she gives her a longer silence, in the hopes that they can mend some fences tonight, that she can say she's sorry to her mother's face instead of through a door.

But there's not a sound at all from inside the bathroom, and Rory's beginning to wonder if her mom is, in fact, asleep. Finally, she pulls herself up to a crouch and says, "I'm going to go to bed now. If you were up to arguing, I'd try again to convince you to take the bed, but at this point I'm not sure I could convince you. So, I'm going to leave you some pillows and blankets and I assure you that I'll be asleep soon, so you don't have to worry about me waiting around to pounce on you when you come out of there." She stands up all the way and stares at the door for a bit before turning around and heading toward the second bathroom.

True to her word, and thanks to her late night with Logan the previous night, Rory is asleep very soon after her head hits her pillow, but during a middle-of-the-night bathroom trip, she is relieved to see a telltale Lorelai-shaped lump on the couch.

* * *

They pass the next morning mostly in silence, conversation limited to the mechanics of packing. Lorelai has abandoned specifics in her list-making, and is instead focusing more broadly. It's not a terribly long list. The time away will be no more than the time they were in Europe, and so they both know that Rory's car is not really needed for the trip, that Lorelai could fit everything she'll need in the Jeep. Lorelai has even suggested as much out loud. But she lets Rory insist otherwise, pointing out that Paul Anka needs space during the drive, and the lack of argument is one more signal that her mother is not herself.

In truth, as glad as Rory is that she'll be able to help her mother get settled into the consulting job in Vermont, she's relieved that they'll be driving separately. She needs more time to process this, to make sense of the 'whys' and the 'hows.' To be able to really get over the shock and anger so that she can be there for her mom.

She recognizes disappointment in the puzzle of emotions, disappointment about plans changing, about her mother not being able to make things work with Luke. It's something she's gotten used to – the idea of Luke in her mom's life, of him being a part of their life. And she can't help resenting the fact that even with him, even with someone she loved as much as Luke, her mother couldn't keep from falling back on her old self-destructive tendencies.

There's another element to the disappointment – the fact that her mother has let her down, that she isn't the energetic and fun person who, in spite of the difficulties of being a young single mother, has always made the best of things. Her mother is the person who deals with setbacks and moves on; she doesn't let them paralyze her. At least she never did before now. Rory knows it's not really fair, to put all that responsibility on her mother, making it so that by falling off her pedestal, she's actually taken away Rory's role model, but it still hurts all the same.

It's harder to pinpoint other emotions, to explain the intensity of her anger. What she knows is that it matters that it was her dad. That the fact that Lorelai made this colossal mistake with Christopher means something. And Rory doesn't want it to mean anything.

She's always been a little embarrassed by the part of her that dreamed of her parents being together. It had felt like a childish, selfish wish, especially in the face of overwhelming evidence that her father wasn't prepared to be with them in a responsible, permanent way. It had taken time, but she'd grown out of that wish, had exorcised that part of her psyche, and she hates the fact that her parents have reminded her of those silly hopes. That they've let this happen again, seemingly without giving a thought to how it would affect her.

These are the thoughts that bounce violently around inside her mind as she follows her mother's Jeep to Vermont, as they silently move Lorelai's belongings into her room, as they banter politely over their take-out dinner, and as they distract themselves with the DVDs Lorelai has chosen to keep her company.

The next morning, in spite of the way that Rory's words have made the air thick and stifling between them, they cling to each other in their goodbye hug, and Lorelai looks genuinely sad to see her daughter go. It's a complex stew of feelings Rory carries home with her as she pulls out of the parking lot of the inn, and the only thing that she's sure of is that she wants to go back to the time with she was the one making mistakes and her mom was always right.

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** If only I had the power…but I don't

**Author's Note:** Huge thanks to the amazing **CineFille** and the incredible **Lula Bo** for always figuring out what my stories are missing and telling me how to make them better.

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She's not sure why this particular memory is nagging at her. Sure, it wasn't one of her prouder moments, but put up against adultery and felony charges, playing hooky hardly rates a notice at all. And yet, as she approaches the Connecticut state line on her way home from getting Lorelai settled at the consulting job in Vermont, this is the event that's on an endless loop in her mind.

She doesn't see the connection at first to what's happening now, but as the ache of remembered pain settles in, and as she recalls the disappointment in her mom's eye, she thinks that she's starting to understand some of what Lorelai might be feeling right now. For weeks after she'd missed her mother's graduation, there'd been a knot of guilt in her chest. She'd begged her mom to ground her, give her chores, punish her, anything to make up for her behavior, to make up for disappointing her mother. She'd wanted to do some kind of penance that would make it better, that would help loosen the knot.

But Lorelai's graduation had happened without Rory, without the one person she'd wanted there to support her, and there was no way that Rory could change that. Even if Lorelai had chosen a spectacularly awful punishment, nothing could have been worse than looking that disappointment in the eye and knowing that she'd caused it. That was the first time she'd realized that sometimes you just screw up so badly there's no way to fix it.

So Rory thinks that she might understand at least the essence, if not the severity, of how much Lorelai hates herself right now.

That understanding complicates everything, because it clashes with the part of her that keeps asking what is wrong with her mother that she'd let herself be derailed like this. She can't reconcile it with her resentment at the thoughtlessness of the act.

Because of all the conflicting and confusing emotions, everything from compassion to shock, she can't figure out what to do with the anger. It's there, and she can't turn it off. But she can't bring herself to dump all of that fury on her mother either, if only for the selfish reason that she's not prepared to damage what they've been repairing over the last six months.

And because she knows her mother needs her.

She decides then, that she wants to try to be _Sports Night_'s Dana Whitaker for a bit. Not the neurotic Dana with the stupid dating plan, but the Dana that pulled her steroid-using brother aside and after telling him how stupid he'd been, she told him that she was going to try to be the one person in his life who wasn't pissed at him - the one person who was going to be there just for him.

She wants to try to do this for her mother; she thinks she _needs_ to do this. She's just not sure how to let go of all the anger and frustration.

It's not until she passes a sign for Hartford that she's hit by the realization that she hasn't given any thought yet to her dad. She's spent so much time being shocked and disappointed by her mother's behavior, and so little time considering that she's not at all surprised by her father's.

The thought strikes her so matter-of-factly that she has to mull over her feelings on that for a moment. To chew on the fact that her expectations for her father have fallen to the point that even this is no surprise, and that she's almost forgotten to be disappointed in him as well. And so, when she pulls off the highway and heads off toward his new Hartford place, it's his failings as a father as much as his indiscretion that fuel her frustration and allow her to temporarily deflect her anger from Lorelai.

She's not sure who he thought might be behind the door, but based on the wide eyes, the stunned silence, and the tiniest hint of guilt in his expression, her dad was not expecting her to show up on his doorstep. "Rory! What's…?"

Rory glances around the house as Christopher ushers her inside. "Is Gigi here?" she asks, feeling the agitation in her voice.

"No." He gives her a confused look. "She's at preschool. I need to pick her up at three."

"Okay," Rory says, taking a breath and crossing her arms across her belly as she begins to pace.

"Rory. What's going on?"

"How could you?" It comes out anguished and furious and heartbroken all at once.

"How could I what?"

She glares at him. "You cannot be this dense. Oh my god, Dad. You and mom. How could you?"

He looks suddenly like an injured animal caught in a trap. "How do you…did she tell you?" Before she has a chance to respond, he goes on, "I can't believe she told you."

Rory just stares back at him, incredulous. "You can't believe she _told_ me? God, Dad. I can't believe _you_." She looks down and away, shaking her head, then she rounds on him with renewed strength. "Just, how could you?"

"She came to me, Rory," he says, as if that explains everything.

"I know that, and don't think it's not killing me that she didn't call me, or come find me." Rory closes her eyes, wishing for the millionth time that her mom had chosen a different night for her meltdown. "But you _slept_ with her."

His response is immediate, as if he's a child accused of having his hand in the cookie jar. "She kissed me."

"So that's it? She kisses you and you have no responsibility for your actions?" Rory snaps, staring him down for a moment before letting out a frustrated sigh. "You should have said no. You should have known better than to sleep with her when she came to you like that."

"Rory, what do you want from me?" he asks helplessly. "I thought that's what she wanted. I thought I could help."

The weak, defensive replies are irritating in their feebleness and she wants to make him hear his words, make him hear how absurd they sound. "You thought you were _helping_?" she cries, her voice rising sharply. "You thought sleeping with someone who may have just broken off an engagement was a good idea? Is that _really_ what you thought she came here for?" The thoughts are coming faster than her brain can process them, but she's so angry that she lets herself voice them unfiltered, cutting off his responses before they can become words. "She needed you to be her friend. Just for once to be there without some stupid ulterior motive."

"That's not what I was doing," he retorts, anger starting to win out over explanation. "Damn it, Rory, you weren't there. She came to _me_."

There's something about the way that he emphasizes 'me' that adds an extra note of combativeness to the argument, and Rory finds herself stopping to try to figure out what it means as he continues. "I didn't push her into anything she didn't want."

Rory lifts her eyes and looks her father straight in the eye, her voice strained as she says, "But what she wanted was Luke."

Christopher shakes his head, his expression almost a sneer. "Luke wasn't making her happy. He had his chance, but he doesn't deserve her."

"And you do?" Rory asks, spitting the words out bitterly. "You thought you'd finally won her, didn't you? Like it was a fucking contest or something." She feels angry tears threatening to run down her cheeks. "Does it even matter to you what she wants? Do you even know how destroyed she is?"

"She was destroyed when she came here, because of him," he protests, and she can hear a touch of self-righteousness creeping into his voice. "I didn't do that to her. I'm not the one who let her walk away."

"But you did your best to make sure it was really over, right? Because if it wasn't already, having sex with her would most certainly end it." She can feel how angry she is; her whole body is humming with the heat of it.

When he responds, she can tell his arguments are wearing thin, and can hear the defensiveness returning to his voice. "If it's over, it's not because of me. He wasn't making her happy, Rory."

"And did you, Dad?" Rory shot back. "Did you make her happy? Is she happier now?"

He doesn't answer, but the way his shoulders fall and the defeat that comes across his face tell her that he's heard her and he can't come up with any way to further defend his actions.

She sighs again, her voice softer. "I just don't get it. Why haven't you ever been able to let go of her? For God sakes, Dad, it's been 21 years. When are you going to give up on being high school sweethearts?" She can see his expression hardening, and when he responds, his voice is firm.

"This isn't some teenage crush, Rory. Your Mom and I get each other. We always have. She and I have a connection."

It's so juvenile, his insistence about having some sort of 'special bond' with Lorelai, and what's even more ludicrous is how much he seems to believe it. She can't imagine how he can think that what he has somehow surpasses all the relationships Lorelai has with people who've been constant in her life.

The thing that sticks out the most to her though, over and above his ridiculous fantasies, is that in all of this talk about having a connection with Lorelai, he hasn't once mentioned his daughter at all.

And so, when she speaks next, her voice sounds vicious, even to her own ears, though it's covering her pain. "What, because you can relive your glory days by arguing about Offspring and Metallica?" She can see that he's shocked by her tone, and before he can summon a retort, she's throwing his protestations back at him. "You're right," she says, fighting back tears, "it's about you and Mom. That's what always mattered to you. It's always been about wanting her and getting her to want you back. That's all it's ever been about."

"What are you talking about?"

Rory just stares at him for a moment. "You don't even get it. What's so sad is that you don't even see it." She glances up at him and can't quite tell if the blank look on his face is real or pretended confusion, so she goes on, "Every time you visit, it's an excuse to see Mom, or talk to her."

"That's not true," he argues weakly.

She meets his eyes, and when she speaks again, she can hear the desperation in her voice. "Even when it's just me, you're just waiting for an excuse to be with Mom. Even when it's just us, it's never really about us."

"Come on Rory, that's not how it is. We've been hanging out." He gestures toward her. "I'm paying for your school. That has nothing to do with your mom."

"Yes, you are, but when you came into the money, did you come to see me? No, you went to Mom." Her voice breaks a bit. "I'm your _daughter_, Dad, not just your pretext for talking to her."

"Rory, you can't possibly think that's all you are to me," he pleads.

"Why wouldn't I think that? What reason have you given me to think otherwise?" She's crying freely now, tears streaming down her face and words getting caught in her sobs, because it's no longer about what he's done now, but what he's not done for the last twenty years.

"Do you know what I used to wish for?" she cries.

He simply shakes his head, apparently sobered by her tears.

"I used to wish so hard that she'd want you back, that she'd want to be with you, because that way I'd have you too-"

"Rory," he starts, but he seems to not know how to respond.

"I stopped hoping for that a long time ago, because no matter what I wanted, you can't make her happy." She lets out a frustrated huff through her tears. "I actually thought that we were starting to be just us, that we could get together and have it not be about anyone but you and I. And then," she chokes out the words, "look what happens. We let you back in and you screw it all up. Again." She throws up her hands. "But that's it. I'm done. I'm sick of being your conduit." She lifts her eyes to his and takes a few breaths to still her shaky voice before speaking again. "Goodbye, Dad."

She can hear him calling, "Rory, wait…" as she walks out and pulls the door closed behind her, but she doesn't let it prevent her from walking away.

* * *

Later, she's curled up on the couch catching up with Logan, warmed by his voice, by the simple frustrations he's sharing with her. It's comforting to know that he's calling because he misses her, and that all he's asking of her is that she listen.

But when he asks what she's been up to, she's evasive. It's too soon to talk to him about what's going on here. She can't tell him about fiancées sleeping with old ex-boyfriends, even if said fiancée thought the relationship was over. It hits too close to home and reminds her that deep down, she and Logan never really confronted that situation head on. The guilt and anger got brushed aside by fear and worry in the wake of Logan's accident. It's one of the reasons, she's realizing, that it's good for her to have this distance. As much as she misses him, she knows she needs to think about where they're going, and what they have to do to get there.

She hangs up, having not confided in him about anything, not even the fight with her father, from which she's still catching her breath. It makes her lonely, but for now she's holding onto that loneliness, keeping her anger all to herself.

There've been precious few things that she and her father have shared over the years, and she's rarely done anything but follow her mother's lead with respect to him. She's welcomed him back when he's popped into their lives and cut him out when Lorelai did. This time though, she owns the fight. The frustration and the sadness belong to her and she's going to hold onto them for a bit. So that she can savor this one little thing she shares with her dad.

_To be continued…_


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Gilmore Girls