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The first thing Rory Gilmore did the morning after she first slept with Paris was make coffee. It was, granted, the same thing she did every morning, and she'd wondered initially if having slept with one's roommate normally called for some sort of change in routine. But one lesson Rory's mother had taught her well concerned the dangers of going through life and making major decisions uncaffeinated, and sorting out seven years of friendship, drama, conflicting emotions and deep denial was one of those things that was going to take Sumatra. Possibly several cups. Brewed extra-extra strong.
So she'd left Paris--who was muttering something about Congress, copyright and the FAIR USE Act in her sleep--in bed and headed for the kitchen.
She was pouring ground beans into the filter when she heard Paris wake up with what sounded like a muffled anguished scream and a muttered, "Where are my underpants?" and paused to look guiltily at the trail of clothes, including Paris' black lace bra and panties, that lead from the couch to her own bedroom. The coffee had just begun to brew when Rory heard the shower start up, and she'd just poured her first cup when she heard the water shut off again.
So the timing was absolutely and unfortunately perfect for a comic spit-take when, just as she'd taken her first sip, Paris was suddenly in front of her, dripping wet, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around her hair, saying, "I love you. I think I want to spend the rest of my life with you. What are your thoughts on that?"
Rory sputtered, choked, and coughed for several seconds before she finally managed a sound that might have been, "What?"
"Oh, come on, Gilmore," Paris continued, folding her arms just below her breasts. "I love you, and I think that presents some very serious difficulties for both of us. I need to know your feelings about that, as well as any thoughts you might have on our continued relationship. Surely, you must have formed some before you attempted to seduce me last night."
"Wait....what? I what?" Rory said, still gasping for breath. "I attempted to seduce you? You kissed me."
"Yeah, well, you picked the DVD."
"The Power of Myth with Bill Moyers?" said Rory. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize there was anything particularly seductive about Joseph Campbell talking about Star Wars..."
"It was what we were watching the weekend of our first kiss, and you know it!"
"Our first...?" Rory thought back. "Are you talking about spring break freshman year? The time you tried to make out with me in the club? That didn't count!"
"Oh, so then what were you thinking when you decided to bring home that DVD?" demanded Paris. "I didn't exactly hear you objecting to what happened last night. Or did that not count either?"
Well, no. Last night definitely did count. The first time they kissed--or rather the first time Paris had kissed Rory and Rory had run out of the club in a hurry--had been at the urging of Madeline and Louise as a good way to get male attention and free stuff.
Rory had thought about it...and thought about it...and thought about it...before in the days at Chilton and throughout their year as freshman roommates, and still wasn't sure at the time how she'd felt about kissing Paris, only that she was absolutely certain she hadn't wanted it to take place as part of an attempt at fitting in with a crowd full of drunk teenagers.
Which was why for Rory, the first kiss that counted didn't happen until almost four years later. Last night had been another girls' movie night, which Rory had been suggesting a lot since she'd left Logan and Paris had broken up with Doyle. Another lesson from Lorelei Gilmore was that no time was ever so bad that it couldn't be made better with a movie and pizza. And Chinese food. And ice cream. And seventeen different types of candy.
Rory hadn't really been thinking of anything beyond the fact that they both liked Bill Moyers, and how cool was it that The Power of Myth was now on DVD with extras they hadn't seen yet when she made that particular selection. That was why it surprised her when Paris leaned over to kiss her in the middle of an onscreen conversation about Luke Skywalker as a modern-day example of the archetypical hero. But she hadn't pulled away. Instead she found herself leaning into the kiss, then kissing back hard, hands moving down Paris' body.
And when things progressed to where they eventually did, it had been Rory, laughing, who took the lead, took off Paris' sweater, and eventually took her by the hand and back to the bedroom as Moyers and Campbell continued to talk about gods, adventure and the sacred feminine to an empty room...
Rory jerked back to attention, aware that she'd just missed some vital part of the conversation, because now Paris was saying, "...And anyway, it would never work out between us."
"What? Why...?"
"You're an ambitious woman, Rory Gilmore, and my life plan doesn't include trailing around after my spouse picking up whatever employment I can get in the general geographic area of her next career move. It also won't involve putting any of my own careers aside so I can spend all day organizing business dinners and attending society teas. That sort of thing might have worked for my mother and your grandmother, Rory, but I'm not that woman."
"Paris," Rory began.
"And you're not either. I can't ask you to put aside your needs for mine and wind up writing obituaries or local interest stories on the P.T.A. and whose hog took home top honors at the county fair for some small town rag. I wouldn't be able to take it. "
"Paris..."
"And don't try to convince me it couldn't happen. I saw you almost give up Yale for Logan Huntzberger, and don't think it didn't kill me to watch you almost throw your life away before you came to your senses. I won't be the cause of another Rory Gilmore downward spiral."
"Paris..."
"And speaking of Logan Huntzberger, don't forget that you and I both just got out of long term relationships with men. I don't want to wake up years later and past my prime to find out I was only your rebound, or some late college attempt at sexual experimentation. I love you, Rory Gilmore."
"Paris..."
"And I need to know how you feel and what you think we should do."
"Paris..." Now that there was an actual pause in Paris' monologue, Rory realized she had no idea how to fill it.
She finally gestured to her still-full mug and said, "Coffee" as if by way of explanation.
Paris sighed, shook her head, and glanced down at her wrist, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she wasn't currently wearing a watch on it. "I've got to get to class," she said.
"Paris..." Rory began again, but Paris disappeared into her own room, dressed, and was out the door before Rory could utter another word.
Rory sat down on the couch and finally managed to swallow a sip of coffee. She thought for a while about calling her mother, but had no idea what she would say. "Mom, I slept with Paris, and this morning she told me she loves me and wants to spend the rest of her life with me and then broke up with me fifteen seconds later. Can I move back in with you?" Besides, this might be the sort of thing that was beyond Lorelai Gilmore's expertise. She wasn't sure what her mother's reaction would be, beyond pointing out that there was a reason she kept hiding The Power of Myth videos from Rory for all those years.
Rory finished her coffee then made another cup. And another.
When Paris finally got back to the apartment, Rory met her at the door, and let her inside.
"Look, Rory, I've been thinking..." Paris began.
Rory held up a hand for silence. "I've been thinking, too," she said. "And I do love you. You're not a rebound, you're not an experiment, and you're not going to ruin my career. Wherever our relationship goes, I won't let that happen to either of us. You do, however, have a tendency to talk way too much and expect me to make life changing decisions before I've had my coffee in the morning. After seven years, you should know me better than that."
Paris smiled, "I probably should. I've had breakfast with you on mornings you had trouble remembering how to put on your socks."
"Exactly," said Rory. "But there's no reason two sufficiently caffeinated professional adults shouldn't be able to work out a relationship. People do it all the time. Logan and I were going to do it."
"Whereas I was pretty sure I could get Doyle to be the second career spouse. He's not you, Rory."
"Well, I'm glad you realized that."
"I did. And I spent the morning reworking the chart so that we can both take advantage of the opportunities that allow us maximum time together and career possibilities..."
Rory smiled. "That sounds great, Paris. Now can we get back to taking it one thing at a time?"
"One thing I wasn't sure about: What are your feelings on children? If you want them, I think we can both agree that you're the best choice for biological mother. I mean, let's face facts, you're more than likely to raise our offspring on sugar-coated breakfast cereal and Pop Tarts, and you're the one with the genes that allow you to thrive on a diet of junk food and takeout and still look good on into your late thirties. I mean, I've met your mother."
"Paris..."
"And then there's the matter of sleeping arrangements. I don't mean just sex. We also need to discuss your tendency to take more than your fair share of the covers."
"Paris..."
"Shared finances we should probably set aside a day to discuss. Now we know from living together, we see eye to eye on a number of things when it comes to day-to-day budgeting, but we need to talk investments, and..."
Rory stopped her with a kiss.
"What was that for?" asked Paris when they finally broke away.
"For being you," Rory said. "And because, seriously, we need to take first things first."
"What's the first thing?" asked Paris.
"We finish movie night," said Rory, and began to lead Paris toward the bedroom.
"But the TV's not in the...oh," said Paris as Rory kissed on the neck. Then, "Speaking of TV in the bedroom, when we buy a house..."
Rory laughed, pushed her on the bed, and closed the door.