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Birthday Rituals
AUTHOR: The Corruptor
She bent over the sleeping figure, lips just inches from the smooth, creamy complexion. A complexion that had been inherited from her. The rosy cheeks had also been from her. As were the much admired ears. The long sandy blonde hair and the piercing blue eyes. . . well, those had been a joint production. The cheekbones, the height, the nose, the defined jaw, and the slightly upturned and always amused mouth were solely his. She was a product of all their best features - physically, and even emotionally, personality-wise. And she was beautiful. No one expected anything else. Smiling softly, she glanced at the digital clock beside the bed, waited two seconds for the last digit to change from a zero to a one, and then breached the remaining few inches to place a kiss on the cheek of the slumbering figure, who was lying on her side, curled into a semi-fetal position. A position acquired from her. She was always on time. The girl shifted slightly, moaning softly, as she rolled over onto her back, eyes fluttering open. The long lashes were also his. Lorelai Marie met Lorelai Leigh’s eyes. Blue on blue. The girl grinned slowly, sleepily. “Mom,” she whispered, mildly protesting. But she was used to this, their once a year thing -- a tradition passed down from mother to mother, from one Lorelai to another. “It’s 3:31 in the morning,” Rory informed, gently, giving the girl a little nudge, knowing that she would teasingly resent her for being so punctual. The girl scooted over to the side and lifted the corner of her comforter, as was their usual routine. Rory slid under the covers alongside her. “The sun’s not even up yet,” the girl complained, good-naturedly. In fact, she absolutely adored this part of her mother. And she absolutely adored the fact that her mother had been named after her mother and that she herself had also been named after them. Only the middle name changed. And even that had special meaning. Marie. A derivative of an inside joke shared intimately by her parents. At least they had a sense of humor about the past, even after all they had gone through, had put themselves through. She knew it was mostly her father’s doing. He loved to tease and amuse, and ever since they had gotten past their differences, he found himself always smiling or laughing around her while he still managed to exasperate her. They were still mysteries to each other after all these years, and they wouldn’t have it any other way. “Hey, I don’t recall you waiting for the sun either, sixteen years ago,” Rory chided. “Mom,” the girl muttered, groaning, wrapping her arms through her mother’s, and snuggling close to her. She loved the smell of her mother. Warm. Gentle. Soft. Flowery. Intermingled with scents of her father’s aftershave and cologne. “It’s been sixteen years. Let it go. Move on already.” She stifled her smile into her mother’s pajama sleeve. Rory rolled her eyes. “Hey, Lor,” she prompted, softly, and waited for the muffled “huh” before continuing. “Happy birthday,” she said softly. “How does it feel to be sixteen?” “Ecstatic,” came the muffled response. It was tinged with sarcasm, and Rory grinned. Just like her father. Although he would object and say it was just like her. She’d quibble with him, but they both knew that it came from the both of them. “You should be. Do you know what your grandmother was doing when she was sixteen?” “Wishing she could return you to where she found you and live out the rest of the 80’s worrying about the height of her mall hair instead of what kind of diapers to buy?” Another smart alek response. It was obvious that the trademark sarcasm was genetically passed down from Lorelai to Lorelai, although the father’s contribution had also helped. Rory took a brief second to idly wonder where he had gotten his sarcastic humor, which always seemed to be especially tart when directed at her specifically. She supposed they each brought out the best of each other’s banter. “Very funny, quip girl. I’ll let that one pass since it’s your special day.” “Did I mention it’s early in the morning?” Lori sassed. Rory ignored her. “Do you know what I was doing when I was sixteen?” “Being harassed by Grandma, and rudely awakened at a cruel and unreasonable hour in the morning?” “No, silly. And we’ve been doing this for years so don’t try to guilt trip me into feeling sorry that you, my precious bundle of everlasting joy, decided to arrive at 3:31 in the morning,” Rory said, saucily. “Wow, that part with the ‘precious bundle of everlasting joy’ came out a little harsh, didn’t it?” her daughter boldly sassed again. “If you loved me back, you would have waited until a more reasonable hour - say, mid afternoon or late morning - to decide to make your entry into the world.” “Or maybe after you had your afternoon tea and crumpet?” the girl pertly affronted in a faux British accent. “You’re never going to let me down for that one, are you?” the girl moaned. “No.” Pause. “Guess again.” It was a game. “Fighting off Daddy’s advances and trying to make him as miserable as he was making you?” Lori raised a brow. Her mother could wake her up every year at this time, and even though she knew the script by heart, she would be difficult. It was a characteristic she had gotten from both her parents. Playing the game, from her father. Being headstrong, from her mother. “Okay. New train of thought.” She didn’t want to be reminded of that. Especially about how wrong she had been about him back then. “How about sleep?” Lori prompted. But Rory wasn’t finished yet. Because she had woken up her namesake, like she had been many times before. And she had gotten into bed with her, like she had also experienced many times before. And all that remained of this routine was the repeat telling of the story. “Sleep’s a good idea,” Rory agreed. “But not for you. Sixteen years ago, neither your father nor I got any sleep, so I think you should humor me once again. It’s only once a year we get to do this, and this year is special.” There was no objection from the girl, and Rory continued. “It all started the night before your birth, so sixteen years ago, it actually began last night.” “Actually, it began when Daddy and you decided to. . .” But Lori didn’t get to finish being fresh as her mother shushed her immediately. The two women were smiling though. The subtly lewd comments were also her father’s trademark, and Rory decided that she would have to have a little talk with him about his influence over their child. “Smart mouth. You get that from your father,” Rory chided once again. “Funny. He always says that I get that from you. He also says that I take after his charm,” the girl retorted. “God help us then,” Rory exclaimed, feigning exasperation. Then continuing, “Your father was in Chicago, on business, even though he hadn’t wanted to go, and your grandfather thought he needed to. I wasn’t feeling well, so I called your Aunt Lane to keep me company. And later that night, you started to kick. A lot. And I started to have contractions. Both your Aunt Lane and I started to panic, and she rushed me to the hospital while I frantically tried to reach your father in Chicago. Where he promptly went into hysterics and tried to catch the first flight back.” Rory grinned to herself. She loved exaggerating his part, make him feel less in control than he always prided himself in being. But she also knew that when it came to her, he fully allowed himself to lose that control. Wanted to lose it. It drove him crazy, but he loved it nonetheless. Because when it came to her, he loved the power she had over him with just one look, one smile, one word. He was late. As usual, when it came to this day, this event. But then again, he had always purposely held back, arrived too late to actually participate in it. It was tradition. And it was reserved solely for the Lorelais. Mother. Daughter. He stopped outside the door, leaning against the doorframe, listening. He heard his name, and his lips quirked into a familiar grin. A softened smirk that he reserved for her. She was exaggerating through her teeth again, but he would do nothing to correct her. Because he got a kick out of just listening to her voice, and he never got tired of hearing her say his name, without contempt, but rather with love. It was still able to make his heart flutter and make him fluster to distraction. “And he got to the hospital, four hours later, because he couldn’t get an earlier flight,” Lori continued with the story, face up against her mother’s soft arm. “He arrived, disheveled, running, panicking. Holding a stuffed bear, for God’s sake. . .” She made it sound as if she had lost all respect for him then. Stuffed bear, indeed. “And muttering about needing to buy a private jet so he would never have to stake his life on commercial airlines again,” Lori giggled, trying to picture her father in that way. Cool, calm, unfazed. Those were words that he liked to use to describe himself. How others described him. But whenever it came to her mother, he was always the opposite. Allowed himself to be the opposite. Allowed her to make him so. After all these years, she still got under his skin. Made it so he would always still find himself staring at him, to the exclusion of the outside world, lost in his own thoughts. About her. About them. “It was absolutely adorable,” Rory gushed, despite herself. “And flowers. He had flowers. Which I promptly threw back at him. And screamed at him because of the pain.” “But then he kissed you and you loved him again,” Lori supplied. She knew all about their relationship. How they met. How they hated each other. How they got together. How they tried to stay apart. How they came so close to accomplishing just that. How they kept hurting each other without meaning to. How they tried to deny it, almost falling into the hit-and-miss trap of life. Everything. Rory took a second to smile warmly, recalling the memory and his own power over her. “But of course, it was all a false alarm. The contractions subsided, and three hours later, after I had been ready to go in there and pull you out myself, they decided that you weren’t coming after all. And after I had pulled a Lorelai, too.” She was referring to her own mother, who was used to throwing tantrums. Rory, on the other hand, had always been the stable, calm, and unflustered one. Of course, except when it came to her husband. “Sorry,” Lori muttered, burying her face into her mother’s sleeve again. “But it was okay, because your father was back. Although I’m still not sure why I felt better knowing that,” she jabbed. Even though she couldn’t see him, she was sure that he was around. He was always around, silently taking in this tradition, never interrupting. And standing by the door, leaning against it, hands loosely jammed in his pockets, watching her like he had done more than once before. . . he smiled to himself. “But you did come eventually. The next night. Kicking like the devil was after you. Woke me up, screaming. And I woke your father up, practically giving him a heart attack. And he immediately went into panic mode once again.” “And he drove you to the hospital while also trying to reach grandmas and grandpa, and Lane, and Sookie, and the doctor on his cell phone,” Lori added, voice getting sleepy. “And when we got there, we were both impatient to get it over with. The contractions hurt like hell. The doctor kept saying everything was fine, even though I was certain that you were going to rip a huge hole the size of the Hellmouth in me. The nurses kept bustling around, trying to calm me down. Your grandma and grandpa were getting into everyone’s way. Your grandmother was just sitting back, trying to make me comfortable, but laughing at my pain and discomfort, and trying to find a camcorder to record all my wonderful facial contortions and painful screaming for future prosperity. Your great grandparents were off nagging anyone they could find. And your father was absolutely no help whatsoever.” “He kept pacing, which made you nervous. And he kept asking you if you were okay.” “Which I most certainly was not,” Rory scoffed. “And the nurses thought I could use some chipped ice to keep my mind off the pain when all I would have liked was an epidural. And you know what the ice was good for?” “Absolutely nothing,” Lori quipped, even sleepier. She closed her eyes and let her mother’s voice soothe her. Her grandmother had told her a similar story about the birth of her mother. And with a evil glint in her eye, she had admitted to thoroughly enjoying Rory’s labor pains. She had jokingly called it karma, leaving the younger Lorelai to wonder what the birth of her first child would be like. “But they were good for one thing.” Rory grinned, reminiscing. “Grandma told you to pelt the nurses,” Lori interjected. “And your father.” Rory grinned. He shifted by the door, and ran his hand absently through his hair. Then he rubbed the back of his neck, also remembering. She had had great aim even though she had been in the middle of one of her contractions. And the ice chips had hurt. A lot. But not even close to what she had gone through. He resumed his position by the door again, glancing around his daughter’s room. It was large, as was expected in such a large manor. But it was decorated as if money had no place in the room. Everything was cozy, warm, so Rory. A little girl’s room. Not a museum like her mother’s old room had been growing up in Hartford. Instead, it was more reminiscent of Rory’s room from Stars Hollow. Rory had insisted, unless Lori had wanted otherwise. But the girl took after her mother, and she hadn’t. So the quilts and pillows, the posters, the stuffed animals and dolls, the bookcases full of books and knick-knacks, and the soft lighting, were all touches that the both of them shared. The ones that made the room look lived in and comfortable. A distinct personality. A Lorelai personality. “God, he was upsetting me. It got to the point that I wanted to kick him out of the room.” “And threaten to divorce him,” Lori added, good-humoredly, her voice already slurred and sleep induced. “And threaten never to have sex with him again,” Rory added, unnecessarily. He ducked his head, sheepishly and grinned, remembering that, too. Ever since their daughter’s birth, Rory had found herself turning into her own mother. The mere mention of sex would have normally made her flushed with embarrassment. Even when he teased her about it. And now, here she was, actually joking about it. “Mom,” the girl complained, her voice a drawn out whine. “Okay,” the mother sighed, as if giving in. “I would have still slept with him; I just wouldn’t have let him touch me ever again.” She puncutated the last two words with firmness. But the delivery clearly implied it was a joke. The girl opened her mouth to object again, but shut it quickly. Her mother could go on and on if she didn’t nudge her back on track again. It was bad enough that her parents still looked like they were in their mid-twenties. And that they were both very sweet and loving, especially around each other. And knowing her father as she did, she would never have guessed him capable of the things and attitude that her mother had accused him of when they were in high school together. Still, it didn’t help that they still looked absolutely beautiful, even though they had blessed her with their genes. Her friends often had crushes with either one of her parents, and it was embarrassing. “And the pain. Oh my god, the pain,” Rory revealed, melodramatically. Something else she had picked up recently from her own mother. “You thought you were going to die right there and then,” Lori added. “But I didn’t. And I was contemplating finding something sharp. Anything sharp, to finish the job myself. Or your father,” Rory confided, lowering her voice, as if relaying a secret. She smiled to herself. “That was one of my favorite fantasies back in high school.” “But you didn’t,” Lori chirped. “And you wouldn’t have,” she added, as a quick afterthought, knowing full well what she was doing to the flow of the story. Rory frowned, seeing this new addition to the story. Lori was trying to get back at her for waking her at such an obscene hour by ad-libbing their long-memorized story. “No. But I should have. Because the pain just got worse and worse. And it was all his fault. Or maybe it was mine for letting him talk me into. . .” Her voice trailed off, remembering that her daughter was only sixteen today. She hugged the girl closer to her, grinning slyly. “Like having the bottom half of my body ripped from the rest of my body.” “Mom,” the girl whispered, disapprovingly. “Like being hanged upside-down by my toenails. While my legs were being ripped from my body,” she continued, having fun with the exaggerations. “Mom,” the girl’s voice got slightly louder, as she groaned. “Like being put into one of those medieval torture racks and stretched, only while my body was being pulled apart limb by limb, joint by joint.” Rory smiled deeply, enjoying the girl’s reaction. “Mom.” The girl’s tone was a sharp moan. If she didn’t stop her, her mother could go on all night. Another thing she had just recently picked up from her grandmother. Even her father, who was standing by the door, out of sight, flinched at the visuals Rory was describing. He placed a hand absently on the back of his neck and rubbed gently, trying not to think about exactly how much pain she actually had to endure during the ordeal. “Like being . . .” But she didn’t get to finish. “You’re such a drama queen,” Lori chided with disapprobation, before she could go on. “You’re turning into grandma.” Rory smiled at that. She would take it as a compliment. Her voice lowered, softly, holding nothing but wonder and awe at the girl beside her. “But then you came, and everything was all right. You were beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. And I have your father to thank for that. I have to thank him for a lot of things. Of course, I didn’t realize all of this until after the drugs had worn off. They had me on so many drugs that for a long time after you were born, I thought you were purple with two heads, three arms and one eye.” “Mom,” the girl protested weakly, again, though Rory knew she was also smiling. “And that your father was actually much better looking than I remembered,” she added ruthlessly, cackling softly to herself at that statement. “Mom,” the girl groaned again. “Dad’s not going to appreciate that.” “And I care because. . .” Rory teased mercilessly. “You are so mean. Just like grandma,” the girl teased back. “I’m kidding. I love you. You were beautiful. You are beautiful,” Rory said softly. “And?” the girl prompted softly, jokingly. “And so’s your father,” Rory sighed, as if giving in reluctantly, against her will. Lori grinned, satisfied. “I love you, too,” Lori returned, trying not to fall asleep. If she stayed up long enough, her father would come in and kiss her goodnight. And then she’d be able to witness another one of their playful spats. Sparring with each other gave them each such a rush. And they were absolutely adorable and passionate and playful with each other. But so far, her father had greater willpower than she did, and held out on his birthday wishes until more reasonable and sane hours of the day even though he was always awake during the event. He respected their time alone because Rory had gone through it with Lorelai. And it was part of what made Rory, Rory, and would make Lori, Lori. Rory ran her hand across her daughter’s face, sweeping stray strands of hair out of the girl’s closed eyes. She then shifted and leaned closer. “Happy birthday, hon,” she whispered, placing a kiss on the girl’s forehead. “Thanks, Mom,” the girl mumbled. “When am I going to get a little sibling?” She had to throw in a little tease. Her mother smiled wryly. It wasn’t like they hadn’t tried. A lot. But both were only children in their own families, and they would rather leave it up to fate. After all, fate couldn’t be completely wrong; it had gotten them together in the end. “Go to sleep,” Rory urged, even though the girl needed no prompting. She would have stayed there for the rest of the night, sleeping next to her daughter. And she had, in the earlier years of this tradition, when she simply fell asleep under the watchful eyes of her husband, who always stood by the door and let her. But she didn’t now. She slowly untangled herself from Lori’s grasp and pulled the comforter up under the girl’s chin. She smoothed her daughter’s sandy-blonde hair and stepped back, reveling in the miracle that was Lorelai Marie. She smiled to herself and turned towards the door. There was someone else waiting for her. Someone who had respected the mother-daughter, Lorelai-Lorelai moment. Someone who always understood and waited on the sidelines for it to finish. Someone she hadn’t thought it was possible to love so much. Someone she hadn’t thought could love her so much. She padded across the soft rug to the door where he stood waiting. He had a huge grin on his face, slightly lascivious and lecherous, but reserved only for her. She was gorgeous in her penguin-patterned, pale blue, cotton pajama bottoms and the oversized matching top. Her hair, still long, had been pulled back with a navy headband, leaving her face clear and unencumbered. He himself had yet to change, having stayed up late to finish some work while he waited to arrive late, as usual, to the birthday ritual. He was wearing light tan slacks, a blue button down over a white T-shirt, both of which were untucked. His hair, as usual, was intentionally tousled. And the two of them together looked younger than their thirty-nine years would suggest. “You’re late. Again,” she informed, as per their usual birthday routine. She always offered for him to join them. And he always accepted, but then declined at the last minute. It was their time alone together. And as much as the birthday wake-up had become tradition, so had the offer-refusal. She wrapped her arms around him, her arms finding their way under his buttoned blue shirt. She nestled her head against his chest. With shoes, she reached above his shoulders, but at the moment, she was barefoot. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling the soft cotton fabric of her pajamas under his fingertips. He placed a kiss on her forehead, then rested his chin against the top of her head, inhaling her scent. “We’re old,” he said simply. “We’re only as young as we feel,” she scoffed lightly. He pulled away to look at her face. “You make me feel sixteen all over again.” She made a face and he grinned at her disgusted expression. “God,” she said, dubiously, “Don’t say that.” He chuckled, amused. “Why not? It was the year we met.” Her face was still scrunched. “It was a bad year for us. I’m sure that hasn’t slipped your mind,” she reminded, disbelief that he could have forgotten all their tribulations sketched all over her face. “Who knew, huh? After everything’s that happened.” “Yeah. Like Lane being practically a fixture here. Or like my mom and Luke. She never pictured herself with the diner guy, I can tell you that,” Rory pointed out. “And what about you? Before we met. Did you ever think you’d end up with me, specifically,” he prompted, smiling slightly. “I can tell you that I never pictured myself with a guy from my mom’s childhood society, the one she wanted out of so badly, and did get out of. I guess I never pictured myself married to some rich preppy guy, living in a huge mansion, and not having to worry about money. I guess I always just figured myself married to some guy I was in love with, living in a cozy but small house, where money just didn’t play such an important role when it came to happiness. And I guess I figured that the guy would be more of a former bag boy than a rich prep school kid. And even after entering Chilton, trust me, you were the last person I would ever picture myself married to, much less dating or going anywhere with, or even being friends with.” She paused. “Well, that’s good to know,” he said, trying for hurt, but merely came off as mildly amused and playful. “Oh, God,” she continued, with exaggerated disgust and disbelief. “I hated you so much back then. And even afterwards, I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.” “Well, I’m glad that you decided that I was worth your time, and that we could be friends, and that you even got over your aversion of me to go out with me.” “Someone had to do it,” she sighed dramatically. “But remember, you’re on borrowed time, mister.” “I’ll remember that,” he chuckled. His voice softened, but the affectionate smile remained, tinged with a shadow of that old familiar and exasperating smirk. “Are you happy, Lorelai Leigh?” She pretended to think about it. “Rory,” he growled, playfully, seeing her brow furrowed in deep but feigned concentration. She grinned. “Yes. I am.” Pause. “But be careful. Because you can always be replaced,” she teased. He laughed. “Duly noted.” He paused. “Hey,” he said softly, catching her attention the way he had once before, at a time when he had put things into motion, though neither one had realized it at the time. “Thank you for seeing the real me.” She tilted her head to one side, grinning. “You’re thanking me now?” she asked incredulously. “It’s a little late, don’t you think?” He rolled his eyes and pulled her closer to him. The grin softened. “Thank you for letting me.” “Thank you,” he added, lowering his voice even more, “for picking me over the bag boy.” They shared meaningful glances. Lifting herself on her toes, she reached up and kissed him on the lips. “And thank you for starting the ball rolling by kissing me that first time.” She had realized the part he played, and she would give him the credit. “You kissed me,” he pointed out, disagreeing just to disagree. And she knew it. Epected it. Waited for it. In fact, he knew he had been responsible for the kiss. But the main point was that she had not pulled away. Well, not until she ran crying out of the room, that was. And he had not been bitter about it, like he could have been, had he not changed for the better. Because of her. “Let’s not quibble over who’s at fault. Here’s me kissing you. Again.” She reached up again, placing her lips gently on his. He leaned into it, trying to deepen the kiss. Even after all these years, she still managed to cause him to tingle in places he hadn’t thought possible. Teasingly, she broke contact and he groaned softly, though he was smiling. Always smiling now that she was with him. “Wanna do more?” he asked, lecherously, voice lowering seductively. It was reminiscent of another scene they had shared together, many years ago. Only this time, she played along. She gave him a sultry look, lowering her voice sexily. “If you’re not feeling too old,” she teased. “Never with you,” he assured, smirking. “But with others?” She raised a questioning brow, challenging him. Without warning, he scooped her up in his arms. “Let’s go, Mary,” he said, whispering into her ear, practically growling the “Mary.” He had long since given up teasing her with that name years ago, though it had made it’s way back into their verbal sparring once they had been safely ensconced in their relationship. He loved saying her name. Her real name. Rory. And adding the last name. Rory DuGrey. He loved calling her his wife. But in those teasing moments, he loved slipping in a Mary. She didn’t mind so much anymore because they had outgrown all those immaturities and prejudices from years ago. They had gone to the precipice, faced each other down more than once, and had come to enjoy each other’s quirks. And ever since his first utterance of the name, no one else had been bold enough or aggressive enough to call her that. Because it was his name for her. And her alone. She rolled her eyes, giggling. “I dare you,” she whispered, challenging. He accepted the challenge. Always did when it came to her. “I accept,” he said simply. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “We did good, Mr. DuGrey.” She turned her eyes towards the sleeping girl. “Yes, we did, Mrs. DuGrey,” he agreed, quietly, eyes also looking in the same direction. “Who would have thought it possible? Not you. But always me.” That was another aspect of their relationship he refused to budge on. He would never let her forget that he had fallen hard for her first, and that she had needed time to come around to realize her own feelings. “Tristan?” He raised a brow, seeing her furrowed brow. “Yeah, Rory?” She suppressed a tingle. She loved the way he said her name. “I double dare you,” she teased, as his mouth covered hers, her hands pulling his head closer to hers. Still liplocked, he expertly maneuvered her down the hall towards their own room, as she giggled under the pressure of his lips. “Let’s go make that baby for Lori,” he whispered, chuckling. She burst out into a full laughter, bringing his head closer to hers. “Yes,” she agreed, resting her forehead against his. “Let’s.”
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