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“Do you and your alumni friends have any daughters?” is what Rory asks her grandparents during the Yale party full of potential future husbands with an education and a trust fund to match her own. Okay, she doesn’t have a trust fund but she has a freaking tiara on her head so she thinks the message gets across regardless. It’s not a bad party, especially not when Logan and Finn turn up and get everyone tipsy out in the conservatory, and anyway Rory shouldn’t be eyeing anyone up, not with Dean coming to get her.
It’s jarring and a little sad how unsurprised she is and how easily she gets over it when Dean comes by and she stands in her tiara and all her jewels as he points out their differences. He drives away and Logan puts his arm around her shoulders and she goes back into the party full of boys and has a great night.
But at the end of the night, a tiny bit tipsy and her shoes falling off her feet, she wishes there had been a couple of girls here, just to balance everything out, just to give her a ten second reprieve from Finn’s fourth reprisal of Passion of the Christ.
.
To everyone’s surprise, not even a month later Emily and Richard host another alumni night, this time with daughters included. Rory grins her thanks as she mingles, finding people from departments at Yale she’s never gone near, like computer science and chemical engineering and, oh, this girl’s doing accountancy but she’s nothing like those boys she suffered through conversations with at the last party.
“Lemme tell you,” Rory says, when one of the girls, Becka, asks if her grandparents have these parties often, “I have no idea but they had one last month and this is so much better.” She leans into the little circle a bit, her hand out in an emphasis of her point. “Believe me.”
Becka laughs. “My mum went to Yale -- she’s devastated I’m not doing English Literature like she did.”
“English isn’t as bad as it sounds,” Rory says, always earnest when defending her books, “but I can see how it’s not for everyone. What are you doing instead?”
“Chemistry,” Becka says and then she laughs again when half the circle groan. “What did you say about things not being as bad as they sound?” she says, and Rory nods, concedes. Kate, who’s doing biology, involves Becka in a conversation about women in sciences, and Rory turns to face the rest of the room, sure she can feel her grandma’s eyes on her urging her to circulate.
She takes a turn around the room, sipping her cocktail slowly, and it’s not until her third passing of the bookcase in the corner that she notices the woman standing in front of it. She’s standing with her shoulders back and her lips bent into the perfect smile, so poised that Rory feels a mess just being next to her even with her fancy dress and the earrings her grandma insisted she wear, and when Rory approaches her she turns and says hello and her voice is crisp and clean. It’s a strong first impression, almost overwhelmingly so, and Rory trips over her own tongue when she returns the greeting.
“Blair Waldorf,” the woman says, and now that she’s facing her Rory can see that they’re actually about the same age. She holds out her hand.
“Rory Gilmore,” Rory replies, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same to you.” Blair’s gaze wanders from Rory to take in the wide ceilings, the paintings on the wall. “From your surname I’m guessing this is your grandparents’ house.”
“You guessed right,” Rory says, and from the way Blair nods, a small smile playing around her lips, she knows that Blair doesn’t guess wrong very often.
“It’s beautiful.”
“I’ll be sure to pass on your compliment,” Rory smiles. She takes a sip of her cocktail to see if that’ll do something about the small flurry of butterflies that have set up camp in her stomach. She’s not nervous, she’s not scared; it’s not an unpleasant feeling at all, just unexpected. She takes a breath. “Are you at Yale too?”
“Mm, History of Art.” She does a self-deprecating smile at this, it’s the first flash of being not entirely perfect and Rory leaps on it to keep herself sane. “I know,” Blair is saying. “What job do you get in that field? But this is more of an interest than a career path, if that makes sense.”
“You’re talking to an English major here,” Rory replies, hand waving, “you’re preaching to the choir with that line.”
“English was my second choice,” Blair says, eyes moving over Rory, her gaze and her tone both approving. “But the thought of being forced to read something dull and badly written put me off.”
Rory winces. “There have been some bad ones.”
“How many times have they made you read Death of a Salesman?” Blair takes a sip of her own drink, something dark and smokey.
“Twice so far,” she admits. “But,” she insists, “for every bad one there’s ten great ones.”
Blair waits for an example, taking another sip.
“Brave New World,” Rory says, which is admittedly the first book that comes to her mind (probably due to the globe balanced on top of the bookcase).
That gets her another look of approval and then Blair’s hand is on Rory’s arm and she’s leading her through to the crowd to a couple of unoccupied chairs not far from where Rory ended up with Logan and the rest of them last time.
“My grandma’s expecting me to mingle,” Rory says, the excuse weak to her own ears.
“She’s mingling enough for the both of you,” Blair points out, nodding her head to where Emily is laughing at an anecdote told by several people at once. “Sit down, Rory. You’re the most interesting person here, no offense to the rest of your guests.”
“I don’t really know them anyway,” Rory laughs, sitting down in the chair next to Blair.
The party ends in much the same way as the first -- Rory is tipsy and giggly and her feet hurt a little despite all the sitting she did, but this time, this time, she’s made a new friend out of it, so, the evening’s been a roaring success in her eyes.
.
Rory can’t stop thinking about the enigma of Blair Waldorf and how much they had in common, what books they liked, the little witty comments Blair would slip in that would make Rory snort into her drink. She goes back to Yale and she tells Paris about the new friend she made and no, she doesn’t blush at all when she gets a text from Blair in class saying that she had a good time and that they should meet up again.
.
“Thank God for you, Rory Gilmore,” Blair announces when they meet up a week later.
“What’s so special about me today?” Rory asks, falling into step with Blair as they begin their walk around town.
Blair tosses her hair and sighs. Honestly, she’s like no one Rory has ever met before and she loves her for it. “My roommates are all uncultured morons who couldn’t tell a Picasso from a kindergarten's scribble.”
“I’m probably in that same category, you know, Blair,” Rory says. They reach a coffee cart and Rory orders her own before checking Blair’s order and paying for them both. The action feels date-like and, well, Rory’s not fighting it. It’s barely started, true, but she’s having fun already. “Lorelai has never had an eye for art and she’s passed that blindness on to me.”
“But you read, Rory,” Blair says, like the connection is obvious. “Believe me, you have more culture in your little finger than the rest of them back there and that’s perfect for me.”
“We’re going to a museum, aren’t we?” Rory laughs.
“Hey, I also scheduled in a bookstore stop, too.”
“The perfect day,” and they collect their coffees and make their way down the street.
.
(The museum is full of modern art; Rory makes Blair laugh with her slightly sceptical comments about the simpler looking ones and they have a heated discussion about the merits of simplicity versus skill and the intersection between the two. They have lunch in a tiny cafe Rory has never seen before, splitting a mini Victoria sponge for desert. Blair loves coffee just as much as the Gilmores do, Rory discovers, when her requests for coffee stops are met willingly. Sure, she gets those sweet, complicated blends that Lorelai and Rory say take all the goodness and caffeine out of it, but Blair just takes a sip when Rory says this and then holds the cup out for Rory to taste. It’s not awful, okay, she admits, but it’s not got the strength and the bitterness of her own cup.
Rory takes Blair to her favourite local bookstore and they spend a half hour browsing in silence, meeting in the aisles every so often to pass on recommendations or to ask if the other has read a certain book.
It is the perfect day, incidentally.)
.
Rory kisses Blair for the first time during one of their now twice-weekly lunch time meetings. She’s so nervous she can barely breathe but she’s sure she’s been reading the signs right, although she’s judging this on past experience and neither Dean nor Jess have been conventional first kisses, but she plows ahead and leans in and presses her lips gently to Blair’s. It’s so odd at first, the tack of Blair’s gloss on her lips and the flowery smell of Blair’s perfume surrounding her in a bloom. She feels Blair’s mouth open, an unmistakable acceptance of the kiss, and maybe here is where Rory gets a little overenthusiastic and she deepens the kiss, her hand reaching up to cup Blair’s jaw.
When they pull away a few moments later they look at each other, wide-eyed, and Rory can't help the thrill of exhilaration that rolls down her back at bringing Blair to this standstill.
“I haven't done this before,” they both say simultaneously, and then they break into grins, their cheeks tinged red.
“I haven't had much luck with men,” Blair says, keeping the details as vague as she always does when the topic comes up. “Maybe I’ve been missing out on all the good stuff.”
And Rory’s smile gets wider. “Are you calling me good stuff, Blair?”
Blair rolls her eyes, her fingers reaching out for the hem of Rory’s jacket where she pulls her a little closer. “Something like that,” she murmurs and then she's kissing Rory, and oh, so the first time wasn't a fluke.
.
Blair goes home for the weekend three weeks into their -- into their relationship, Rory labels it in her head. Blair has called it that too -- “I've never been one for friends with benefits or whatever,” she had said and then she had paused and added, “is that okay with you?” in a smaller, quieter voice, which Rory feels she answered enthusiastically. She's never been one for that either, look at how Dean 2.0 worked out.
So Blair goes back to New York for her mother’s birthday and it's only been three weeks but when she leaves with a kiss and half a dozen texts Rory feels at a loss, which is ridiculous, because, you know, a woman needs a man -- or, well, a woman in this case -- like a fish needs a bicycle.
“But what if the fish enjoys the bicycle?” she asks Paris, flopping onto the couch. “And then what if the bicycle gets taken away from the fish -- obviously the fish would miss it. Just a little.”
“Please stop talking about fish,” Paris groans from behind a pile of books. “I haven't eaten all day.”
“You get cranky when you don't eat,” Rory reminds her. Then she perks up. “Let's order Chinese!”
“Blair's been gone two days,” Paris says now, head appearing above the books, that stupid smirk on her face. “Are you really that desperate for company?”
“I'm not desperate at all,” Rory argues. “I've got tonnes of studying to do anyway so really, I don't have any time to eat either,” and then she gets up off the couch and goes into her room.
“I haven't seen you like this since Jess,” Paris shouts through, always the one to say what everyone else might be thinking. “She must really be something.”
That sounds like she's angling for an introduction but Rory has said so much about both women to both sides and so she's hoping to prolong the introduction for as long as she can. And, a bigger point is that there are some things so scarily similar between Paris and Blair that the idea of them being in the same room as each other makes Rory shudder.
She shoves all thoughts out of her head and sits down at her desk then she drags her books towards her, flips through her CDs with her free hand, and puts her head down and works.
.
(Blair comes back on Monday afternoon. She drops in to see Rory on her way to class and when Rory answers the door they stand there for a few seconds, awkwardness unexpectedly creeping over them, before Rory gives in and steps forward to kiss Blair. It’s ridiculous, it’s only been three weeks, but as she slips her tongue into Blair’s mouth and Blair reciprocates with a moan and a placement of her hands entirely too scandalous for an open hallway, she couldn’t care less about the rate she’s falling.
“I brought you a present,” Blair says when Rory has tugged her into her apartment and closed the door behind them. They both have class in a few minutes but this is all so new and mysterious and fun that they’ve been grabbing every spare second they have to explore some more.
“You shouldn’t have,” Rory insists, hands reaching out for the parcel Blair’s handing her. It’s book-shaped, which is always the way to Rory’s heart. She pulls off the packaging carefully and then her eyes glance up to meet Blair’s in glee at the title, “I was telling you about this!”
“Why do you think I got it?” Blair says, ducking her head in a shy sort of smile that Rory revels in. She’s watched Blair with her roommates, with the people she deigns to call friends -- she knows no one else gets this smile. “I read it on the way down, by the way, and I marked some of my favourite parts,” and when Rory looks again she sees the post-its that are sticking out of The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Blair’s neat handwriting decorating the coloured sheets, a world away from Jess’s scribbles in the margin.
“I’ll let you know what I think,” and then Rory hugs her quickly, glancing at her watch as she does so because they really really need to go. “Thanks.”
“I’m just grateful I have someone other than Humphrey to discuss these things with,” Blair says, grinning again when Rory can’t hold back and kisses her again. “Keep it in your pants, Gilmore, I’m going to be late.”
“Come over later? I’ll cook.”
“You’ll order Chinese or pizza or something equally deplorable is what you’ll do, Rory,” Blair says.
“We don’t talk about them like that in my house,” Rory gasps, faux-scandalised, her hand over her heart. “But I’ll take them out the boxes and put them on a plate for you, Blair.”
“High class living,” Blair nods, and then she smiles. “Can you believe I missed you over the weekend?”
And Rory’s knees nearly give out at that because, “Can you believe I’ve been the same?”
Look at them, three days apart and they’re acting like it’s been three years in Vietnam.
This is the beginning of how Rory falls in love.)
.
The fact that it’s with a girl doesn’t hit her for another month and a half. She’s in the middle of a conversation with Lorelai (who she hasn’t told, by the way. No, she doesn’t know why. Blair hasn’t told her mom yet, either, so she’s not feeling terrible. Except she is, because she’s hiding this huge thing from her best friend, but more than that, she’s hiding a huge part of herself, but this crisis has to wait momentarily because she has to keep up with Lorelai’s thought process) when her mom asks, “So, haven’t heard you mention any boys recently? What’s happened? Yale dried them all up? Because Kirk -- hear me out, kid, I swear -- I think he’s been lifting weights or something and I know he’s a bit old -- he doesn’t look it with that skinny little chin but he’s getting on --”
By this point Rory is all but hyperventilating into the phone as she feels a huge weight come crashing down onto her shoulders, knocking her down into the bed where she feels like she can’t breathe. She’s dating a girl . She’s in a relationship with Blair Waldorf, a woman. A relationship that has recently become sexual and boy, has Rory been missing out on a lot limiting herself to Dean and a bit of fumbling with Jess. But sexual pleasure and Blair’s fancy stockings aside, Rory’s in love with a girl. How can this have come so out of the blue? Surely there are signs of sexuality when you’re growing up, isn’t that why moronic men are so hell-bent on keeping dolls away from boys? Rory thought she knew herself pretty well -- how did she miss this?
“My obsession with Avril Lavigne’s making a whole lot more sense now,” she says out loud before she can stop herself because that’s the only clue she’s been able to find in her quick panic-stricken scan of her childhood.
“What? Is Avril making a comeback because God, Rory, I can’t wash anymore of those cargo pants for you. Please don’t make me look at another pair --”
She says something after that and then she laughs but Rory can’t hear over the roaring in her ears and her hands are shaking so bad she can barely hold the phone. She always thought gay panics happened when you first realise you like someone of the same gender, not two months into the relationship. “Mom --” she says, cringing at how small her voice is. “Mom, I have to go. I’ll call you back. Quiz,” and that’s enough for Lorelai to say “Okay, good luck, love you,” and then she’s gone.
Rory lies there on her bed for the best part of an hour mulling everything over. She doesn’t understand why she’s even panicking -- she’s perfectly happy with Blair. So happy, Paris had said, that it’s a little unnatural actually. There’s nothing wrong with feeling this way about another woman. At this Rory grits her teeth and forces herself to get up. She glares down at her bed, somehow blaming it for the last hour of her life that has been so out of place.
Her phone has fallen down the side of her bedside cabinet. When she retrieves it she calls Blair, breathing back to normal and hands completely steady. “Hey, Blair? I need to tell my mom.”
Blair’s silent for a moment and Rory’s terrified that she’ll ask her not to but then she lets out a tiny exhale, the phone so close to her ear Rory can almost feel it. “That’s a relief,” she says, which wasn’t what Rory was expecting at all. “I can tell mine now, then.”
“I thought you weren’t...” Rory trails off, never sure where to step when Blair brings up her mom.
“You’re important to me,” Blair says simply. “My mom needs to know about the important people in my life.”
And now Rory is holding the phone so close, a picture of that cliche in love. “I just had my big bisexual freak-out,” she confesses.
“I had mine a couple of weeks ago,” Blair admits right back.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I didn't want to set you off on yours,” she says, that little anxious note in her voice.
“I haven’t been scared off,” Rory feels the need to say. “The opposite really.”
There’s another pause; this one is happy, though, glowy almost. “Good. Me neither.”
Rory bites her lip and tries to hold back the huge smile that’s threatening to explode all over her face but then she realises she’s alone in her room and lets it free. She clears her throat, listens to Blair doing the same on the other end, on the other side of campus, and then she says, “Did I tell you I was reading The Secret History?”
“No, you didn’t.” Rory can hear the shuffle of Blair settling down on her bed and she does the same, feet curled up underneath her. “How’s it going so far?”
“It’s pretentious and crazy and I have no idea what half of them are saying but I’m guessing that’s a universal feeling?”
“Well that’s how I felt as well, so, yes,” Blair replies. “Rory, please tell me you realise how unreliable Richard is as a narrator because otherwise I don’t know...”
“If you can be with me for missing such an obvious point?” Rory laughs. “No, I got that. I think Charles is my favourite so far -- he seems the most normal.”
Blair mutters something under her breath at that, sounding like just you wait, but before Rory can ask further she says, “You should read The Little Friend after that, if you haven’t already.”
“I might; I really like Donna Tartt’s writing. What’s that one about?”
“Sort of a gothic murder epic with a surprising amount of snakes.”
“A surprising amount of snakes? How many were you expecting?”
“You’ll understand when you read it,” Blair says impatiently. Then she says, more softly, “Want to watch a movie?”
And Rory does, a lot, but she’s also exhausted and the thought of getting up off her bed makes her legs hurt, so she groans a little, hopes Blair gets the message.
“No, on Netflix,” she says, like that was the most obvious thing from the start. “You watch it on your laptop and I’ll watch it on mine.”
“Oh. That sounds nice.”
“You’ve never done it before? Where has the romance been in your life, Rory?”
“You must be the most romantic person I’ve ever met, Blair,” Rory teases, grinning. “What will we watch?”
“Well,” Blair sighs, so gracious, “since it’s your first time I’ll let you pick. But no stupid choices. I won’t watch a bad movie for you, Rory.”
“You wound me, Blair,” Rory groans but she hauls her laptop onto her knees and scrolls through the selection. “Armageddon?”
“Space isn’t romantic.”
“That movie has some of the most romantic scenes I’ve ever seen in my life,” Rory protests, giggling at Blair’s further dismissals. “Okay, okay, what about -- Big Eyes?”
“What’s that about?” Blair asks, suspicious, “because it sounds creepy and I love Rosemary’s Baby as much as the next person but I’m not watching something scary alone."
“You’re not alone,” Rory reminds her. “You’re with me. It’s about art,” she adds, reading the description. “And a lawsuit. It has Amy Adams in it,” she says, which she knows will tip the balance because a couple of weeks ago they had a tentative, startlingly revealing, conversation about women they find attractive and how different those feelings are now that they’ve both opened up about their bisexuality to both themselves and each other. Blair had mentioned Amy Adams and then thrown a pillow at Rory when she had said something about preferring Nicole Kidman.
“Art, court battles, and Amy Adams,” Blair muses. “You know the way to my heart, Gilmore.”
So they pull blankets over themselves and settle down, passing comments through the phone as they watch the movie unfold. Rory’s earlier panic feels like a distant, inconceivable, memory already.
.
One night Blair is stretched out on Rory’s bed, her feet stuck under Rory’s pillow and her hands caught in a hold in Rory’s lap as Rory works on a paper, and it’s quiet, calm, when she bursts out laughing.
Rory raises an eyebrow.
“Did you ever see the episode of The West Wing when Sam embarrasses himself in front of that journalist so he asks Donna to meet her and correct him and she drops her panties at the journalist’s feet?”
Rory’s other eyebrow lifts. “Yes. I’m failing to see what you made you think of that though,” she says, mouth tilting into an amused smile.
Blair laughs again, her cheeks flushed. She points at the floor where at least three pairs of panties are scattered. “Just those.”
“Look at us,” Rory laughs. “Look what you’ve turned me into, Blair Waldorf.”
“Dorota would call us hussys,” Blair giggles, her hand tightening in Rory’s momentarily as she pulls herself into a sitting position, her legs falling either side of Rory’s.
When Rory first met Blair she thought she was the most put together person she’d ever met, all perfect hair and ambition strong enough to scare even Paris into striving to do better. She still thinks all of that but she’s also had the chance to get to know this perfectly put together person and all of her secrets and dreams. Look -- she knows that Blair’s favourite colour is green and that her dream job is to be a fashion designer even though she’s majoring in history of art and she knows that she gets jealous sometimes when Rory talks about her mom because she doesn’t have the best relationship with her own but also that Rory feels the same when Blair talks about her dad. And she knows that if she leans in and kisses Blair lightly, Blair will immediately keen and ask for more, her lips catching Rory’s and pulling her in.
“Hey, Blair,” she says, turning her head so her hair brushes against Blair’s cheek. She finds Blair’s ear with her mouth, wrapping her arms around her neck in a hug. “I’m having a lot of fun.”
Blair presses her face into Rory’s neck and when she says the next words Rory can feel them on her skin, “Me too, Rory.”
.
Rory tells Lorelai about Blair exactly seventy days into their relationship. She calls her and asks her to meet her in Luke’s and she tries not to throw up on the way over. She knows how ridiculous she’s being -- this is her mom, the person who loves her most in the world. What’s she expecting her to do? Turn her away? Yell? She has all of these scenarios and so many more running through her head as she walks into Luke’s, spots Lorelai, and waves.
It comes out after thirty seconds of sitting down. “Mom,” she says, voice horribly trembly. “Mom, I’ve got a girlfriend.” And, in a burst of panic that her mom might interpret it wrong in this heteronormative world they live in, she adds, almost hysterically, “She’s not just a friend who’s a girl she’s a girlfriend, no spaces, and I’m so sorry for not telling you before, I don’t know why I didn’t but --”
Her mom puts a hand on her arm and shhs her gently. “Babe, babe, hey, calm down,” and when Rory looks up from her lap she catches the first flash of shock that passes over Lorelai’s face (which she appreciates, honestly, because she doesn’t think she could deal with Lorelai pretending that this is something she’s always known, because it’s not) but it’s the second expression that settles on her mom’s face, one that’s so kind Rory almost cries because she kept Blair a secret for so long. “Thank you for telling me,” she says, voice still low, soothing. “This is a huge thing to discover about yourself.”
“I should’ve told you earlier,” Rory says again. “I just liked keeping it myself for a bit, I think.”
Lorelai’s never been good with secrets; she’s always assured Rory that she can be completely open with her no matter what it is (even when it doesn’t always work out, as it didn’t with the whole Dean fiasco) but she holds any hurt back and strokes her thumb over Rory’s arm, the gesture calming enough to bring Rory’s heart rate back down. “This is big, honey,” she says again. “I’m surprised, I’ll admit, but I’m proud of you.”
Rory nods into her lap, relief flooding through every inch of her body. “Thanks, mom,” she mumbles but she still can’t bring herself to raise her head, she needs a few more seconds to collect herself. She senses Luke come over to take their order and out of the corner of her eye she sees Lorelai wave him away for the moment which she’s grateful for. Lorelai is the first step; the rest of the town will come soon.
“So who’s the girl?” Lorelai asks after another stretch of silence. “Is it Paris? Because now you mention it I’ve always kinda thought --”
“No, Mom, it’s not Paris,” Rory says and now that she’s finally lifted her head she can see the encouraging smile on her mom’s face and all of a sudden she’s fine. “Her name’s Blair.”
“Blair. Fancy.”
Rory nods, smiles. “She is fancy,” she says.
“And what does fancy Blair do? Is she at Yale?”
“Yeah, she’s doing History of Art. I met her at that second alumni party Grandpa and Grandma had, actually,” to which Lorelai raises her eyebrow but Rory cuts off whatever she’s about to say with, “Oh, I haven’t even thought about telling them about Blair. What do you think they’ll say? Do you think --”
“Rory. Breathe. You know they love you, no matter what. When you decide to tell them I’m sure they’ll be more than happy -- especially considering Blair’s at Yale, you know what they’re like. In fact, I would lead with that.”
Rory nods, determined not to get herself all worked up again. “Blair’s from New York, the fancy part.”
“Of course,” Lorelai nods, face solemn. “Fancy address for fancy Blair.”
“She’s not like that, though,” Rory hurries to say. “Well, she is a bit, but not all the time, and not with me. She’s really nice and we have so much in common -- we both love reading and movies and there’s a park near campus where we kept running into each other down by the trees at the pond because they’re the best places to study.”
“She sounds like a good one, Rory.”
“I really like her, Mom,” the what do you think about that? goes unsaid.
“I’ll need to meet her then,” which is code for she sounds great but i want to see her for myself, too, just to make sure which is a normal response for any relationship, regardless of gender, so Rory takes that as a good answer. “Can I just ask, Rory, and you don’t have to say if you don’t want to, but do you think this is completely different from what you had with Dean and Jess or do you think...” she trails off, hesitant to finish.
“No, I think that I’m bisexual,” Rory says, fingers fiddling with the menu. “I felt something for Jess and Dean the same way I do for Blair. At least, that’s what I’m sticking with at the moment. I’m learning that it’s all fluid, really.”
“Fluid’s not a word I normally associate with you,” Lorelai says but again, she’s smiling, so Rory doesn’t take it as anything negative. “It sounds like you know what you’re doing, Rory.”
And Rory smiles.
.
“I see you’ve got a girlfriend, Ace,” Logan says, dropping into the seat beside her in a Daily News meeting.
She pauses for a second, the words a strange collection still, but when she looks up at him she can see he’s smiling, wholly supportive, and so she tilts her chin high and says, “That’s right,” and the feeling that burrows under her chest is so wonderful she lets out a burst of laughter during one of Doyle’s speeches and earns herself a glare.
“I’m glad she’s making you happy,” Logan adds when the meeting breaks up and they move to their respective desks.
“She is,” Rory agrees, and then she starts her work, ignoring Logan’s huff of laughter when not even a minute later she’s slipping her phone out of her bag to text Blair.
“We should all go out for drinks some time,” Logan calls over from his desk a while later. “She should meet the gang.”
Terminology aside, Rory thinks Blair would fit right in with Logan’s group, actually, she’s surprised she hasn’t seen her there already. “I’ll pass on the invitation,” she promises.
.
“It’s -- small,” Blair settles on when she gets out of the car in the middle of Stars Hollow.
“That’s unusually diplomatic of you, Blair,” Rory grins, shutting her door and coming around to Blair’s side. Her hand reaches out automatically but she stops short of Blair’s, “This is okay, right?”
Blair frowns. “It’s your town, Rory. It’s your call,” and then she smiles and takes Rory’s hand in her own, and it’s exactly what Rory wants. This town has loved her for years, they’re not going to turn on her or abuse her or anything grotesque like that just because she’s dating a girl. “And to your earlier comment,” Blair adds, “This is your town, Ror. It’s no Manhattan but show it off to me.”
“You’re gonna love it,” and then Rory leans in and kisses Blair, a dozen yards from the gazebo where half the town are setting up for the Spring Fling Festival. Blair sways into her, her hand resting on Rory’s waist, and when she pulls away she swipes away the pink lipstick that has smudged onto Rory’s mouth, her thumb soft against her lip. “You’re trying to distract me from showing you Al’s Pancake World, Blair,” she says quietly, “I know you, you can’t hide from it for ever.”
Blair smiles, rolls her eyes. “Alright, fine, take me to Al’s.”
“I’ll take you the scenic route,” Rory promises. “This way you might even see Kirk working out -- mom says he’s been lifting weights, apparently it’s quite the sight.”
“Let me remind you that when I took you to New York I didn’t take you a tour of all the weird men in Manhattan,” Blair says but she takes Rory hand again and allows herself to be taken around the square.
“That’s what makes Stars Hollow so special,” Rory replies, swinging their hands together.
Outside of Luke’s they pause to savour the burst of sun that has appeared through the clouds. Blair’s checking her phone (“A Serena crisis,” she had said apologetically) and while Rory leans against the wall to wait for her to finish she catches Luke’s eye through the window. He sticks his thumb in Blair’s direction, raises his eyebrows in a is this the lucky girl gesture and when Rory nods he smiles and gives her a thumbs-up, he’s happy for her. Rory returns the gesture and then turns back around to Blair. Blair with her phone at her ear, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she coaxes Serena into telling her what’s happened, and designer sunglasses perched on her nose.
Blair catches Rory’s eye and tilts her head apologetically. “I’ll call you later, Serena, okay? I’m with Rory at the moment. Try Nate, he’ll know what to do -- no I know that but he knows about this. Right. I’ll talk to you later, S.” She slides her phone back into her purse and looks expectantly at Rory. “Sorry about that. Where’s next?”
“I don’t like that hopeful tone, Waldorf,” Rory accuses. “Stars Hollow has to explored at a slow pace to really capture the feeling of the place.”
“I can see through all that bullshit you’re saying, you know,” Blair says, “I know you so well.”
.
“Seriously, though, this place is -- it’s cute.”
“It’s no New York,” Rory points out.
“No,” Blair agrees. “But it’s nice. I can see why you love it so much. The sense of community is really something.”
“Everyone loves each other here.”
“That’s definitely not like New York,” Blair says with a small laugh. She’s touched upon Chuck Bass and Rory’s shared her Dean and Jess stories in return. “Sorry if I wasn’t completely appreciative earlier.”
“No, it’s fine. I know when you really like a place -- you didn’t leave, for one.”
“That's always a good sign,” Blair says. “Do you think they liked me?”
Rory reaches out, her hand falling onto Blair’s stomach. It’s so strange having Blair here in her room, in her bed. It’s a place neither Dean nor Jess reached and for that alone this relationship with Blair feels more grown-up, adult. “The important people did,” she whispers, raising onto her elbow and then ducking her head to press a skin to Blair’s shoulder. “That’s all I need to know.”
Blair guides Rory’s face up to her own and kisses her. She licks into Rory’s mouth, turning it desperate and wanting so fast Rory’s head goes into a spin. Her hand gets lost in Blair’s hair, her other hand meeting Blair’s at their waists. Blair is always eager when she’s kissing, always keen to get where she wants, always asking Rory what she wants and how she wants.
“My mom could be right outside,” Rory says weakly when Blair has maneuvered them so she’s straddling Rory and half of their clothes are missing. “She could hear us.”
Really, she should’ve expected Blair’s response, which is, “Better try and keep quiet then,” as she smudges kisses along Rory’s collarbone and down her stomach, her hands several steps ahead.
She lets her hand tangle in Blair’s hair, her hold tightening when Blair does something different with her tongue that makes Rory’s breathing jumble on the way out of her mouth. “You’re the worst,” she says through clenched teeth after she’s bitten her lip so hard she thinks she can taste blood to keep from shouting out. “Blair -- oh. Yes, definitely the worst --” All she gets to that is a huff of laughter.
They’ve always been fast learners in whatever they set their mind to, her and Blair, and these past few months have been evidence of what a skill that can be.
.
It's been six months since Rory first met Blair. Six months since she met someone with wild ideas, an ambitious streak this wide, and the ability to make Rory feel like she's climbed to the top of the world. She's funny and smart and sometimes so uptight that Rory wants to force her to take a nap every once in a while to reset her stress levels but she really thinks she's in love with this woman.
Rory's been in love three times so far. That feels like a lot in her twenty one years on this planet.
This time it's been so unexpected it's thrown her through a loop and left her gasping for a few moments here and there but it's been fun and interesting and she's learned a lot about herself, in every sense, and that's enough for her.
"You're being mushy," Blair says when Rory says something along these lines.
"You're right," Rory agrees. "What I meant was I hate you and these have been the worst months of my life."
The thing is, she can't even get through that sentence with a straight face. Blair follows her into laughter. "You're something else, Rory," Blair says, which is a huge compliment, and Rory should know because she's always saying it to Blair.
"Anyway," Blair continues. "I hate you too. "
And Rory doesn't have to code this sentence so she can understand it -- the look on Blair's face is telling her exactly what she meant just fine.