Entry tags:

! fandom: gilmore girls, % series: no strings attached [gg], * pairing: christopher/lorelai, * pairing: rory/logan, character: christopher haden, character: logan huntzberger, character: lorelai gilmore, character: rory gilmore

FIC: No Strings Attached, Chapter 2 - Don't Shoot the Messengers
Title: No Strings Attached, Chapter 2 - Don't Shoot the Messengers
Author: nomorejacksplz
Rating: M
Fandom: Gilmore Girls
Characters: Lorelai, Rory, Christopher; Logan and Mitchum Huntzberger; and several others from the show
Summary: AU romantic comedy. Lorelai and Christopher's unconventional relationship just might lead them to love; Rory becomes increasingly intrigued by her enigmatic boss, Logan.
Disclaimer: Amy Sherman-Palladino created these characters, but I created the story. Please don't sue!
Author's Note: One night I watched Mad Men while reading a discussion thread about friends with benefits. This story is the result of that. 3706 words.


SIX MONTHS LATER

At eight o'clock at night, Lorelai sat at her desk, staring at copy that some of her team had submitted. There was copy for a watch company that was supposed to make prospective buyers think the company's watch would make them sexier. There was copy for a soft drink that was supposed to make prospective buyers think drinking the soda would make them sexier. There was even copy for a floor sweeper that was supposed to make housecleaning (and those who did the cleaning) sexier. Sex, sex, sex, and more sex. Every page, sex.

She was sensing a theme.

"Ugh," Lorelai growled in frustration, partly from the mediocrity of the copy, and partly from other reasons. One particular other reason, to be precise.

The six months that had passed since she broke up with Luke had sped by, faster than Lorelai had ever thought they would. It had been difficult at first, of course, not to have Luke to depend on; not to have someone around who could always fix any household appliance, or unclog drains, or be dragged on shopping expeditions so he could carry all the bags. She missed the breakfasts he made for her and snuggling against him on the couch while watching Pee-Wee's Big Adventure (a classic for which Lorelai and Rory had recently had a hundredth viewing party; for a week afterward, Lorelai couldn't stop saying "I know you are, but what am I?" to people). But aside from a stress-induced freakout in February, Lorelai still felt the same peace about ending the relationship. Luke never called, either, which helped tremendously, and it didn't take too long for Lorelai to stop expecting his calls. In the meantime, she'd gotten to know the building's actual handyman, she'd discovered a cute little diner a few blocks away, and she'd found a pillow that was now her companion at movie time.

Rory had not been impressed with the pillow.

"That pillow is so sorry," Rory had said when Lorelai brought it home one day. "It looks like a sack of potatoes that's ashamed of itself."

"Hey!" Lorelai had shot back. "Don't hurt Sacky's feelings like that. He's very sensitive." She'd hugged the pillow closer to her chest. "Don't listen to Rory, Sacky. She doesn't understand our love."

Eventually, Rory claimed to accept Sacky, although Lorelai thought it was extremely curious that Sacky often took "vacations" in the linen closet.

Still, there was one other thing that Luke had been able to do for Lorelai that she had not been able to replace, and it wasn't carrying around shopping bags (Lorelai herself had begrudgingly taken over that responsibility; where were cute, teenage boys with crushes when she needed them?). Unfortunately, this last problem didn't appear to be one that was going to go away any time soon, especially not when Lorelai had suddenly become quite picky.

Lorelai had always had an easy time attracting men. With her dark, wavy hair, sparkling blue eyes, and mile-long legs, the male species had flocked to her from an early age, and it hadn't let up since. As a teenager, it had been common for her to have three or four boys vying for her attention at the same time (much to Emily's displeasure), and she would gleefully indulge them all with enough flirtation to keep them on the hook, but not enough to commit to one as a boyfriend (even more to Emily's displeasure). Boys, to Lorelai's teenage mind, had been playmates and comrades, nothing more.

In her 20s, sex had entered the equation, and she'd had a series of boyfriends, none lasting over a year, plus a few flings in between. Most of the time, the relationships had ended because Lorelai had gotten bored, or because the boy wanted to marry Lorelai and she didn't want to marry him. To date, she had turned down one marriage proposal and two requests to live together. A few times she'd even dismissed suitors because they had terrible hairstyles she could no longer tolerate, and it was just easier to dump them than to try to get them into a salon (not something she was proud of, but she didn't exactly feel remorse over it, either).

And then came Luke, the only man she'd been with in her 30s and the first man she had truly cared for. They'd talked a few times about marrying -- but in the future, when they were ready to want the same things. Now they knew that day would never come.

When Lorelai returned to singledom, she'd expected that she would resume her previous dating habits. To her surprise, she'd discovered that she had somehow lost interest in casual dating. Since her breakup with Luke, she'd had several dates with perfectly nice, if somewhat bland men, and all had ended with kisses on the cheek or lips and nothing more. Maybe it was maturity; maybe it was the result of being with a good, stable person for five years and having that become the new standard; but whatever it was, Lorelai had not closed the deal with anyone for six months because no one had made her want to.

And now it was starting to get to her. Really get to her. She was only human, after all.

Lorelai laid her forehead on her desk and squeezed her eyes shut. In a city crawling with single men, couldn't there just be one she liked?

A knock at the door caused her to whip her head up, and Mitchum Huntzberger strode into her office. Physically, he wasn't the biggest man, but he had the presence of ten.

"Gilmore, you're still here?" he boomed, which was his default vocal setting.

"Hmm, let me check." Lorelai felt her face, arms, body. "Yep, still here."

"Good," Mitchum said, completely missing her sarcasm. "I like to see people working. Logan could learn a thing or two from you. He was looking at something called 'blogs' on the internet when I stopped by his office this afternoon. When I asked him what a 'blog' was, he told me I wouldn't understand. Afterward, I had my secretary look it up, and believe you me, I am more than capable of understanding these 'blogs.'"

"Yeah, uh, that's great," Lorelai said, nodding. When Mitchum got on his rants like this, it was best to let him ride it out.

"He thinks I'm old and out of touch," Mitchum stormed, pacing back and forth. Ever since Mitchum had decided that H&S should trend younger, he'd been obsessed with keeping up to date with "hip, young people" things. "Well, we'll see who's in touch and who's out of touch at our quarterly meeting this fall." He turned on his heel and suddenly seemed to remember that he had, in fact, come to talk to Lorelai. "How are those two stooges Colin and Finn working out for you?"

Colin and Finn were Logan's buddies from Yale. Each had about the same level of ambition as Logan but were ten times less charming about it. Earlier in the day, Lorelai had chewed out both of them for turning in their copy late, and she had heard Colin mutter "Somebody needs to get laid" on his way out of her office. He had nearly received the spiked heel of Lorelai's Louboutin in his cranium for it.

"I think we're making progress," Lorelai told Mitchum diplomatically.

Mitchum shrugged. "Well, if you want to fire them, just make sure you do it at the end of the pay period so we don't have to prorate. Accounting's short a member because one of them just had a baby."

Concluding that his work there was done, he turned and marched for the door. "Oh, and by the way," he added, "we got the Benton account. Her lawyer just called me an hour ago, so make sure those clowns are ready to work."

With that, he was gone, and Lorelai slid back down in her chair. She would love to fire Colin and Finn, but she was concerned that doing so might have a negative effect on Rory, who was still on Logan's team. Logan knew they were roommates, and Lorelai didn't know him well enough to be sure he wouldn't take it out on Rory.

But the Benton account! Mitchum, with Lorelai's help, had been heavily courting Ashley Benton, the latest celebutante reality star to become a tabloid sensation. Despite having no demonstrable talent for anything meaningful, Ashley had somehow made it onto Barbara Walters' Most Intriguing People special and had parlayed that into a mini-empire of a tacky fashion line, a "singing" career, a Barbie doll that made responsible mothers weep, and now a fragrance, which was what Mitchum was interested in marketing.

Lorelai's cell phone started playing "Tequila" (another remnant from the Pee-Wee party), and Lorelai looked at the caller ID. It was Rory.

"Hey, Kid," Lorelai said into the phone.

"Hey, Gilmore," Rory's voice replied. "I take it I should leave some pizza out for you?"

"Yeah, I'm still stuck here. Hey, guess what? Mitchum just told me I could fire Colin and Finn."

"Ooh, I dare you."

"Do you think Logan would cry?"

"Well, he might write a blog about it."

"Damn. Word travels fast around here."

"It's the curse of text messaging."

"I've got to get on that trend. Even Mitchum knows how to do it."

"I bet you still use a butter churn, too."

"Hey, have you seen my triceps? Guess what else?"

"Hmm, what else?"

"Mitchum also told me we got the Benton account."

"The Benton account? Congratulations! Now you'll have an opportunity to ask Ashley Benton why she thinks underwear is an optional garment."

"When I ask her, I will be sure to text you the answer."

Lorelai heard Rory giggle. "Well, before we get too sidetracked," Rory continued, "I just wanted to let you know that Paris has arrived and is once again on a break from Doyle, so we might have to hit up the clubs. Apparently, she's taken to scorching the dance floor as a means of repairing her wounded ego. I think it's because she likes to know that not only is she ten times smarter than every other girl there, she also has superior coordination. She's developed a Renaissance woman complex."

Paris Gellar, Rory's tiny, blonde, overachieving college roommate, was known for three things: her unparalleled bluntness, her dictatorial ways, and her tempestuous relationship with Doyle, a fact checker at the Boston Herald. When the relationship became long distance after graduation -- Doyle in Boston, Paris in Chicago for med school -- the drama between the two quadrupled. As a result, Lorelai had started referring to them as Pam and Tommy. Still, Paris was extremely loyal to Rory, and because of that, Lorelai rarely complained when Paris visited.

"Well, Kid, you know if I'm there, she might have some competition."

"Bring it on, Gilmore."

"Oh, it will be broughten, babe." Lorelai couldn't suppress a grin. "Hey, listen, I'll be home in an hour, and I will make sure my sequined tube top is glittering appropriately."

"Great, that one's always a winner. I'll keep the pizza warm for you."

An hour and a half later, Rory was just putting leftover slices of pizza back into the oven when Lorelai finally staggered through the door.

"Hey," Rory said, a little concerned, "what took you so long?"

Lorelai groaned. "Taylor caught me in the hall."

"Oh," Rory said knowingly.

Everyone in the entire apartment building, plus many people on the block, knew the name of Taylor Doose. A retired old bachelor, he spent the bulk of his time keeping tabs on everyone else and logging complaints about his neighbors. (One day it was music being played too loudly; the next, it was the aroma of spicy food from downstairs causing him headaches; after that, it was someone's breach of elevator etiquette.) Most of the residents had tuned him out long ago, but it was a luxury Lorelai and Rory had never experienced because he lived two doors down from them.

Lorelai set her bag down on the kitchen table that was never used for eating. "And it gets better. I now have a date for next Saturday's company picnic."

"Let me guess: Taylor set you up?"

"Taylor set me up."

"Wow. Taylor set you up."

"I know. I tried to use evasive maneuvers, but he was on a mission to seek and destroy."

"Do you have an escape route planned?"

"I'm counting on Snake Plissken to rescue me, but I'm not opposed to faking an injury, either. What do you think, broken toe or hamstring pull?"

Rory brought the pizza back out, and Lorelai dug in eagerly. At that moment, Paris marched out of Rory's bedroom dressed in pajamas, shaking her cell phone in her hand.

"Rory, you will not believe what he just texted me," she fumed, clearly in the middle of another volley of insults with Doyle. "Oh, hi, Lorelai," she added cheerfully.

"Hello, Paris. You seem well."

Paris resumed her offended expression and continued, "He says it's more important for people to know how to use language effectively than it is to know what the medulla oblongata is. I texted him back that if he didn't have a medulla oblongata, he wouldn't even be able to say that, because his heart would stop beating, and even if it didn't, he would probably forget to breathe and then die. I'm waiting for him to reply now. I can't wait to see what that little chicken liver has to say about that. I'm timing him, too. So far it's been two minutes and 36 seconds. Clearly he refuses to admit defeat in the face of insurmountable odds. He's a regular Hillary Clinton."

"It's his last stand," Rory offered. "You're his Sitting Bull."

"Well, he's about to lose, so I hope he can at least be gracious about it this time." Paris glanced at her watch. "A-ha! Three minutes. His time is up, I am the de facto winner."

She grinned smugly and set her phone aside. "Even if he texts back, his answer is worthless. That's the rule we set. It keeps us civil," she explained. She then turned to Lorelai. "So, Lorelai, I hear that you've been leading the celibate life for six months. How's that treating you? Climbing the walls yet?"

Lorelai's mouth dropped open, and she shot Rory a look. Rory shrugged helplessly, as if to say, "It's Paris! How am I supposed to know how she knows these things?"

"Uh, I've been on dates since Luke and I broke up," Lorelai informed her.

"But you haven't knocked the boots," Paris clarified. "No windin' and grindin'. No riding down the freeway of love."

Few people ever made Lorelai stammer. Paris Gellar was one of them. "Uh, well, uh…I plead the Fifth," Lorelai said, grasping at the first excuse she could think of.

"So you haven't," Paris concluded authoritatively. "Congratulations, admission is the first step toward healing. We all have needs, Lorelai. There's no need to be ashamed."

Lorelai gave her a look. "May I ask just how you came to this conclusion about my love life?"

"Oh, it's very simple. Rory mentioned that you and Luke broke up. Rory has not mentioned any new boyfriends. She has also mentioned that you've been getting a reputation at work for being extremely cranky. When I put two and two together, I got four."

Lorelai immediately turned on Rory. "I have a reputation for being cranky?"

Rory put her hands up. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

Paris leaned forward and patted Lorelai's hand. "Don't worry, Lorelai. I am here to help you. I know full well how frustrating these times can be."

Lorelai's face fell. "I can't un-know that, can I."

Paris struck a thinker's pose, balancing her chin on her knuckles. "Lorelai, do you have any current prospects?"

"She has a date for next Saturday's Memorial Day picnic," Rory offered.

"Rory!"

"Hmm, that's good," Paris said, nodding approvingly. "Putting yourself out there is definitely a direction you want to be going in."

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Lorelai said. "It's a set-up, and I'm pretty sure Miss Cleo has more insight into my tastes."

Paris gave her a stern look. "Lorelai, you'll have to curb that judgmental spirit if you want to make any progress. An open mind is of the essence."

"Uh, what if mine's in a lock box?"

Paris ignored Lorelai's comment. "So, you believe this date is not potential boyfriend or husband material."

"I think I'd have a better chance with 98 percent of the male contestants on Project Runway."

"Have you tried internet dating?"

"I can barely check my email."

"Have you seen a matchmaker?"

"I'd rather save up for a fur coat."

"Craigslist?"

"God, no."

"You're not making this easy," Paris said accusingly.

"I've always been difficult. It's hereditary."

"Hmmph." Paris scowled at Lorelai for a long moment as she assessed the latter's predicament in her head. "It appears there's only one solution to your problem, then," she finally pronounced.

"And what would that be?"

"Well, since you are so obstinate as to refuse help from other relationship resources, I suggest your best bet for male companionship is to enlist a friend with benefits."

"A friend with benefits."

"A friend with benefits is a friend or acquaintance with whom you have an agreement to have sex, but there are no relationship expectations."

"That sounds an awful lot like hooking up. I got over that in my 20s."

"It's hooking up with purpose. This way, you know what you're getting and where you're getting it from. Plus, you get to sidestep all the complications from both relationships and one night stands. It's the best of both worlds."

"So you're saying it's both Hannah and Montana." Lorelai remained skeptical. It sounded too good to be true. She was also pretty sure the term had been used in an Alanis Morissette song from Alanis's angry young woman days. Following this advice could only lead to bad things, like Dave Coulier.

"Precisely. Of course, you have to remember to take precautions," Paris continued. "One of the most common side effects from a friends with benefits arrangement is that one person develops feelings and wants an actual relationship, while the other person just wants the sex. This is usually fatal to the arrangement. That's why it's important to set some ground rules."

"Ground rules?"

"Like whether you're allowed to date other people, that sort of thing. Ground rules ideally preserve the non-committal nature of the arrangement. Remember, feelings are lethal, so you want to minimize the chance that they arise on either side. I recommend finding someone who's attractive, but not too attractive. That way you won't develop any idealistic romantic notions that this other person is actually your Prince Charming. Their flaws will always be evident to you, but you won't be repulsed, either."

"Good to know," Lorelai said.

"So what do you think?"

"Well, Paris, thank you for that educational walkthrough, but I think I prefer relationships where the other person actually cares about me."

"Fine, suit yourself," Paris said, looking annoyed that Lorelai was dismissing her sage advice. "But don't come crying to me when you've got an itch you can't scratch. The doctor will not be in."

Before Lorelai could reply, Paris's cell phone began to buzz and blink.

Paris immediately snatched it up and looked to see who sent it. "A-ha! Doyle must have finally accepted the reality of reality. I hope he's somewhere cold and miserable right now, preferably that roach-infested shoebox he calls an apartment."

She pressed a few buttons and began reading Doyle's text, but instead becoming happier, Paris's expression just turned angry. "Damn that pocket-sized mastermind!"

"What's wrong?" Rory asked.

"This," Paris said, holding out her cell phone.

Rory took it and read the message. "Oh, Paris, this is romantic. He says your medulla oblongata is the sexiest thing about you and that his occipital lobe is sure of it."

"Exactly," Paris huffed. "He thinks I'm cheap. He thinks that he can just say some flattering things about my nervous system and I'll come running right back to him. Well, I'm not as easy as I used to be. Take my phone away from me, Rory. Even I am not immune to temptation."

Exchanging an amused glance with Lorelai, Rory obediently took the phone away from Paris.

"So," Paris said after Rory had hidden it in a secret location, "who's up for clubbing?"

Rory just shook her head as Lorelai piped up, "Ooh, my sequined tube top is!"


Three hours later, Lorelai crawled into bed, feeling the kind of exhaustion that she only got from dancing. They hadn't stayed too long -- Paris's ego tended to rebound quickly -- but Lorelai had still been asked for her number twice. Unfortunately, the people doing the asking were 20-year-old college boys with fake IDs, which would have been flattering had the boys not compared her to Demi Moore and themselves to Ashton Kutcher. For starters, she was not nearly as old as Demi, and second, they were far more obnoxious, and not nearly as good-looking as Ashton.

As she burrowed under the covers in the darkness, she found the old, familiar hunger start to gnaw, and somehow, Paris's advice didn't seem quite as extreme as it had earlier. Not that Lorelai would ever do that, of course. She'd had a real relationship with Luke. She'd seen how good a relationship could be. Settling for less just wasn't an option anymore. Her recent dates had proved that.

Her thoughts turned to the H&S picnic and her upcoming mystery date. More than likely, she was going to regret saying yes to meeting him. It was more likely that she would meet and marry Bono (who already had a wife) than hit it off with this guy. Still, a weird butterfly of hope fluttered in her stomach, and Paris's words came back to her: getting out there was necessary.

She mentally sifted through her wardrobe, mixing and matching outfits for the picnic, until she finally drifted off to sleep.

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