She's So Halogen

Chapter One

Author-- Tinuviel Henneth

Summary-- Future-fic: One beautiful, reluctant, Pulitzer Prize-winning muse + a depressed and creatively stuck songwriter + a bevy of selfish exes, substantial egos, and senseless evasion = A good, old-fashioned romance. Unconventional 'ship alert!

Disclaimer-- I don't own any of the people you recognize. José and Katie belong to themselves, although they have been borrowed for this fic against their will. They're real people! Everybody else is fictional and was either invented by Amy Sherman-Palladino (who owns all of GG) or myself (who owns nothing). So there.

Author's Note-- This fic is complete. I am now officially the original Rory/Dave writer. Go me! Pleaze note that I desperately wanted a beta reader for this fic, but was unable to find ANYONE up to the task. If you are willing to help me out with the later chapters, please let me know!

*

Twelve years into the future (2015 AD)

Dave Rygalski sighed and sat down at the table in Brian Newman's dressing room, looking at his old friend with tired eyes. Brian glanced over at him, pulled a bottle of Heineken out of the bucket by the mirror where he was seated, and tossed it over. Dave caught it and popped the cap off with alacrity. The cap stuck to the bottle opener on the side of the table for a moment, then dropped off and rolled under the couch.

"This sucks," he said finally.

"Dude, you're telling me," Brian replied. "Liam is starting to get testy with me about it, and I'm like, 'Dude, I don't write the lyrics,' 'cause we all know I'm about as poetic as a rabbit turd. So please, spare me the trouble and just write a freaking song, alright?"

Dave sighed and put the half-empty bottle back down on the table, staring down into the green glass and the golden liquid beyond. "It's not that easy," he said. "I need inspiration."

"Then go find it." Brian was looking at him with the sort of expression that plainly said, 'You're an idiot.' Dave felt that the universe was unbalanced to have Brian of all people giving him that look.

"Again, not that easy." He took another sip. "I'm sorry, and I wish it was."

"Then we have to find you inspiration," Brian said, jumping up. "You've been moping around constantly since Lane got married. And you haven't written a single song."

Dave glared at him. "It's not everyday that your first serious girlfriend-- by that I mean the one you lost your virginity to-- marries some guy four years her junior just because he's cute and plays the drums." He took a hearty sip at that.

"Yeah, I think he's a creep, too, but it's not my place to tell her. She'll figure it out on her own, eventually." Brian rifled around through a box open on the dressing table. "You have to admit, he is genuinely nice to her, at least."

"She's the only one. His own bandmates hate him."

"He's just different."

Dave quirked an eyebrow. "He's an ass, admit it."

"I already agreed with you, dude," Brian said. They sat in silence for a few minutes. "Anyway, this isn't the point. The point is that you need inspiration. And we're in New York tonight and we don't have a show. What do we do when we're in New York City and don't have a show?" Brian stood up and threw his arms up. "We go out and party. Why?"

"Because we're young and attractive," Dave said with little enthusiasm. "We sound like girls."

Brian sat back down and shook his head. "You are pathetic, man. You are." Dave just shrugged.

*

"Isn't he lovely?" Lane Kim-Lopez asked her oldest friend in a dreamy voice. Her new husband, José, had just wandered away with his bandmate Henry Costa's partner Kyle to get drunk. Kyle was the antithesis of any gay man Lane had ever met, and every time the two bands were in the same place, she made it a priority to get well and properly smashed with him because he was just so fun. Henry actually bugged her more than she was willing to admit to anyone, including herself.

"Wow, Lane," Rory Gilmore said slowly, choosing her words carefully, "I haven't met someone that rude since my first week at Yale."

Lane's face fell. "That's what everyone says," she said sadly. "Everyone hates him."

"I'm sorry, Lane. I'm glad you like him." Rory actually wasn't glad, but she had to say she was. Personally, she thought Lane's love life since her breakup with Dave had been full of jerks like José, but at least José was good-looking. That way, his rudeness could be temporarily made tolerable. He had nice hair. It looked soft. Lane had dated some real dogs, too.

"I do, really. He's not a jerk to me." Lane sighed and took a sip of her martini. They were sitting at a table in the bar area of one of the top nightclubs in the City, She's So Halogen. The table was a cobalt glass surface over a silver metal swirly thing on a stick. It matched all the other tables. Nearby tables were occupied by some other young celebrities, actors and musicians and the occasional athlete. Rory's date for the night, a shallow and very attractive socialite named Thomas, was leaning against the bar talking to a man who looked like Le Bron James. Admittedly, it probably was the basketball prodigy, but with the dim lighting, it was hard to tell.

"That's all that matters, then, Lane." Rory tossed back the contents of her shot glass. "I love this place," she said, hoping to change the subject.

"Uh, yeah, me too." Lane suddenly sounded distracted. Rory looked at her and found her rigid and miserable. "I'm surprised Liam hasn't filleted him yet," she said. Quite confused, Rory followed her friend's line of vision to the doorway, where Lane's ex and bandmate Dave and that annoying Brian had just come in. Brian, who never missed a chance to try to pick Rory up with a lame line and a grin. She sighed herself.

"Why would Liam filet him?" This was a necessary question. Liam, being their brutish manager, would filet them for rather insignificant reasons sometimes.

"He's our lyric guy and he hasn't written a song in five months and we so do not have enough for the new album. Need I mention that we've been delaying releasing a new album for three years? The fans are starting to get antsy." Lane seemed different when Dave was around, she always had. Rory had never actually found out what exactly caused their breakup, but both parties seemed both regretful and relieved that it happened. Whatever it had been, it was five years in the past.

"Why can't the rest of you pick up his slack? I've known you to write lyrics," Rory said.

Lane shook her head. "That's why I love you, Ror," she said. "You aren't in a band, so you don't understand the politics. We can't all emulate the Beatles, now."

"That's just pathetic," Rory said, smirking. Lane had turned her chair away from where Dave and Brian were standing, but Rory could still see them. And it seemed Brian had caught sight of her. He was gesturing towards her to Dave, who was smiling faintly, but not looking where Brian was pointing.

"Maybe it is," Lane admitted. "But that's just how it is. Plus Dave's got that knack for words." Lane brightened suddenly. "Kinda like you. You didn't tell me about your new book. How was the release party?"

Rory sighed and sank deeper into her chair. Luckily, it was upholstered in pale blue linen. "It went fine, except Julian had to show up." Lane nodded knowingly. "Why does he insist on bothering me? We broke up eight years ago, for God sakes. He's been married and divorced since then, too."

Rory covered her face with her hands. Lane's husband chose that moment to return, and dragged her away with the excuse that he wanted her to meet someone. Left alone and feeling awkward, Rory sat up straighter and ordered another drink.

*

"Who's the girl over there, in the bar, with the dark hair?" Dave asked Brian. They were standing on the outskirts of the dance floor, watching and talking.

Brian looked over from his previous amusement (a scrawny blonde model with low-rise pants and a thong) to see what Dave was talking about. "Dude, there's a bunch of brown-haired girls in the bar." He pointed to one with a red shirt on. "That one?"

Dave shook his head. "The one sitting down at the table on the edge, with the sparkly blue shirt on."

Brian searched the crowd, finally seeing a girl who fit the description. "Her?" he asked, pointing. The girl was looking at them and smirking faintly, but talking to the other girl she was with. "That's Rory Gilmore." Dave raised his eyebrows, and looked away, back towards the crowd of dancers. "We should go talk to her."

"The other girl with her is Lane," he said. "She's about as mad at me as Liam is."

"But Rory's over there. I like Rory, so, whatever you do, I'm going over there." Brian was whining. Dave was of the opinion that few things were as bad as a whiney man. "Are you coming?" Brian asked. The one, true Brian characteristic. He always needed backup when he wanted to go talk to a girl. It made Dave feel stupid, usually, because Brian didn't really need him. He always ended up just standing there like a moron while Brian schmoozed his way along with the girl in question.

"Yeah, I guess," Dave said, following behind.

To his relief, Lane's asshole husband came up and spirited her away before they got there. Rory looked kind of lost, sitting there by herself, sipping absently at the pina colada the waitress had just delivered. She looked up just as Brian, followed not that far behind by Dave, approached her table. She mustered up a smile and invited them to sit with her.

"Don't mind if I do," Brian said. He took Lane's vacated chair, looked down into the half-empty martini glass there, and plucked the olive out. He held it up to Dave for inspection, but Dave just gave him a slightly disgusted look. Brian shrugged and popped it into his mouth, thinking nothing of it.

"How are you, Rory?" Dave asked. He had his typical smile on his face.

"I'm fine. A little worn out, but good."

"I read that new book of yours on the plane here," he said. She perked up at the mention of her work. "Pretty good stuff. I've always liked realistic things like that."

She smiled nervously. "Do you think it was a little too. . . graphic in places? Like the parts where he's shooting up?" Dave wanted to hug her. He felt a lot of artists, and she was the only one he could honestly say always seemed unsure of her work.

"It was perfect. A little surprising, though. Who would'a thunk Rory Gilmore would be writing about a heroin addict." Dave grinned. Brian glared at him.

"It's not about the addict so much as it is about his salvation through the girl he falls in love with," Rory said. "Plus it was fun to write. A little sad, because I had to actually talk to junkies for research, but still fun."

"What are you doing in New York?" Brian broke in. He was obviously perturbed that Dave had stolen his conversation with a pretty girl. "Don't you live in Boston?"

She and Dave looked at each other strangely. "Um. . . no. I haven't lived there since Lane and I shared an apartment." That bespoke how long ago that had been. Lane had moved out of her apartment with Rory and into Dave's two years before she and Dave broke up.

Realizing his mistake, Brian flushed. "So where do you live now?"

"I have a house in Cape May, New Jersey, but I spend too much time up here in the city so I have an apartment here, too." She smiled, thinking about her beachside cottage, tucked on a back street near Sunset Beach, away from the tourist area of downtown (if it can be termed downtown). She wanted to set a book there in Cape May, but she couldn't come up with a plot for it, since the town screamed 'Romantic Getaway' and she was no good at love stories.

Of course, poor Brian figured she was smiling at him, which only encouraged him. Dave flagged down the waitress and ordered a bottle of beer for his 'idiot friend', it didn't matter what brand or type, and a double shot of Captain Morgan in a Diet Coke. He also told her not to let his glass empty. The girl was not immune to the fact he was a famous guitarist, and seemed willing to do pretty much whatever he wanted. He was stating to develop a headache.

"So, Dave, Lane tells me you're having writer's block," Rory said, trying to forget Brian was there.

Dave smiled nervously and wiped his hands on his pants. "Did she, huh?" he said, more to himself. "That's Lane. Always running me down." He shook his head and adjusted his tie. "She's right, though. I haven't written anything album-worthy in months."

Brian watched him curiously, but was distracted when the waitress brought them their drinks. She had red hair and a shiny smile. "Well, hello, there."

"Um. . . hi," she said shyly.

"I'm Brian Newman. You are?"

"Stacia Becker." She looked down, genuinely embarrassed. Dave and Rory stopped their own conversation for a moment to watch Brian flirt with the poor little thing.

"Oh, honestly, Brian," Dave broke in. "The girl's probably not even legally allowed to serve alcohol. Let her alone." Rory covered her mouth with her hand to hide a smile. Brian glared at him, and Stacia blushed even more furiously. Dave shrugged and turned back to Rory. "Anyway, I just haven't felt inspired lately."

Rory laughed out loud. "Don't I know how that is. Before this last book, I'd had block for a year. My editor was getting pretty pissy with me, and then. . . Bam! Inspiration struck one very yucky night when I was stuck in traffic between Sayreville and Perth Amboy."

Dave snickered. "You got the idea for A Melted Crayon while sitting in traffic? That's classic."

"Yes, fabulous," Brian broke in, using the sort of voice that betrayed the fact he didn't especially think it was fabulous at all. "Maybe you should give Dave pointers. Anyway, if you'll excuse me. Dave, I'll see you at rehearsal tomorrow. Rory, always a pleasure."

"I'm sure it is," she said demurely.

He looked at her for a moment, picking up on her sarcasm but not willing to waste time commenting on it. "Good night."

"Night," Dave said, waving him off.

Brian got up and allowed Stacia to lead him away towards the bar. He didn't look back.

Rory took another sip of her drink. "Wasn't that charming of him?" she mused.

"That's Brian, all right," Dave agreed.

"He's always like that, too, isn't he?" she asked.

"Always."

They both took a sip of their drinks and sat there awkwardly for a minute.

"This is fun," Rory said, glancing up at him.

He stared at her for a moment, then his face split up into a huge grin. "Oh, God, I was hoping you'd notice. I'm used to girls who notice things like that and I was afraid that you wouldn't and we'd just sit here staring at our glasses all night, not sure of what we should do or say next. Because, well, that would suck."

Rory laughed. "You ramble about as much as I do."

"You're pretty interesting. I can see why you and Lane are friends."

She feigned a pout. "You couldn't tell before? I'm offended, Rygalski. Truly, truly offended." She reached over and stole an ice cube out of his glass and popped it into her mouth.

"Well, isn't that just the common thread of the night, then?" he said with a smirk. "Let's all eat something out of someone else's glass."

"Well, what fun is it to settle for your own when someone else has an equally, if not more so, delectable thing in front of them. You get bonus points if you pluck the thing out of a moving person's glass."

"You and your mother play this game at parties, don't you?" he asked.

Rory smiled evilly. "What do you think we did at Lane and José's wedding, talk to the Lopezes? You are a crazy one, Dave." She finished her drink. "Okay, I need to get out of this place. Want to come?"

"Well, I should probably wait for Brian," he said noncommittally. Rory gave him a look. "What are you going to do?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I'll go find another club, or I might go home and sleep, or write, or go to an all-night pancake place and have a stack with blueberry syrup. I don't know." She got up and pulled on her jacket, ready to leave. She turned at last to him. "Coming?"

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded. Her offer was too good to resist. "Yeah." He tossed back the rest of his Cap'n Coke and followed her through the club.

--- chapter finis

Tinuviel Henneth / story completed 12 June 2003 / chapter posted 21 June 2003