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prologue: the end is here

a/n:

friendly reminder that even if her cousins are better people than the rest, they're still super rich and privileged!

tw(s) -- rich people being assholes, hospitals, desc. of medical problems

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The smooth, black sands of a Greek beach are soft beneath Rory's feet as she stands with her arms crossed over her chest and glares up at her cousin.

Chuck, on the contrary, stands opposite of her and grins crookedly.

He's nearly twenty years older than her and, being a head taller, he, almost comically, looms over her. So, despite the intention of her expression, he's not intimidated by her. Not one bit. Any passersby could see it, and she's not unaware of it, but she's too far into it to back down now.

The family vacation to Greece had, in theory, been Rory's idea. Things were morose back in Detroit with her grandfather's latest health news and she felt like she was losing her mind, trapped in the house with him for the summer and missing her friends and boyfriend dearly. Oliver, who has been struggling to settle into fatherhood for a second time and was grasping at straws to feel useful given everything that was happening, saw it as an opportunity to flex how good of a parent he could be, handed his eldest daughter a map, and told her that he'd take her wherever she wanted.

Greece, with its beaches, culture, and food, just felt like an obvious choice.

(In reality, a 'trip' itself was a gift from Oliver and Krystal for her sixteenth birthday, only promised because her stepfather, Knox, had already bought her a vintage, powder blue VW Beetle. The plans had been collecting dust since the party that February until Rory snapped and Oliver let her cash them in.)

Things were going well. They'd visited a few of the famous historical sites, even more islands, and Rory even got to blow a kiss to the paparazzi from the top of a yacht before her security detail dragged her below deck. Things were going very well--

Up until five minutes ago when Chuck offered a resort staff member's young son a million-dollar check to buy his participation in their volleyball game, only to rip it up in front of him when he couldn't keep up and their team lost.

"You are such a pompous douchebag." Rory says, disbelief lacing her tone.

"I'm not a douchebag. He knew it was a joke." Chuck turns to the boy and thumps him solidly on the back. "Didn't you, Spiro?

Her mouth drops open, slightly. "Spiro? Seriously? You're, like, a walking HR violation."

"God, when did you become one of them?"

The boy, who can't be older than twelve, stares at the floor. His lip wobbles in a way that makes Rory's gut ache.

"One of them?" She asks, equal measures exasperated and so angry that she could just punch him. "What does that even?-- He obviously didn't think it was a joke, Chuck! He's about to cry!"

Greg, who is standing off to the side and avoiding the fight like he normally does, places a hand on her shoulder.

"What? Do you want me to give him a million dollars?"

"Oh, my god. That is so not what the problem is and you know it."

"What's the problem then?" Chuck's tone has taken a lilt that she doesn't like. "Is it my lack of respect? Are you worried I might damage the company image?"

Rory smiles sardonically as Greg says his brother's name in a quiet, tired voice.

"I cannot wait until the entire continental US is between us."

"Lo--" Greg swallows thickly as she shrugs his hand off her shoulder and starts to march up the beach, leaving him alone with the brewing situation.

"Oh, come on, kid! Don't be like that!"

Without turning around, she puts both of her hands up to put an end to the conversation.

Rory finds Oliver lounging in a beach chair on the back patio of their rental when she climbs the stairs. He's hiding underneath an umbrella and sipping at a mostly empty cup of scotch; a meze platter and a plate of spanakopita, both of which she'd ordered to keep him busy, sit, untouched, on the table between his chair and the chair next to it.

He looks at her over the rim of his sunglasses as she approaches. She maintains eye contact to avoid looking at the tattoo on his chest.

(That was another stumble along the path of becoming a father during a midlife crisis: his first tattoo. Both of his daughters' names on the left side of his chest and 'over his heart.')

"What was all that about?" He asks as she sits down beside him.

"Your nephew was being a jerk."

Oliver snorts and sits up, slightly, as she pops a green olive into her mouth.

"Isn't he always?" He looked back out to the ocean. From this distance, he should just barely be able to see Chuck wrestle his little brother to the ground. "He was like that, even as a young lad. Hurting the other kids. Stealing their toys."

Rory doesn't comment on that. She opts to pick up and eat a spinach pie, instead.

"You weren't like that. You were good. Never had any problems..."

"He offered that boy a million dollars."

"Did he? Well, that's par for the course."

Rory chews on her pastry. She can't tell what kind of mood her father is in when his eyes are hidden behind his Ray Bans.

"Can't you fix it?"

"Hm?"

"The boy... can't you somehow give him compensation? Pay for his family to go do something fun?" Every single word feels heavy on her tongue. "You used to do it all the time-- remember when you bought those girls and their parents season passes to the pool so we could hang out all summer?"

Oliver is silent during her rambling, but it's the lingering silence after she's done that worries her. Her heart lodges in her throat and, with every second that ticks by, makes it harder and harder for her to breathe.

They had a fight that morning because he disapproved of her choice in swimsuit.

She wonders if she should've considered that before trying to get him to pretend he has a heart for a few minutes.

Rather suddenly, he turns to look at the staff member standing off to the side, and she feels like she might just throw up.

"You." He snaps his fingers to get their attention. "Get me another scotch and get my daughter a flute of champagne. The sweeter the better."

Rory's eyebrows pinch as the staff member nods.

"Oh, and the name of that young man's family, would you?"

The relief that floods her system makes her feel drunker than any number of champagne flutes ever could, and she pretends that her exhale was a sigh of contentment, settling into the chair as the worker scurries off.

"Thank you." She says once there's no one around to hear it. "I really appreciate it."

"You make me a better person, Lola."

He doesn't say it like it's a good thing.

The staff member returns with their drinks swiftly.

Rory savors it quietly and picks at the food slowly so as to not earn herself her father's ire. She tries to be present. The breeze is warm and smells of the ocean, and the rhythmic push and pull of the waves could be comforting if she would just let it. But she won't. She can't.

A knock on the doorway behind them breaks the silence.

"Hey," Krystal wears a soft smile and a blue dress, and on her hip is a babbling baby, "we just finished our nap. What did we miss?"

"Nothing much. Your stepdaughter might kill my nephew."

"Oh, so she's my stepdaughter now?"

Rory's entire demeanor changes at the sight of her little sister.

Eleanor Myrtle is six months old and is already bigger than Rory ever was at her age. She has dark blue eyes and a crown of wispy blonde hair like the little angels that they put on top of their Christmas trees.

When Krystal gets closer, Eleanor gives Rory a gummy smile.

"Hi, Eleanor." Rory coos, a big smile on her face.

Oliver, meanwhile, speaks directly to his wife. "I thought you were going to the spa."

"I was." Krystal hums. "I'm just waiting for your sister. She said she'd watch the baby while I was away."

The man makes a strangled, scoff sort of sound but Rory perks up in her chair.

"I can watch her, Krys. Aunt Peggy said she had a migraine."

"Would you really? Are you sure you don't mind?"

"What? Are you kidding?" Rory says, taking Eleanor as Krystal hands her over. "We've got some sister business to discuss, don't we, Ellie?"

The six-month-old just smiles again and lurches forward, grabbing a fistful of her shirt to gnaw on it.

Krystal smiles fondly down at them.

Oliver's look of indifference unsettles her, slightly.

"I really wish you could come with me." Krystal leans to press a kiss to Oliver's cheek. She's massaging his shoulders with her free hands. "You've been so busy. You deserve to rest on vacation, too."

Rory glances down at Eleanor, not wanting to intrude on an intimate moment.

"I wish I could, too, darling, but I can't. I'm waiting on a call."

Krystal sighs softly as he grabs one of her hands and kisses it.

"Okay..."

She turns her attention to Rory, then.

"You know where everything is, right?"

Rory nods. (She's out just as much into raising her sister as any of the nannies have.)

"Alright, I'll be back soon. Don't fight your cousin."

"No promises!"

Krystal laughs before retreating back into the house. Rory watches her and absentmindedly pulls the bunched-up fabric out of Eleanor's mouth.

"Hey, dad?"

"Yes, Lola?"

"In a few years, when Ellie's bigger, do you think we could take her to Disney?"

Oliver, to her surprise, nods slowly. "I think that would be nice."

"Did you hear that, Ellie?" She whispers as if the baby's understanding a single word she's saying and bounces her knee. "Someday, you're going to Disney. That's right. Disney. D-i-s-n-e-y."

"Have you given any further thought to that scholarship?"

The question comes so far out of left field that she never could have seen it coming.

Rory looks up from Eleanor to meet her father's gaze, her face once again pinched in confusion.

"What?"

"The Eden Hall Academy scholarship." Oliver elaborates. "You said you had to think about it. Have you?"

"Dad--"

"Don't forget, Lorelei. A lot of work has gone into this." Even behind his glasses, she can feel his eyes dig into her skin. "It would be a shame to waste all of that effort, now, wouldn't it?"

"I know, dad. I know..."

"Then what's with all the pussyfooting?"

"There's a lot going on right now." She struggles to defend herself. "Krystal just had a baby, and you're working weird hours and making sketchy phone calls, and grandpa's sick--"

"Do you want me to tell them no, then?"

"No. That's not what I said."

Rory stares at him and tries to gather her thoughts.

Why is he trying so hard to get rid of her?

"He's dying, isn't he?"

"He isn't dying." Oliver snaps. "He's ill."

Rory recoils from the sharpness of his tone.

"And stop butting your nose into adult affairs, would you? Haven't I always taken care of you? Don't you trust me?"

"Of course, I trust you." She adjusts the baby in her arms. "I just-- I want to take it, okay? I do."

"Good. I'll contact the administration in the morning."

And not even playing with Eleanor gets rid of the feeling that sinks into Rory's bones.

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The ICU is as empty as it is white. Rory has to show an ID to get past the doors, and the guards give her strange looks as she walks past, still dressed to hide from the press.

She has to pass three rooms to reach her destination. An up-and-coming rapper whose fame had skyrocketed since he was shot by a rival on a Detroit street, a physics professor who had to get his larynx removed, and some sad old lady who had one-hundred centimeters of necrotic tissue in her intestines. Rory hasn't spoken to any of them, but she's eaten with their families in the cafeteria, and she's sat with their friends in the waiting room, so she peeks in through open doors, anyway-- just to check in.

When she does get to the fourth room, she finds herself hesitating to enter, a shadow in the doorway.

Elijah Myrtle, battling cancer for the third time in his long life, is laid up in bed and watching television.

He's significantly paler than normal, his skin almost translucent against the dark blue sheets, and his face is gaunt. There are a myriad of machines haloing him and about a hundred wires connecting him to them; monitors for his heart and his lungs, and one that feeds him a slow drip of pain medication all day.

For a moment, she watches him watch his programs and shivers although she isn't cold.

"You look like rubbish." He rasps, adjusting his nasal cannula.

The corner of her lip twitches up. "I'm still stuck on Greece time. What's your excuse, old man?"

Eli laughs-- a brittle sound that rattles in his chest-- and gestures for her to come in.

"I brought you some ginger ale."

She pulls the can from her pocket and gestures with it.

"I don't want a ginger ale." He grumbles as she brushes some trash from his table and into the can below with her hand. "I want a Coca Cola."

Rory hums, pulling the tab and sticking a straw into the opening. "You know you aren't supposed to be having that much sugar, pops."

"I'm not feeble. I can take care of myself."

She just holds the can out in front of her with a flat look on her face, and his gaze narrows.

The near centenarian appears to humor her for a moment and takes the straw into his mouth, but he then blows the straw instead of drinking with it like some kid who isn't getting what he wants.

"Seriously?"

"I want a Coca Cola."

Heaving a sigh, Rory runs her fingers through her hair. "You do know they don't actually put crack in them anymore, right?"

Eli starts to laugh, but the laughter makes him cough.

Rory's heart lurches and her eyes flit from machine to machine as if she'll have any ability to deduct what's wrong just by reading them.

"Do you want me to get a nurse?"

He shakes his head, gesturing until she gives him the can.

She takes it back when he manages to regulate his breathing and sits on the edge of his bed, her shoulders deflating with relief.

His soap opera continues to play at an inappropriate background.

"What were you doing last night?" Eli asks when he catches her rubbing her eyes.

"I couldn't sleep, so I called my friend Charlie. We were up until, like, three in the morning."

"Charlie..." Eli says the name like he's tasting it. "Is that your boyfriend?"

"No. My boyfriend is Lester. Charlie's the boy who gave me a special copy of the Hobbit for my birthday, remember?"

The look on her grandfather's face tells her that he doesn't remember.

"You told him that he reminded you of Mario Lemieux..." Rory tries to jog his memory. "It's okay. It doesn't matter. Charlie's my friend, and we talked all night."

She was too young when her grandma died to have any memory of her mental decline.

She wonders how similar it was to this, and if he's still aware enough of it to be afraid.

"What about?"

"Our old coach, and the scholarships."

"Oh, your father mentioned that." He nods to himself. "Are you taking it?"

"Yeah. Even if coach, Jesse, and Dean aren't coming back."

There's a beat of silence as he processes her words.

"Dean... That's your boyfriend, isn't it?"

Rory rubs the heels of her palms into her eyes.

(The feeling is back.)

(The feeling is death.)

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a/n:

lmao i know something(s) you don't know~

now i want spanakopita :(

the way that his marriage and the birth of eleanor have given so many layers to rory and oliver's relationship???? god.

comments and votes are super appreciated! they let me know that you guys like my writing and I cannot stress how much they motivate me to continue! thank you