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Prologue: Hell and its Fury

She hated Paris Gellar

Jenna Fitzgerald knew she wasn't the only one. The hallowed halls of Chilton echoed with insults directed at the ice-hearted academic. She was also certain that very few of the spineless sheep would hesitate before joining Paris if she happened to extend social graces; The Gellars were after all in Chilton's highest social echelon.

But the arrogant bitch refused to become entangled in the social entanglements that should have defined her existence; Paris did not seem to care that everybody hated her. The blond haired girl simply continued on, heedless, saving her rare moments of passion for arguing with that scholarship brat Rory Gilmore.

Jenna nursed these spiteful thoughts while simultaneously nursing her seventh beer. The Fitzgerald's expansive and sparse home was empty and her father's secret supply of alcohol was rapidly dwindling under her trembling hands. The anguished and disappointed shouts of her parents refused to be drowned out no matter how much she consumed. Where was the state of drunken blissfulness? It would be truly ironic if the only thing she could do right was hold her liquor.

"Not a single acceptance letter," her mother's shrill voice tormented her.

"All six of the scholarship kids got glowing recommendations! Where's yours?" boomed the voice of Harvard Old boy Professor Howard Fitzgerald.

It would not be hard for such an influential man to find such statistics.

"Your brothers and sister got accepted to all their choices as well as application requests from all the rest!"

The Science Geek and the twin Momma's Boys: that last comparison had particularly stung.

Paris fucking Gellar had the nerve to have a mental breakdown over not getting into her precious Harvard, when all the other schools, her father kindly informed her, were literally begging for her nerdy presence.

God I Hate her! Jenna thought bitterly.

As if on cue the doorbell rang. Their Spanish maid, Martina, opened the door and let the dismissive tones of Paris Gellar come ever closer to Jenna's unmoving form in the main lounge. The sound of the maid preparing to leave pleased her greatly.

They were alone.

"All right Fitzgerald, what's so important that you had to drag me out here at 10:30pm a scant 336 hours before graduation?" Paris demanded brusquely as she strolled into the room.

Her rage boiled anew, but Jenna forced herself to be pleasant and conciliatory "I just wanted to offer my camera skills to The Franklin for the graduation addition. You know, offer a student's perspective."

Paris sunk gingerly to the couch opposite the other girl 'Rory chides you about rejecting people too harshly' she mused. Jenna had won several awards for photography and was about the only thing the introverted mediocre student was known for.

"Rory Gilmore is acquainted with Jodi Cobb," Paris interjected coolly, "She has kindly offered to take several graduating portraits. "I don't think a student's perspective is required."

Jodi Cobbs was the acclaimed photographer with an essay in National Geographic's Greatest Portraits.

"Your Rory takes care of everything for you, doesn't she?" Jenna exclaimed hotly.

"I don't know what you're implying," Paris said neutrally but her heckles were clearly raised.

"The whole school knows you lust after each other," Jenna leered, "I doubt Harvard's dyke quota is very high."

Paris rose abruptly, "I'm leaving!"

Jenna sprang to her feet and grabbed Paris arm like a vice grip, "Do you play naughty under the council table?" she asked, enjoying the look of horror on Paris's normally unreadable features.

"You're drunk," Paris said, her face recoiling at the unmistakable stench.

"You're a lying, manipulative bitch," retorted Jenna, pulling slightly to counter Paris's struggles to get away.

Paris had never been very athletic and Jenna's hand did not move, despite her best efforts. She had read somewhere that mentally unbalanced people had abnormal strength. This was an absolutely terrible place for a physical confrontation. They were both leaning across a rectangular coffee table. Each struggled to gain some sort of leverage without being able to alter their stances.

The glass chess set on the coffee table between them had thus far been a silent witness to this conversation, but Jenna realized too late what a hazard it could be. While she hurled insults in several languages, Paris's movements caused her to lose balance and fall forward, face first, into the glass, her legs splayed in the space between the couch. The glass was supposed to shatter a particular disparate way, which would avoid serious injury. Something to do with the physics of pressure points and impact angles.

Her siblings and mother were all doctors…. She should at least remember the basics.

Jenna was a coward. Self preservation was the most fundamental of her considerable instincts. Watching blood slowly seep from Paris's head and hearing the guttural moans sent waves of fearful nausea tumbling through her system. Jenna watched enough Law and Order to know what aggravated assault meant and how strong Paris's case would be.

The choice of potential action was abruptly no longer hers.

"My God, child, what have you done?"

Jenna swung around to meet the horrified face of Maria, the younger English maid. The blond haired woman was already snatching up the portable phone and calling emergency services before Jenna could mount some sort of explanation.

Not that she had one to begin with.

Somehow Jenna doubted "I didn't mean to" would stand up to Paris Gellar's $1000-an-hour attorney.

Particularly as bruises unmistakably resembling fingers were already appearing on the fallen girl's arm.

A random quote from the bible entered her scattered thoughts: Judge not, that ye be not judged. -- Saint Mathew.

Chapter One: Seeds Sown

Rory Gilmore was not that kind of girl.

She was not the kind of girl who sat inches from the phone waiting patiently by the phone for the boyfriend who never called. It went against her fundamental principles of independence and maintaining her own life outside Jess. Yet here she was, two days later, none the wiser as to why her normally quiet and reserved boyfriend had successfully reinforced every single one of the town's prejudices towards him.

Dean had called of course, civilly apologizing for his behavior, while accepting full responsibility. He had stated without a trace of egotism that he had arranged a financial payment package for the owners of the house. The hometown boy was just so good. He was a good son, a good brother, and a thoroughly good boyfriend. There should be a special place in hell for girls like her, who dumped the morally outstanding boys for the dream of redeeming the bad boy, who was hopelessly misunderstood.

God, she felt like a walking cliché.

The phone rang. Rory tried to delude herself so that she did not snatch it on the first ring out of urgency.

"Hello, Gilmore Residence," Rory said slightly breathlessly.

There was a long pause before a wavering voice spoke hesitantly.

"Is this Rory Gilmore?"

"Yes it is, may I ask who's speaking?" Rory cocked her head uncertainly, trying to place the distinctive accent.

"This is Sarah Demote, I am a maid at the Gellar's," the voice clarified hastily.

"Is Paris alright?" Rory asked casually, trying to think academic-related crisis had motivated Paris to 'round up the troops' at this late hour. Many viable options sprung to mind, it was after all only two weeks to graduation.

"I'm afraid the Little One has been in a terrible accident," Sarah replied softy, her voice trembled slightly, "Your name was on her emergency contact list. I think you need to come here, if you can"

"Is she okay?" Rory gripped the phone until her knuckles turned white.

Rory remembered the conversation well. Paris had said that Rory was the only one she would trust to handle things at school for the six hours that she would allow herself to remain in a medicated, and thus counterproductive, state. The blond-haired girl had self depreciatingly joked that she would be the only one without a legal, medical, or financial obligation who would bother to show up.

"What hospital is she at?" Rory asked sharply.

"Hartford General."

After forcing herself to listen to the complex series of directions and to arrange a meeting point with Paris's nanny, Rory gently replaced the phone on the cradle. She felt cold and oddly detached as she watched as her hands started to tremble violently.

"Mommy!" the shrill voice sounded very far away.

Recognizing the true panic in her daughter's tone, Lorelei Gilmore rushed into the room, midway through applying waxing strips to her legs. The mother in her instantly took in the pallor of Rory's face and the tears in those amazing eyes and assumed the worst. The elder Gilmore mentally ran through the locations of their friends and relatives.

"Paris is hurt," Rory whispered fearfully, rushing to the comfort of her mother's arms.

Suppressing the instantaneous and shameful surge of relief Lorelei quizzed the teenager for the scant details she could provide while rocking her back and forth soothingly and murmuring comfortingly.

"I have to get to the hospital, I don't want her to be alone, and I know one of her nanny's grandkids is really sick; she probably can't stay. That woman who calls herself Paris's mother is wintering in Europe. She has already told Paris's nanny that it would be too inconvenient to see her graduated and her father might squeeze the event into his busy schedule in between bimbo girlfriends number one and two," Rory's voice was raised and flushed with indignation.

"Okay hun, nervous rant happening here, let's get you to the hospital and find out what's going on," Lorelei said with carefully modulated tones as she guided her out the door and down the front pathway.

The thirty minute car ride to the hospital was largely silent, punctuated occasionally by Lorelei's increasingly hollow platitudes.

The glowing lights of the sprawling hospital complex provided an unfortunate beacon in the exceptionally dark night. Lorelei drove around aimlessly for several minutes before a security guard directed them to visitor parking amongst the maze that was the hospital grounds. Rory leapt from the car before it stopped and ran heedlessly towards the entrance.

Lorelei struggled to keep up with Rory's seemingly instinctive navigation of the hospital's long and winding corridors to the ICU's waiting room, which was an open plan structure with rows and rows of uncomfortable looking chairs on garish looking cream carpet, the nurse's booth across from them carefully shielded the occupants and barred any unauthorized entry.

A tall handsome Portuguese looking youth straightened from his position in front of the waiting room doors. His face lit up with recognition when he saw Rory.

"Rory, Grandma said you would come," his rich, cultured voice held very little trace of an accent. He ushered them to a specific corner, where a highly disparate group was gathered.

Francisca, Paris's much beloved nanny and substitute mother figure sat, surrounded by her grandchildren, whom Rory recognized through Paris's many anecdotes. Next to them sat a highly uncomfortable looking Jamie, Paris's ivy-league boyfriend. Surprisingly a uniformed police officer was standing against the wall, keeping a vigilant watch on the last person assembled.

"Jenna, what are you doing here?" Rory asked in surprise. Their sullen and hostile classmate was the last person Rory expected to see on her emergency contact list.

Jenna did not reply; she continued staring fixatedly at the floor.

Before either Lorelei or Rory had a chance to voice more questions an exhausted looking doctor came up to the group, clearing his throat softly to indicate his presence.

Francisca and Jamie both rose anxiously. The police officer fixed the doctor with a sharp gaze.

"Ms Gellar's condition is presently unclassified. Spinal anomalies have been ruled out and head trauma appears to be minimal, though a concussion is highly likely"

He paused slightly before continuing judiciously, "However further examination is required to draw conclusive opinions about facial injuries. Unfortunately the facial trauma is significant." There was a pregnant pause before Lorelei said brusquely, "What are you not saying?" "Full examination is essential before a diagnosis can be made…"

"Please, Doctor?" Francisca murmured, "Just tell us."

"There is some concern about the impact some of the glass shards have caused near the eye region."

Unexpectedly, Jamie spoke up, "Iritis? Detached retina?" There was a significant hesitation before he asked, "Globe rupture?"

The doctor eyed him wearily, "No diagnosis can be made at this time. Dr. Lisa Sinclair, our Ophthalmologist will be here in thirty-five minutes. She will be able to tell you more. Our family liaison volunteer will be here shortly." He left hurriedly, hearing the all too familiar sound of EMTs calling for a doctor.

The entire group turned their gaze to the supervising source of information. Jamie looked pale and on the verge of being ill. Rory vaguely remembered that his entire familial legacy was medical.

"Blind…she could be blind," he whispered in a terrified tone.

Nobody moved and a collective look of horror settled on their features.

Forgotten in background, the officer turned to Jenna and said in a neutral inflection, "Jenna Fitzgerald, you are under arrest on the charge of aggravated assault, causing grave bodily harm."

"She fell."

It sounded less hollow in her head.

She felt all eyes land on her.

Whatever a man Soweth, that he shell also reap -- Bible Galatians

Chapter Two: Waiting Game

"The child did this?"

Francesca's whispered question broke the horrified stupor that had descended on the group. A range of emotions played across each face as they watched the retreating forms of the girl and police officer.

Without preamble, Lorelai fixed her gaze on Jamie's pale and uncertain face, noting that he looked in immediate danger of being sick all over the waiting room floor. His skin was damp with a sheen of perspiration and he trembled violently though he valiantly tried to appear composed.

"I told her, Paris was home," Jamie chocked tremulously, "Jenna texted me, wanting to get hold of her... .... She pretended to be a friend of Paris's on the school council," he continued to rant quietly to himself, 'Paris, I just assumed this was something to do with graduation.' "Paris knows so many people. I thought the call had to do with graduation."

Francesca reached across and clasped Jamie's shaking hands, instinctively assuming a mothering role.

"Has her mother been called?" Lorelai asked gently, stroking Rory's back comfortingly.

"She and Mr. Gellar are attempting to get a connecting flight from Madrid; they will be here at midnight tomorrow," The Portuguese woman replied as she coaxed Jamie to take a sip of water from a plastic cup.

"I should call my mother," Jamie said quietly.

Rory knew that Jamie's family adored Paris and considered her "of suitable caliber" to date their much beloved and treasured son.

Francesca escorted him down the corridor. They were followed by a gaggle of grandchildren, who were whispering in soft anxious tones.

"I want to stay, Mom," Rory said as they sat down on the recently vacated seats.

"Of course, baby girl," Lorelai replied while shutting off her cell phone, which was beeping incessantly.

"She can't be blind, Mom, she just can't!"

* *

Lorelai wanted to placate her daughter's fears so badly, but that look in the doctor's eyes trapped the words in her throat. She did not need to speak medical jargon to know that damage to the eye with sharp objects was never good. The doctor wouldn't reveal anything without a battery of tests, but the he could not do anything do deny Jamie's grave-sounding queries.

"Paris hasn't spoken to Jenna more than four times," Rory whimpered in fear.

Lorelai knew that the pressure to get into Ivy League universities was fierce and that the hallowed halls of Chilton echoed unreservedly with competition, but she never imagined that anyone would resort to such extreme measures. Paris was abrasive and a compulsive perfectionist, but she seemed to inspire more fear than abject hatred.

"She's not as tough as everybody thinks," Rory continued more to herself than any potential audience.

Rory had become one of Paris's staunchest defenders. Lorelai had watched with subtle amusement as Paris had metamorphosed in Rory's eye from her stereotypical arch nemesis to her academic equal and gradual friend. The blond girl had won Lorelai's respect and admiration for her ability to debate the younger Gilmore, on virtually any given topic, with ease and composure. Something very few people attempted.

"I know, honey," Lorelai murmured sadly.

"She just wants to make her mother proud," Rory's voice had assumed an almost narrative quality as her eyes stared, unfocused, at the stand of brightly lit information sheets.

A low wailing scream penetrated the fragile cocoon of personal space that characterized each of the small groups in confined space. All eyes became fixed on the elderly couple in the left hand corner; they were blinking helplessly in front of a kneeling doctor who was attempting to speak over the woman's wracking sobs.

"Do you want to get some coffee, baby girl?" Lorelai asked instinctively wanting to shield Rory from the harrowing scene.

Rory leaned closer into Lorelai's embrace, but declined the offer. The thought of digesting anything caused bile to well up in her throat. The teenager's mind was filled with the scattered and hazy images of the brief times she had encountered Jenna; she was trying to form a logical pathway between the intermittent events and their current reality.

One inconsequential moment rushed back with startling clarity.

"Hey, Gilmore!"

Paris's despondent and flat voice followed Rory as she walked through the carefully manicured grounds of Chilton on the way to the library. Paris came to stand next the younger girl. She stared the ground angrily as Rory gazed at her in concern.

"Mother isn't coming to graduation," the words were delivered in a cold and seemingly unaffected tone Paris was well used to a litany of disappointments.

Rory blinked in shock. Lorelai Gilmore had been planning graduation attendance for more than a decade and while she knew her mother was far from the norm she could barely conceive of anybody wanting to miss their child's moment of academic glory.

"I should have known," Paris's voice sounded absolutely defeated and there was a definite hint of tears beneath the stoic surface.

Acting entirely on impulse, Rory reached out and brought Paris into an awkward embrace. Their friendship was largely non-tactile. Their displays of affections were largely restricted to trading academic favors and a semi-regular companionship during lunch. Now feeling the other girl in her arms, Rory realized how small she was. At first Paris stood uncertainly, but she gradually relaxed against the offered comfort, sobbing quietly.

She smells really good. Rory was startled by the unexpected thought while stroking her long blond hair.

"Look at this, our fearless leader and her blue collar concubine in a clandestine embrace. How sweet!"

The scathingly sarcastic voice interrupted any potential contemplation. Rory glanced across Paris's head at the scowling features of a dark haired classmate. Paris drew a long breath of composure before rising to face the accuser.

"Convinced Daddy Dearest to buy you an acceptance letter yet?" Paris asked coldly, ignoring Rory's gentle urgings not to provoke the hostile girl. Paris was referring to the scandalous news that for the first time in six generations a Fitzgerald was not being paraded as a shinning example of Chilton excellence.

Jenna face transferred into a pain filled grimace before she stomped away.

"Don't let that infamous conscience of yours plague you, Ror, she deserved it."

Both girls continued to the library, a highly respectable distance apart.

Rory refused to analyze her irrational feelings of disappointment.

* * * * *

She hated this part of the job.

Dr. Lisa Sinclair was considered brilliant. Her diagnostic skills when confronting any sort of optical trauma were considered seminal and she was constantly being rotated through clinics nationwide. However, for all her talent, Sinclair didn't feel any more prepared to perform this part of her duty. Doctors of her specialty were rarely summoned to the ER unless the patient exhibited the gravest of symptoms within the specific field.

ER was reserved exclusively for stabilization.

Unfortunately Paris Gellar was a textbook justification for her presence.

Clinically, the elderly African woman was excited by the challenge of such a varied and demanding case. The young woman's case embodied all the most difficult aspects of her profession. The intricate injuries and number of variables was a once in working lifetime occurrence. Her professional satisfaction was a poor contender for the grief she was about to inflict on the girl's family.

Whatever the methodology, the end result was the same and all too familiar.

Complete and irreversible loss of sight.

Paris Gellar was facing the rest of her life without the ability to see.

To be continued...