Chapter 1
"I won't do this anymore," Rory manages to get out between sobs. She brushes past Logan towards the closet and hauls out a bag, throwing it on the bed. "I love you but I can't. I just…I can't."
"Rory, please," he pleads, reaching out to grab her arm.
She jerks away from him, moving towards the other side of the room.
"Don't touch me," she warns softly, grabbing a pile of clean laundry from the top of the dresser and dumping it haphazardly into her bag.
Logan runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "Look we can work this out all right," he begs. He looks utterly wrecked, his eyes are glassy and red from too little sleep. "Just sit down and breathe and we'll figure it out."
"We can't 'figure it out,' Logan," Rory cries. She picks up a stack of books off her nightstand and throws them on top of the clothes. "God, listen yourself. You got your sister's friend pregnant. There's no 'figuring it out,' not for us at least."
"Rory, we were broken up," he attempts to placate.
She hoists her bag over her shoulder hurriedly, not noticing it's over stuffed, partially zipped, and that several books have slid off the top and landed on the floor. "Is that supposed to make this less humiliating? She's still pregnant, I still had to find out in the middle of a—," she trails off, crying.
"Rory!" Logan pleads again. "Please just—"
"No." She cuts him off curtly, pulling herself together. "I'll come get the rest of my stuff soon. Don't call me."
The door slams behind her.
He stands there for a minute, staring at the door in hopes this is all a nightmare he'll wake up from any second. When nothing happens but the ding of the elevator in the hall, he finally looks away.
He glances at the bed, noticing a slim black novel that fell out of her bag. The Subsectby Jess Mariano.
He picks it up, thumbing through it, noticing all the careful, precise notes she made in the margins.
"Dammit," He yells. Flinging it against the wall in frustration he collapses into a chair, his head in his hands.
Lorelai rolls over with a groan, and grabs her ringing phone off the nightstand.
"What?" She growls.
"Mom?"
Lorelai stares blearily at the unforgiving numbers on her alarm clock. It's just after midnight.
She sits up, flicking on the lamp. "Rory are you all right?" She asks groggily.
"I'm coming home," her daughter announces. "I'm five minutes away. I'll explain everything in a minute," she hangs up before Lorelai can say anything else.
Next to her, Luke rolls over, watching her blearily. "What's going on?" He mumbles sleepily.
Tenderly, she runs a hand through his hair. "It's something with Rory. Go back to sleep, okay?"
Crawling out of bed, she grabs her bathrobe and goes downstairs to make coffee.
Rory smells her mother's number one cure all the second she opens the door. She hovers in the doorway of the kitchen where Lorelai sit at the kitchen table, a steaming a mug of coffee in one hand and a package of marshmallows in the other.
"What did he do this time?" She asks her daughter softly, taking in her wrinkled cocktail dress and the streaks of mascara that run down her face.
"He got his sister's friend pregnant," Rory sniffles. "He's known for over a week now. And I had to find out in the middle of a fundraiser for Yale's new computer lab."
"Oh, honey." Getting up, she pulls her daughter into her arms, running her hands up and down her back comfortingly. She knows she ought to feel something more than relief. Relief it isn't Rory who is pregnant. Relief that she and Logan are finally over. Relief that maybe she now can have her little girl back, all of her.
It's ten in the morning when the phone rings; Lorelai sits at the kitchen table with Luke, nursing her sixth cup of coffee.
"I knew I hated that kid," Luke grumbles. "I knew it from the start. If he comes anywhere near her I swear I'm gonna—"
Lorelai nods, picking up the phone. "Hello?" She says groggily.
"Hi Lorelai, it's Logan, is Rory there?" He asks charmingly, as if nothing has happened. "We had a little fight last night and she's not answering her phone, I was hoping she's with you."
Lorelai's face contorts into an expression of sheer rage, one Luke recognizes and really, really tries to avoid being on the receiving end of.
"A little fight huh?" Her voice takes on the angry, flat tone she only achieves when she has passed hysterical and moved on to full on Emily. He can't help it, he winces. "A little fight sent my twenty-one year old daughter home in the middle of the night sobbing? A little fight kept her crying for four hours?"
"I'm not sure what Rory told you but it's nothing we can't work out." Logan attempts diplomatically.
"Nothing you can't work out? So I suppose that the fact you got your sisters bridesmaid pregnant is nothing huh? Let me guess you have a plan. You're going to raise it with Rory right? Make her deal with your drunken mistake. Or wait this is better you're going to forget it ever happened, send the girl some money and pretend your kid doesn't exist, after all you have plenty of that right?"
"So she told you," Logan states wearily.
"You bet your ass she told me. And if you ever come near her again I will kill you. Do you understand me? I will channel the woman in I Spit on Your Grave and believe me, I'll make what she did to the guys in that movie look like a freaking picnic in comparison. You stay the hell away from my kid!"
Lorelai punches the end button angrily only to have it ring again seconds later.
Luke reaches over takes the phone from her hands before she can further incriminate herself in a possible crime.
"Hello?" He sighs.
"Who is this?" Logan asks, confused.
"You can't talk to Rory," Luke spits, ignoring his question.
"Just for a minute," he pleads, surprisingly Luke with how sincere he sounds. "Please, I'm begging you."
"Call here again and I will not hesitate to drive to New Haven and kick your sorry ass." Luke hangs up the phone abruptly and this time it does not ring again.
"Thank you for that," Rory stands in the doorway timidly. "Both of you."
"Hi honey," Lorelai, greets her daughter worriedly, already reaching for a mug, "Did we wake you?"
"No, the phone did," Rory takes the mug and begins filling it with coffee. "Do you think I could stay here for the rest of the school year, it's only about a month and a half and I'll find something for the summer."
"Of course, whatever you need," Lorelai answers.
"Since your mom and I are getting married in June you could stay here, or at the diner if you want even," Luke suggests. "I mean since we'll be on our honey moon you can have the house to yourself."
"Thank you, I really don't want to move in with Paris again," Rory sips her coffee, the taste perking her up slightly. "I'm going to head back to school today, get all my stuff settled before I have classes tomorrow."
Rory thankfully finds Logan's apartment empty, allowing her privacy to pack up her things in peace.
After two hours, she has almost everything; clothes, books, pictures, toiletries, everything except the one thing she really wants. The Subsect.
"Oh you're here," Logan saunters in eyeing all the boxes. "Hey that's my book," he says grabbing The Collected Works of William Shakespeareout of one of the boxes.
Rory rolls her eyes. "Fine take it, it's not like you ever read it anyway. Speaking of books where is The Subsect?"
Logan tugs his hands in his pockets nonchalantly. "It's in a good place."
"Where is it Logan?" she demands, glowering.
"Why, will your boyfriend be offended if he finds out you lost it?"
"He's not my boyfriend, and you're the one with the baby mama so I really don't think you're in any position to be criticizing my friendships."
She leans down to peer under the bed, checking to see if the book slid underneath. "And by the way," she adds. "Don't think I'm stupid enough to think we were broken up when you got Gwen pregnant."
"We were," he defends evenly.
She stands up, brushing herself off. "That would make her nearly six months along. I saw her a month ago at your sisters wedding and she sure didn't look six months pregnant."
"I…it wasn't—" he starts. "It was just the one—"
"You know what Logan?" Rory interjects. "I don't want to hear it." Pulling her key from her pocket, she sets it with a clunk on the dresser. Her head held high, she picks up the last of her boxes and strides out the door leaving him behind.
A/N: I wrote this story a number of years ago, at the age of 17. I don't think it was bad work for a 17 year old, but age and experience have made me a better writer. For the past few days while laid up with bronchitis, I've been re-watching Gilmore Girls on Netflix and I was possessed with the desire to re-vamp this story. You will find that the story itself remains the same but I have changed the tense to improve the flow, added more action to the dialogue, and adjusted many minor details that shouldn't affect the over all plot.
I want to thank all of you who have continued read, review, and enjoy this story, even seven years out. I have always enjoyed and appreciated your comments. Please do let me know how you like the re-write.