Title: Sunflowers

Summary: "I'm tired of living in some Tim Burton acid trip of a parallel universe where money and cars and big names impress me." Rory doesn't exactly flounce to Logan's bedside after the accident.

Notes: I found this one on my computer a few days ago! I should really keep track of these things, huh? I began writing it before 6.19/6.20 actually aired and left it unfinished. But after a little TLC, I think it is now ready to be presented to the outside world. Please review!

- - -

Worry receded into anger as soon as she hit the freeway.

After she got the call, she felt her heart fall into the empty cavern where her stomach should be, as her stomach itself crawled up into her throat. Any and all thoughts of her drunken and heartbroken mother dissolved at the words accident, air lifted and hospital.

Hospital, for Christ's sake.

So she left. Without giving it a second thought, she left her drunken and heartbroken mother with her father – a man who, surprisingly, was not the cause of this onset of drunken heartbreak, but, still, a man who couldn't be trusted to not take advantage of the situation.

She almost didn't care. Regardless, she didn't care enough to stay.

Panic crested and descended as the speedometer ticked from 50 to 60 to 70 to 85 mph, just a little over the limit. She noticed her mind clearing with the added speed, so she continually increased the pressure until she was standing almost upright on the gas pedal.

The fog broke then. 91, 92 and bam! Calm down. Sit back. Ease on the brake.

87, 86, 85.

Rage began to blind her then, replacing the haze of concern.

He did this. This little stunt was of his own volition. No freak accident, no unforeseen glitch, no unavoidable twist of fate.

How selfishly stupid could one person possibly be?

- - -

She had five hours to seethe before she was actually able to see him. Five hours to turn the situation over in her mind, five hours to sit and wait and stew as her anger came to a boil and proceeded to simmer over.

Her body language alone caused his defenses to solidify before her eyes. He tried to talk his way out of it, twisting her words and altering his, tiding her over with I'm hurt Ace I'm sorry Ace This is not my fault Ace.

"No, this is my fault," she realized. "I mean, I got back together with you because you said that we weren't broken up – that it was just something you told Honor to get her off your back. Then, I find out you were sleeping around, and you cover it by saying that we were on a break and you had every right to spread your seed around all of New Haven because you were upset. And I fell for it. Both times. So, pick one, Logan. Pick a story."

"Ace-" he began in that patronizing tone. That soothing tone. That mock-sincere fucking tone that made her want to punch him.

"Pick a story!" she screamed back, hands clenched, fingers digging into the palms.

Logan paused for only a moment, speaking slowly and clearly. Confidently. Not resigned, as she would have hoped. "We were broken up."

"Fine," she nodded. "We were broken up." Shaking her head, she added, "Unbeknownst to me."

"Damn it, Ace-"

Her hand flew up, halting the words and leaving them to linger in mid-air. "Don't call me that."

"Ror-"

"Don't call me that, either. Don't call me anything. You have no right to speak to me."

"I honestly don't see where this is coming from," he shook his head, eyes pleading with hers, begging her to be reasonable, Rory. "We had a fight, and I-I overreacted, yes. We were apart. I drowned my sorrows in booze and women; I've always done that, it's a habit and you know it. And for the first time, that wasn't working and I missed you and I made an effort – an honest effort – to get you back. I'm sorry that I wasn't forthcoming with all of the details, but I didn't want to cause you any unnecessary pain."

"Unnecessary pain? An honest effort?" She spat the words back in his direction with the most loathing she'd ever felt for one singular person. "You sent me flowers. None of which were my favorite flower, because I'm sure you don't know what that is, but nondescript flowers that I'm sure you didn't even pick out yourself with notes attached that I know you didn't write yourself. You paid a man with a coffee cart to stalk me, and when that didn't work you resorted to stalking me yourself."

"I was trying to show you how much I cared."

"By waving your money in my face? God, I thought it was sweet. I really did. I thought, 'Wow. He's going to all this trouble for little ol' me. I must really mean something to him.' But you didn't go to any trouble at all, Logan. You swiped a credit card. Your daddy's credit card. There was nothing honest or sincere about it."

"I'm sorry that you suddenly don't appreciate my shows of affection, but people with a little extra in the bank tend to share it with those that they love."

Love? What was love, anyway? Jess's disappointed and acquiescent face flashed before her mind's eye. She did that to him. For what? For Logan? For this?

"You know how I want someone to show me how much they love me?" she started, voice cracking slightly. "I want them to sit down and take the time to make me a simple pendant bracelet because it proves that I'm worth the time. Or, I want them to rent a movie that I hate, but compromise by letting me order the food that I love. I want Oliver Twist and 22.8 miles and picnic baskets."

An 'okay, you've lost me' look graced his features and she stopped, recounting what she'd just said. Realizing the gravity of her words, she retreated from his bedside, making him grown smaller against the stark, stiff sheets with each step. Surprised by her sudden outburst, she took a moment to compose herself (not sure exactly what it all meant, yet completely certain at the same time). Her jaw worked thoughtfully and the last words came out as a whisper. "I want simple days where all we do is sit around reading or watching reruns of Reno 911. I want someone who knows me."

His eyes rolled up into his head and he let out an angry growl. "I do know you."

"No, you don't."

"I may not know your favorite flower, but I know you! I know that you love coffee!" he gestured wildly, not understanding why this wasn't working. "That's why I sent you that fucking coffee cart!"

"Everybody knows that. God, you don't get it."

"I can do all that stupid stuff, Ace."

"It's not stupid to me!"

He recognized that she was bordering on hysterical and decided to take a gentler route. "We have plenty of time to learn everything about each other. That's what being in a relationship's all about. We're supposed to…to grow and learn together."

"You've never even made an effort. And I…I'm not this person. I'm not this girl. I'm not impressed by Porsche's and secret societies and cottages at Martha's Vineyard. I'm not impressed when guys drop names left and right like they're hot shit, especially when the name is their own!"

"This is a pretty sudden shift, don't you think?"

"I think that this…" she motioned between his and her bodies, "this train wreck of a relationship, has run its course."

The vein in his neck pulsed. An eerie quiet hovered over the hospital room, a striking contrast to the reverberated shouts that overwhelmed the space just seconds before. "Don't say that, don't say things you don't mean," he ordered, matter-of-factly. "I need you right now, Ace."

"No you don't-"

"Yes, I do!"

"What about what I need?" she retaliated. "I sure as hell don't need this! Jesus, Logan, you could have died and I don't…I don't need you pulling stupid pranks like this. I don't need hospital rooms and ambulances and Nurse Betty calling me on a regular basis to inform me of your latest self-inflicted injury."

"This was an accident! This is not going to happen again!"

"What if it was me, huh?"

Completely unaware of what she meant and completely certain that she had lost her mind, he bit back, growing angrier at her by the second. "What do you mean?"

"What if I got into a car accident? Tomorrow. What if I died tomorrow, Logan?"

"Jesus, Rory." His eyes bulged and he made a vertical sweeping motion with his hand, at a loss for how to respond to that.

"Life is too short for me to be playing house with you! I'm tired of living in some Tim Burton acid trip of a parallel universe where money and cars and big names impress me."

"Fine," he ground out, just wanting her to stop yelling. He lifted his head from his hands, meeting her gaze. "If that's how you feel, fine. Go. I'm done."

"Oh, don't act like a martyr, Logan."

"I'm sorry. Please, tell me how I'm supposed to act!"

"You know what? Act however you want. I don't care anymore."

And with that she left him broken, alone and in shock without even an inkling of guilt or remorse.

Instead, she had something else – someone else, rather, nipping at her conscience.