A/N: Hey people, sorry this chapter took so long. I had a brain blank and finally figured it out. It doesn't start form where the last chapter ended. What happened will be revealed later on. Thank you to all my reviewers!
Disclaimer: (I think I forgot it last time) I do not own anything but my plot line
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Rory Gilmore was never one for surprises, and this one only deepened her dislike of them. There in front of her had stood Logan Huntzberger. It had been one week since Logan had showed up without notice and there had yet to be more than a few words spoken between them. The occasional "thank you" from him, or "here you go Mr. Huntzberger" from her was all that had been uttered. There was almost like an unspoken agreement between them not to let the memories of the past resurface; they had been dealt with before, and neither of them wanted to revisit the painful moments that haunted their memories.
Her keyboard was the only sound in the room at the moment; a barrier of silence had engulfed the nearly empty office. Most of the staff was currently peacefully sleeping, dreaming of wonderful memories, cuddling with loved ones, and tucking in their pride and joys; they were awaiting the new day. Rory was the exception. Currently twelve thirty in the morning, Rory remained furiously typing in her cubicle. Almost everyone one else had left, even Ryan who had retired early, for him, nearly an hour before. Two people remained silent with Rory.
One was Sharron, who was going over the layout again and again as she had been told to since the original layout idea was quote on quote "outdated and tacky...a disgrace to the paper…like a wart on a supermodel's face" according to Mr. Leonard, her editor. She lived in constant fear of her editor and since a quiet rumor had begun to spread that Rory and Ryan were dating, she rarely socialized with her in case she said something wrong and Rory reported her to Ryan. Mr. Leonard was one of the only ones who held the ability to fire anyone at anytime for any reason, as long as that person was not superior to him.
The other one was Logan, who currently sat at his desk, or at least the one they had stolen from one the lesser employees and appointed to him. It was a flimsy, standard issue desk with cardboard like legs that looked as if they had a hard time trying to just stay up not to mention try and support the junk that had accumulated on Logan's desk. His eyes darted over the entire year's issues, which was quite a few more than he had imagined, while sipping an impressively large cup of what one would presume to be coffee. He had chosen to completely ignore the fact that he had a history with Rory and treat her just like any other pathetic journalist hopeful who believed that they actually meant something to this company and couldn't be replaced by someone probably better or equal to them at the mere drop of a hat. Apparently his father's bleak outlook on the newspaper's staff had wiggled its way into his mind. This task, ignoring Rory and their past together, was becoming more and more difficult with each passing day.
Rory took a sip of the coffee in front of her and looked at the article on the screen in front of her; it was good, but not impressive enough. Of course how interesting could it be when she had no actual article or subject to write, but that didn't matter because she needed something to do with her time anyways. She sat back in her chair and mulled over the words in front of her; she could see the mistakes right away and knew this needed some serious revising. This was going to be a very long night ahead of her and she needed all the coffee she could get. With a final sigh, she set back to work.
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Logan tapped his pen against his desk; the faint clicking only served to agitate him even more than the number of articles in front of him. The only other sound he could hear from the office was the constant clicking of keys from one the other computers; he couldn't tell who it was but whoever it happened to be seemed not to have anything better to do on a Tuesday night, or Wednesday morning depending on how you looked at it, than spend countless typing away at 1 a.m. at the office. Logan's coffee had run out about fifteen minutes ago and he could tell that without a much needed caffeine intervention he would soon collapse of utter exhaustion.
He stood up and wearily began to search for some more coffee to quench his caffeine fix. The coffee machine was out of order, as was everything it seemed around here, but there seemed to be a slight aroma of coffee coming from the main office near all the cubicles. He had noticed someone in the layout room who seemed to doing anything to avoid him and the other person who remained in the office. Concluding the smell was probably originating from the unknown person in the main office, Logan figured it couldn't hurt to ask them for a jolt. Making his way towards the clicking of the keys, his mind didn't register the brunette hair that was peeking out from above the white sides of the cubicle. Leaning against one of the sides with his eyes desperately battling to remain open but losing terribly, he managed to conjure up enough energy to talk.
"Excuse me, but I was wondering if you could spare some of that coffee you have sitting on your desk," Logan asked, slurring some of the words due to his lack of sleep, "I am very tired and I need to finish this work so I need some coffee and I seem to have drank all of mine and…" he rambled on, the rest of his words became incoherent.
"Logan…" was all the startled voice uttered. Logan recognized the voice immediately; he heard it so many times before. Rory.
"Rory…I mean Ms. Gilmore, I'm sorry for barging in like this, and I'll just be going now," he stuttered, walking away from the desk as quickly as his exhausted body would allow.
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Rory just sat the quietly watching Logan curse himself as he ran away from her desk. He looked tired and stressed; the obvious pressure of his job was destroying the once joyous man that lived for partying and living life to fullest. Her eyes now were transfixed on where he was sitting; melancholy adorned his sleepless face and at that moment, he could have been mistaken for his father, sitting alone at a desk working until he couldn't anymore. She watched him reach down to one the boxes on the ground; he fished out a glass bottle filled with probably whiskey. Grabbing a short glass cup, he poured the liquor slowly. Rory couldn't look away; this was not the man she had fallen for, this was the man he had wished so hard not to become. She had seen he drink quite often in the office after hours, but never thought much of it. He just sat there holding to glass against his forehead, staring longingly into space. He had changed, and Rory saw it happening in front of her very eyes.
She stood up, realizing it was time to leave if she was ever going to be able to come again in the morning. Her eyes lingered on him; his glass had become empty and he was in the silent process of refilling his craving. Gathering her things, she strolled out of the office; she could tell he watched her as she did.
She got into her car, and drove home as quickly as she could. Unlocking her apartment, she made her way into the silent room; the only light that illuminated the space was the street lights from outside the window. From afar you could faintly see a full moon, although its brilliant light was deflected by all the smog that surrounded the city. Rory dropped her miscellaneous items on the glass coffee table; she sat down on the plush couch alone. Looking out into her empty, lifeless apartment, it reminded her of how lonely she was.
She made her way towards her bedroom, leaving the depressing living room behind her. Slipping out of her work clothes consisting of tweed slacks, a baby blue sweater, fitted jacket, and brown stilettos, she changed into an oversized Yale sweatshirt and blue sweatpants. Sitting on her bed she observed her room; it wasn't much but it felt homier than anything else had for quite awhile. The room was painted blue with coffee brown furniture adorning the room. Rory grabbed her favorite pillow and hugged to her furiously. She was alone and she always was going to be.
She swore to herself she would never resort to this, but the urge overcame her; the desire to drown her problems away was overwhelming. She reached shakily for an ajar drawer in her nightstand and pulled out a glass bottle. Unscrewing the cap, she took a long, deep swig from it. Tears rolled down her cheeks; her choking sobs reverberated throughout the empty apartment. Leaning down on to her pillow, she tried to sleep, but couldn't. Instead, she remained awake, watching the sunrise out her window; her tears reflecting the light resonating through the glass.
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Logan sat alone in the office. He other girl had left around the same time as her. He wished he wasn't sitting here right now. Everything had crumbled around him, and now he sat alone as the exact type of person he had tried so desperately to avoid becoming, but fate was fate. He was currently on his fifth consecutive glass of whiskey, and was contemplating just drinking form the bottle to eliminating the obstacle of accurately pouring the liquor in to the glass without spilling. He couldn't see straight and knew he should be getting home so he didn't look like shit in the morning, but he couldn't find his phone to call for a driver and he was definitely not driving himself home. This had become a constant problem; the old Logan wouldn't have allowed himself to get this drunk without knowing how to get home or having someone take him home. This drunk sitting at his desk was not him. The drink he had only indulged in for pleasure only two years before quickly became a drug used to drown away his problems. This indulgence became more and more common until it became an every night occurrence. Logan became addicted.
A loud ringing came from somewhere on the desk, disturbing his thoughts. Frantically searching for the source of the incessant ringing, he found his cell phone buried under a load of papers.
"Hello?" Logan slurred into the phone. You could tell he had been drinking heavily.
"Logan, thank god I reached you finally. Wait have you been drinking? Logan, talk to me please. Where are you? Please tell me. I am going to come get you. Where are you?" The voice on the other end of the line rambled on. She was persistent with her questions and seemed to show genuine concern.
"I'm fine," Logan managed to get out with only minor slurring, "Please don't come for me. I need to stay. I have to finish this work."
"Logan, where are you?" the voice asked again, more anxious this time.
"Goodbye," Logan slurred, then hung up the phone. Throwing his phone towards one of the walls, he took another giant swig. Laying his head against the stack of ever growing papers, he stared out his window towards the sunrise. The light began to pour through the glass. He sat there alone in his office.
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The new day had started; hundreds of employees strolled through the revolving glass doors of the New York Times. Men clad in fitted business suits and women in pencil skirts, blouses, and stilettos filled the marble lobby, crowding into the three elevators. Stopping at various floors, Rory finally reached the 17th floor, which happened to be one the main floors, and walked towards her desk. She was one the first people in the office besides some interns who decided to show up early so they could demonstrate how dedicated they were to they're jobs. Sitting down at her desk, something caught her eye; leaning backwards away from her cubicle, she noticed a hunched over figure at a desk. Logan still sat in the same position she had left him earlier, and with a whiskey bottle in his hand, he seemed to be staring out his window into the sun. Rory couldn't help but think about what would happen if he was found like this.
Getting up, Rory stealthily made her way over to him. He was half asleep and he had apparently succeeded in finishing the entire bottle. She tried pushing him to wake him fully up, but he only swayed back and forth a little bit.
"Logan…" Rory tried to whisper, shaking him more violently this time.
"Uh…" Logan moaned, trying to open his eyes, but finding the light form outside to bright for his eyes to handle.
"Logan, get up!" Rory said, pulling him up by his elbow. He tried to stand up by himself unsuccessfully, and collapsed back down into his chair. She sighed, offering him her shoulder to lean on so he could stand up. She pulled him out of his tiny office towards the bathrooms. Since no one was there she didn't care if she was currently in the men's restroom; she had to clean him up. She didn't know why she was helping him but she couldn't seem to stop herself. She couldn't stand to see him like this all drunk and disorganized.
"Rory…" Logan slurred, now looking directly at her. He was sitting on the counter staring back into her blue eyes. "Why are you helping me?"
This was more than they had talked in a long time.
"I don't know. Just be quiet and let me try to fix you up," Rory commanded, taking a paper towel and wetting it. She began to wash his tired face. Logan obeyed her request, just sitting there watching her help him.
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A/N: hope you liked it. Chapter 3 will be up soon I swear! Please review!
