Five hours later, she managed to stumble out of bed, narrowly missing stepping on his head where he was sprawled on the floor. Cursing – at the thought of not hitting him or nearly hitting him, she didn't know – and moved to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

He heard her moving around in the bathroom and began to wake up, standing next to the frame, leaning on the door jamb. She saw his reflection in the mirror and raised her eyebrows at him, her mouth full of toothpaste. She spit it out quickly and turned to face him, grabbing a sweatshirt from the hook on the back of the door to cover herself in her tank top, and let her gaze dart back to him.

"You need to leave."

"I'll die if I go home. They'll kill me," he said with a face of mock seriousness.

"We can only hope," she grumbled.

"Now how would you feel if I died and this is how you acted to me in our last moments together?"

"Much better. And hey, I'd sleep through the night. Always an added bonus."

"Cute," he said.

She smiled at him and brushed by. "Seriously, you need to go. It's almost noon. If they find you here, it's my ass."

"Let me make it up to you. Meet me at the tree house in an hour," he said, walking to the window where she followed. She opened it for him, turning to her door at the sound of her mother's voice outside of it.

"Rory, are you up?"

She pushed him out the window faster than he was climbing. "Go! Uh, hold on, Mom, I'm changing. Logan, go!" Her voice dropped as the door began to open.

"One hour. Don't be late, or it will be your ass."

"Go!" She turned around quickly, pulling her window shut. "Was that someone's voice?"

"Oh, no, I just uh, turned off my stereo." She lied quickly, though she knew her mother wouldn't notice, let alone care, about the truth. "The last song on the CD so it turned off."

"Right. You're father and I are going into New York for the weekend."

Of course, she thought. It was Saturday morning. They'd come dragging themselves into bed Tuesday at dawn. Thank God for small favors. She didn't realize she had tuned her mother out oh-so-rudely.

"Did you hear me?" her mother asked impatiently.

"No."

"I swear, sometimes…I asked if you wanted to come with."

She laughed, moving to the bathroom. "No."

"Are you this mean purposely? Do you have some sort of sick pleasure in being a complete bitch to your mother?"

"You taught me how," she said, closing the bathroom door on her mother, sitting down on the toilet.

She turned on the showerhead and lifted her shirt over her head and stripped down to climb in the shower. She didn't want to go to New York with her parents, she didn't want to go see Logan in less than an hour. She just wanted to go to sleep for the weekend and not even get up for anything.

So that's what she did. She got out of the shower, put on sweatpants and a t-shirt, and climbed back into bed, leaving all the bedding that Logan had left on the floor there, snuggling under her down comforter, not calling Logan to tell him she wouldn't be there and not bothering to wake up when her mother came to tell her that she and her father were leaving.

--------

He had waited for her for about thirty minutes. He had gone straight home from her house after he climbed out the window, narrowly missing his mother, who had been on her way to the country club for Saturday lunch with the ladies. She would have yelled at him as much as his father did, just to show her husband that yes, she could be strict and disciplinary, thought it wouldn't affect either of them as much as she would want.

So, imagine his surprise when she wasn't at the tree house an hour later. Wasn't it true Rory fashion to be more than ten minutes early just to make sure she had the right time? Then he realized she wasn't coming, not at all.

So he took off for her house. Maybe she wasn't home, or she forgot, or hell, was passed out on the floor. Like he could really know. But if he knew her, it was probably that she didn't want to go, overwhelmed with parents and obligations to make and stupid, stupid society expectations.

Since he didn't know where her parents were, he was left no other choice but to climb back up the trellis that he had just descended less than two hours ago. He grumbled internally about the way his life was going – all of this…for a girl?

He pushed the window open and his face fell. She was…asleep? She was curled up on one side of her bed, covers wrapped around her body. He climbed through the window and moved to the bed and lay down, reclining back, his arms moving to cradle his head, his feet propped up on the end of the bed.

"You know," he said, "Some people use Saturdays as being productive."

"I am being productive," she mumbled. "Go away."

"You didn't meet me."

"I was tired, and I still am hungover."

"Well, then, I guess I'll have to just take you out now. Come on, get dressed."

"Go away," she repeated, burrowing down in her covers.

He smirked, "You know you want to come with me."

"No, I really don't. I do, however, want to push you out the window. Please go."

"Can I just stay here?"

"If you're very quiet, don't move, don't talk, just sit there, and let me sleep."

"That's a little harsh…and strict, and restrictive."

"Yes, well, it is my house and my parents aren't home, so technically, I'm in charge."

Why wouldn't he just go away? She wanted to sleep, couldn't he see that? It should have been obvious: here she was, in her bed, sleeping, when he decides to come and wake her up.

"Your parents left you here?" he asked, his eyebrows arched.

"They went to New York 'til Tuesday," she said tiredly, distractedly.

"And they just leave you here by yourself? An eighteen year old girl in a house by herself where there are so many people who just want to come kill you because of your last name?"

"Wow, thanks, Logan. That was really…helpful. I feel so much better now," she said sarcastically, rolling over to face him.

"I'm serious! Don't they know that's dangerous?"

"Your parents do it all the time! I hardly think it's uncommon."

"It's different for me."

"Look, I don't care, really. I'm glad they're gone. They can't bother me now. Can you just let me sleep and tonight, for dinner or something, I promise you can take me out somewhere?"

He looked down at her, already dozing off again. He brushed hair away from her face and she molded to his touch. "Sure. I'll be back later tonight."

"You can use the front door," she said flatly.

He laughed, "Okay."

He had just made it to the window when she called out to him. "Logan?"

"Yeah."

"Um, I lied. I really don't like being home alone. Will you…stay with me?"

He was wrenched back to his memories, that day in the tree house. Those three words are always bringing him back to her. Damn her, and her insistence to not be alone, but her desire to.

He smirked to himself, walking back to her bed. He toed off his shoes and took off his jacket, climbing into the bed next to her.

And this was how his Saturday was spent. He was already back in bed by two o'clock in the afternoon with a girl next to him, that unlike his usual bed partners, he knew and cared for.

A girl whose parents couldn't be bothered to take care of her, and he took it upon himself to do so. Yes, the boy who shirked all responsibility had made it his job, and his alone, no one else's – not Robert Carnegie's or anyone's – job to care for her.

What had he done?