Rory took a sip of apple juice as she watched Logan pace back and forth on the porch outside, talking to his mother, the dining hall being a little too noisy. She couldn't quite make out his impression nor the words, only really seeing the shape of his body in the dimming evening light. His body looked tense, making her apprehensive. She saw him disconnect the call and make another, continuing to pace. In the meanwhile their dinner was brought to the table. Rory considered for a moment whether she should wait for him, it surely would have been the polite thing to do, but the little inhabitant in her belly was starving yet again and she knew Logan really wouldn't mind. She began to eat, trying to go slow, still glancing towards Logan every once in a while. The warm and mushy mashed potatoes and fish croquette tasted divine, reminding Rory painfully how good a light white wine would've tasted alongside with it. For a moment her mind travelled elsewhere, trying to recall what it was like not being pregnant. She missed it. When she checked on Logan again, he was gone. A few seconds later he came through the door and returned to the table. His face was pale, and Rory could see a slight tremble on his hand.
"Everything okay?" she asked as she placed her utensils down.
"No," he replied weakly. It was as if the rest of the words were unable to leave his lips.
"I guess, we're leaving then," Rory said, raising to leave. It was clear he was in no state to enjoy his dinner, whatever it was. She threw a few bills on the table. "Come on," she said, dragging Logan by the hand outside.
It was only once they approached their car that Logan finally spoke.
"My dad was just found comatose in his study. I need to go to London," he said.
"What happened?" she asked, in shock.
"She's not really sure, the ambulance just got him," he replied. "Honor is organizing the jet to come pick us up at Hartford as we speak," he added.
"Come on, the keys, Logan, I'll drive you, you are in no condition," she noted holding out her palm after seeing the way his hands shook.
"We'll need to go by the house first, I need to bring some stuff," he added, finally snapping out the initial shock. He began thinking what he needed to bring. Laptop, chargers for sure. Change of clothes. Passport - must not forget that. Being practical - that he could do. He wasn't even sure how long he'd be staying.
"Do you need me to come with you?" she asked, as pushed the car ignition button and put the car in drive.
"You probably shouldn't be flying," he replied.
"Yeah, but do you need me to come?" she asked, driving off. Her doctor hadn't advised specifically against travelling other than just recommended to try to not sit immobile for extended periods of time, but she got what he meant. A cross-atlantic flight was no joke. If anything did happen she would never forgive herself, or if anything happened in London she could have been stuck there possibly for months.
"I'll be okay," he replied. Honor would be coming with him after all. "I need you here and safe," he added.
She couldn't help but to feel simultaneous relief and guilt. She wanted to be there for him, support him, but going into that world, she gladly avoided.
As Rory had dropped Logan off at the airport, the HPG jet already waiting along with Honor, who looked equally distressed as Logan, she returned to an empty house. The weather was ironically lovely that evening, unusually warm for the end of March, and even though it had already been dark for a while now, it certainly would've been one of the first nights they would've curled up in a blanket on their porch after their date. But life had happened. Despite the disrespect she had for Mitchum as a person, she didn't want to see Logan in that position. She could only imagine what she would've felt if it had been her father.
She sighed, stepped inside and switched off the porch light. There'd be other nights. Having hung up her jacket she pulled out her phone, and texted a simple: "I love you." There was little other she could do now.
The events had shaken up her as well, leaving her wide awake. She walked across the living room, taking a seat at her desk. She had her book to write, a post about Finn's latest hotel to comply but somehow they didn't seem urgent enough. She palm draw a few circles around her bump, receiving a little nudge in return. Then she noticed the pile of class assignments she knew Logan needed to correct. Cleary he wouldn't be doing that now. She knew his material, she'd proofread all of it a couple of times. Without further thought, she lifted the pile in front of her and opened her laptop, digging in.
"How is he?" Honor asked nervously as the skinny female doctor entered their private waiting room. Shira simply sat at an armchair, staring at the magazine in front of her, having popped another Xanax an hour earlier.
"My name is Dr. Shaw," she began. "As I told you mother earlier, your father has acute toxicity which caused him to slip into a coma. His condition is still critical," she said.
"But what caused this?" Honor continued, confusedly.
"The tox-screen showed Barbiturates and Benzodiazephine," she replied, seeing from their faces that they needed some clarification. "Barbiturates are most often sleeping pills like Secobarbital or Pentobarbital used for seizures. Benzodiazephine can be in the form of Xanax or Valium prescribed normally for…," she began, but was interrupted.
"Yeah, we know what those are for," Logan cut in, glancing quickly over to his mother.
"So wait, this was an accident?" Honor asked, not quite believing his father would make a mistake like that.
"We can't be absolutely certain, that's for the officers to decide," she replied, gesturing towards the two constables waiting at the nurses table.
So it could've been intentional. Or was it drug abuse? Logan thought, trying to go through every scenario he could think of, massaging his forehead. Either way it didn't seem like his father.
"What's the prognosis?" Logan inquired, to the point. He was careful of his tone of voice and wording, not sure what Shira's state was.
"It depends whether his condition stabilizes. Right now there is extreme strain on his lungs, liver and kidneys, but there are other minor issues as well. We are taking it hour by hour. You can go see him briefly, but I have to warn you there are a lot of tubes, he is not breathing on his own. We'll let you know as soon as we know anything more," she explained.
The doctor's pager went off the next moment. She checked it, and added, "Excuse me, I'll back back later," and stepped out of the room.
"Right, I'll go talk to the officers, then we'll go see him or you two can go in first and then I think one of us should take mom home," Logan noted, taking charge.
It only took him five minutes to get the gist of the process from the two female officers. They'd be in contact later, after having taken statements from Dr. Shaw. Apparently someone had already been over to the house and talked to the staff and an initial statement had been taken from his mother.
The private ICU room Mitchum had been placed in seemed completely unnecessary. After all the person in question was completely unable to appreciate the wood panelling and the view overlooking a park. Mitchum laid there lifeless and if it wasn't for the heart monitor that beeped on a steady pace and the gushing of the ventilator, he would've been. To Logan, his cheeks looked skinnier, as if he had lost weight. He didn't want to be in that room. The mixture of emotions he was feeling was too raw, too complex, to deal with just then and there.
Shira had barely peeked through the door, until she broke down. "I can't do this," she sobbed, turning to leave. She'd already been in the hospital for hours, and was probably tired, clearly unhinged.
"I'll go, I'll take her home. Are you okay with staying for a couple of hours?" he asked Honor.
Honor nodded, taking a seat next to Mitchum.
After helping his mother to bed, closing her bedroom door behind him, Logan took a deep breath before checking his messages. There was no update from Honor. His inbox was already overloading with urgent messages and briefly he considered it'd be a good distraction from what was going on. But first he needed to call Rory. That thought was the only glimmer of light he had at that moment.
"Hi," she answered at the first ring.
"Good to hear your voice," he said, a lump forming in his throat.
"How are things?" she inquired carefully.
"Critical, apparently an overdose of sleeping pills and Xanax or something similar," he replied, swallowing.
"Oh," Rory said. She really wasn't sure what to say.
"They don't know if it was intentional," he added, quietly. Somehow with the word overdose people seemed to assume that.
"Anything I can do?" Rory asked.
"Just take care of yourself. I might be here a while, I don't really know how long until I can get things sorted. Mom's a mess, I might have to see what's going on in the HPG even, I need to check in at least," he said, already feeling his world swirl out of control.
The thought of Logan staying in London, while probably not indefinitely, but still for an unknown period of time was frightening to her.
"I graded your assignments," Rory added a little smugly, hoping to brighten his mood a little. It was such a minor detail in the midst of all this. But she knew it'd be one thing off his list.
He could picture her smile as she'd said that. It made him smile briefly as well. It was his Ace alright. "Thank you," he said.
"I sent you the results, it was pretty straightforward," she added.
"I called work already, Harold will be taking over the day-to-day stuff for now, I'll do the last few classes by Skype if I have to," he said, practically. The long plane ride had enabled him to think at least some things through.
"That's good," she replied, trying to appear hopeful.
"I'll call you tomorrow, alright?" he said. He could've lingered on the line with Rory for hours, even if just silently. But there were things that needed to be done.