April 2005

"That's what hurts the most, the lie!" Rory took a sip of her punch as Lane gesticulated wildly, telling her story about Zach sneaking off with Sophie, the music store owner. They were sitting in some lawn furniture in the yard of Old Man Twickham's house. Old Man Twickham had passed away recently, and the stately home had been turned into a museum; today was the grand opening. They were supposed to be inside getting the grand tour, but instead, Rory and her friends were outside, drunk on the Founder's Day punch which came free with admission. "Except for seeing him with that woman! That hurts most, more than the lie," Lane clarified.

"You'd think they'd stumble onto the truth. Just accidentally," Paris scoffed in solidarity, Lane nodding along in agreement. "Say something like two plus two equals four. Just because they say so many things just accidentally, that's like – man!"

"I know!"

"They just have to repopulate the species. You know? Just spread it around," Paris sneered, waving her hand around in a spreading motion.

"Oh, they like to spread it around, all right." Logan didn't even need to spread it around. The girls just lined up to get it. There was the girl he was with at the coffee cart the day they met. And another one he was kissing goodbye at the Yale Daily News. There was Whitney from Finn's party, and the girl on State Street. Hell, Rory had even seen him with two girls at once that night at the Life and Death Brigade event. She should have known better; she did know better. Yet apparently, Rory just couldn't resist getting right in line with the rest of the fawning females. What did she expect? That he wouldn't get bored of her like he did all the others? That he'd fall madly in love with her and give up his oat sowing ways? She was supposed to be smarter than that. And yet here she was, getting drunk and wallowing over the fact that a boy wouldn't call her back. She was pathetic.

"I bet you Doyle's spreading it right now," Paris chimed in.

Despite her own pitiful, spun out state, Rory felt the need to console her friend. "You don't know that he's spreading it," she said. A little willful ignorance never hurt anyone. Besides, it was technically true; they didn't know that Logan and Doyle were off spreading it.

Paris ignored her and instead focused in on her cup of Founder's Day punch. "This – is tasty…" she pointed at the red liquid with a giddy, drunken smile on her face.

Lane jumped up suddenly. "I've had it!" she exclaimed with determination.

"Had what?" Lane's whole body swayed and Rory wasn't sure if she was actually swaying because she was that drunk, or if it just looked like she was swaying because Rory was that drunk.

"I'm getting to the bottom of this!" Lane declared.

"Spank his bottom!" Paris' interjection came out slurred so that it sounded like 'bank his bottom.'

Lane didn't seem to notice. "He can't do this!" she insisted, pointing emphatically. "We're friends too, as well as lovers if we ever get married!" Rory watched as her friend stormed off, presumably to go confront her boyfriend. She wondered if Lane had it right—waiting until marriage for sex. Logan never would have even looked her way if it weren't for sex. Rory never would have gotten attached to a man she very clearly never should have gotten attached to. Then again, that didn't seem to be saving Lane from the same pain she and Paris were going through.

"She walks funny," Paris noted.

"I'm thirsty," Rory looked pensively at her rapidly emptying cup. "This punch makes you thirsty."

Paris sighed, standing up and setting her punch down "Where is the nearest bathroom?" she asked.

"No." Rory had a pretty strong feeling that a bathroom wasn't really what Paris was looking for. "Paris, no. Stay."

"I need to go to the bathroom," Paris explained like she was talking to a toddler, though the usual condescension in her voice was slightly muted by the alcohol in her blood.

Just because Paris spoke to her like she was stupid though, didn't mean she was. "You're going to call Doyle." She knew that's what Paris wanted to do because calling Logan was what she wanted to do. But they had to stay strong.

"What?' Paris scoffed, "You've got my cell phone." It was true, Paris had given it to her earlier to help avoid the temptation. But Paris had clearly realized the obvious work around to her lack of cell phone problem.

"We're low-tech here in the Hollow, but we do have payphones."

"I'm not going to call Doyle," she insisted.

"Yes you are."

"I don't even have money on me."

"Uh-huh," Rory nodded disbelievingly.

"Fine," Paris snapped angrily. She reached down and slipped off a shoe, throwing it dramatically on the metal chair, creating a clinging noise that pained Rory's drunken ears. "Take my shoes, okay?" Her sock came off next. Then her other shoe. "How far can I get without my shoes? Now, bathroom?" she asked slamming her last sock silently down for emphasis.

Rory pointed a shaky arm towards the town square. "Over there," she relented.

"I'll be right back."

"Good," Rory helped herself to another sip of Miss Patty's punch as she watched Paris storm off barefooted. She was all alone now and she suddenly felt even more pathetic than she had just moments ago. At least with Paris and Lane around, she wasn't the only one moping over a boy. She didn't get it. She didn't get what she'd done wrong. She didn't get why he'd stopped calling. Did he find someone better? More interesting? Smarter? Prettier?

Rory wasn't one who usually suffered from a crisis of confidence. And in her head, she knew it wasn't about her. This was who Logan was. He'd been upfront about that from the beginning. He wasn't a commitment kind of guy. He didn't want something; certainly not something serious. He'd gotten what he wanted out of her and now he was moving on. And she couldn't even blame him for it because it wasn't like she hadn't been a willing participant with all the facts. But still, she'd somehow managed to convince herself that what they had meant more, while simultaneously telling herself she was totally fine with being casual.

She sat on the lawn of the Twickham house, watching people walk by. She knew she should do something that didn't involve sitting around and sulking. She should get up and actually check out the new museum that they were there to celebrate the opening of. But she just couldn't manage to get excited about the underwear of the barber of the man who may have taught the nephew of Samuel Adams. All she could seem to care about was Logan…and how damn pathetic she was for letting him get to her like this.

She wondered what he was up to. Who he was with? She was probably gorgeous…and experienced…and fun. Rory downed the rest of her glass of punch and pulled her cellphone out of her pocket. She flipped it open and hit the speed dial. Speed dial…she had him on fricking speed dial. He'd usurped Lane in the number three spot, after only Paris and Lorelai. And Paris was only still there because they shared a room. She was pathetic.

The phone rang once before switching immediately over to voicemail.

"Hey, it's Logan. Leave whatever message you want. And if this is Finn? Buddy, your voicemail is full! Again! We're meeting at the Starwood, nine-thirty, then just club-hopping from there. There's eleven of us, so bring the Hummer. Don't be more than a half hour late, and erase those stupid messages."

A beep sounded in her ear and she hurriedly closed the phone. Crap! He was going to see that she called. And she didn't leave a message which meant he was going to know she hadn't had anything to say to him. That she was just calling to check up on him, or hear his voice or something. He was going to know what a pathetic mess she was. She reached for another glass of Miss Patty's punch and started chugging.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting shadows over much of the town. An orange haze was starting to appear on the horizon. Paris and Lane still hadn't come back, and in Rory's drunken state, she honestly had no idea how long she'd been sitting there alone, but she was tired of being alone, and she didn't feel so good either. She got up from her chair, abandoning half a cup of the lighter fluid Miss Patty called a cocktail. She figured she should find her Mom, and maybe head home; get out of the cold; cry in private. Damn…the last part might not be able to wait. She swiped at the tears that were coalescing along her lower lids.

She meandered her way around the Twickham house, looking for the familiar face of Lorelai, somehow winding up in the backyard in what appeared to be a workstation. There was a toolbox, and two by fours, and the bottom half of a mannequin.

"Rory?" She looked up at the sound of the voice, laying eyes on her ex-boyfriend.

"Dean." She replied, startled, and a little nauseous.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes raking over her in concern. She must have looked a mess. Her clothes were wrinkled and she was sure her hair was mussed up and her mascara was probably streaked down her face.

"I don't feel so good," she admitted.

"Here," Dean put a hand on her back and led her to the other side of the work bench, grabbing a bucket and turning it upside down to give her something to sit on.

"Thanks," she said as she wobbly lowered herself onto the makeshift stool.

"Of course." He held up a hand. "Wait one second." Dean scurried off, reappearing a few seconds later with a bottle of water. "Drink this," he told her unscrewing the cap and handing it to her. "It'll help."

Rory nodded, taking the bottle from his hand. She took a big swig, droplets of liquid, leaking out of the top and dribbling down her chin. She wiped the moisture away, disgusted with herself; no wonder Logan wasn't interested in her, she was gross.

"Better?"

Rory nodded. "A little."

Dean pulled up another bucket and turned it over, taking a seat across from her. "So, you wanna tell me what's going on?"

Rory shrugged. "I had a little too much Founder's Day punch."

Dean chuckled lightly. "I can see that. But clearly something led to the need to drink a beverage that could make an elephant keel over from alcohol poisoning."

"I don't want to talk about it," Rory pouted, crossing her arms over her chest and tuning her head away.

Dean nodded in understanding. "Have you had anything to eat?" he asked.

Rory shook her head. "My stomach doesn't really feel much in the mood for food right now." She chuckled drunkenly. "Mood for food," she repeated. "That rhymes."

Dean's eyebrows rose in a combination of amusement and concern. Which was understandable, he'd rarely if ever heard her turn down food. "Yes, it does," he agreed, his tone placating.

"I rhymed. I'm a poet and I didn't even know it."

"C'mon." Dean stood up and held out a hand for her. "You need something to soak up some of that alcohol." He helped her up and led her farther into the yard to a large shed. He pushed open the door and guided her in. The outbuilding had apparently been converted to a break room for the work crew.

"Sit," he told her, pointing to a blanket that had been laid out on the floor. She took a seat, tucking her limbs under her in a cross-legged position. Dean turned around, heading to a small card table in the corner of the room which was loaded with bags of chips and cookies. He picked a package of pretzels up and brought it back to her.

Rory shook her head, pointing back at the table. "Oreos," she demanded.

Dean pushed the pretzels towards her again. "These are better at helping you sober up."

Rory crossed her arms over her chest like a petulant toddler. "I want Oreos," she demanded.

Dean rolled his eyes but smiled, returning the bag of pretzels and switching it out with the Oreos. He took a seat next to her on the blanket, helping himself to a cookie before offering it to her. Rory took the package and plucked not one, but three cookies from the plastic tray. Setting two in her lap, she twisted apart the two cookie patties of the one she still held. She took the one with more frosting and brought it up to her mouth, licking at the cream filling with enthusiasm.

"Yum," she replied, her previous alcohol induced nausea quickly forgotten.

Dean chuckled. They sat in silence, enjoying their cookies. "I didn't know you were going to be home this weekend," Dean said after a while.

"It was kind of spur of the moment."

"Well, I'm glad you did. It's good to see you," he admitted, his voice soft.

Rory sighed. "It's not like I had anything better to do," she grumbled unhappily.

Dean let out a half-laugh. "Stars Hollow missed you too."

"Whatever, you know what I mean."

"So…no dates?" he asked cautiously.

Rory scoffed, shifting her legs out from under her and pulling her knees up to her chest. "Nope. Noooooo dates for Rory. Rory gets no dates. He's probably out on a date. With some other girl who gets to hang out with him and his friends in Finn's Hummer. That's because he's a no-strings kind of guy. But not me," she shook her head, feeling it wobble back and forth as she continued her rant. "No siree, I'm a girlfriend girl, apparently. I thought I didn't have to be, but apparently, I am. But he's not a boyfriend boy. Nope. Nopety nope. So he's out dating other people and I'm," she shrugged, throwing her hands out at her surroundings, "here."

Rory's eyes went wide as she realized what she'd just said. Dear god, she was an embarrassment to herself. She buried her face in her hands in mortification.

"Hey," she felt Dean tugging her hands away from her face gently. He guided her chin up so she could meet his gaze. "It's okay."

"Why doesn't he want me?!" Rory blurted out, throwing herself into Dean's arms, tears erupting from her eyes. "Why doesn't he call me? What did I do?"

She felt Dean stroking her hair as she sobbed uncontrollably with her head in his lap. After an indeterminable period of time, her sobs slowed down, and she sat up, wiping at her tear-streaked face with the back her hand.

"I'm so sorry," she shook her head, sniffling back her sobs. "I'm such an idiot."

"No," Dean assured her. "Any guy who doesn't want to be with you…he's the idiot."

"You didn't want to be with me," she reminded him. Obviously. He'd broken up with her not once, not twice, but three times. And two of those times had been in public. Once in front of Logan. She almost laughed at the irony of the fact that Logan had been there to help cheer her up when her relationship with Dean was ending. And now, Dean was here trying to cheer her up while her…whatever she had with Logan, was falling apart at the seams.

"I never didn't want to be with you," he assured her, his thumb caressing along her jawbone. "I just knew you deserved better. And you deserve better than some frat boy who can't commit."

"You wanted to be with me?" she asked, looking up to meet his eye. He was looking at her intently, in that warm, caring Dean way. In that way that made her feel precious and adored. God, how she needed that…to be adored.

"I never stopped wanting you," he admitted breathily, rubbing a hand gently up and down her arm.

She tilted her head up, leaning in slightly. She knew she was playing with fire. She knew this was wrong…on so many levels. She was doing it for all the wrong reasons. She was drunk. He was technically still married—not that that had stopped her before. But she didn't care. Dean wanted her. And in that moment, she wanted to be wanted. So she closed the gap and pressed her lips gently into his.

October 2005

"Stop!" Logan held his hand up, his eyes squeezing shut. He kind of looked like he was going to vomit. Which, considering she felt like she was going to vomit, was kind of a comfort. "I don't…." He inhaled sharply through his nose. "I get the gist; I don't need to hear anymore."

"Sorry," she said, casting her gaze down. She hated doing this to him, hated hurting him. She couldn't stand the wounded look on his face. It's why she'd taken the cowards way out and written him a letter. Well, one of the reasons.

"That was the only time?" he asked. A part of her smarted at the question; the implication that she'd done something wrong…that if she'd done it more than once it would have been even more wrong. And while it had been wrong—for her—she hadn't owed him anything at the time. As far as he was concerned, she was free to sleep with Yale's entire football team. He'd slept with plenty of other girls during that stage of their relationship, it was hypocritical of him to care. But still, she knew he was processing a pretty big shock right now, and she had screwed up in plenty of other ways that had led them here, so she decided to give him a pass and answer honestly.

She nodded her head. "It was comfort, nothing more," she told him. "And I regretted it as soon as I was sober enough to know better." She sighed, her eyes, flicking back up to his. "That's why I went down to your room the next day to end things."

"Wait!" Logan blinked silently at her for a few seconds. She could see gears in his brain moving, figuring something out. "This all happened the day before you came to my dorm room?" Rory nodded her head. "The day before we officially became boyfriend and girlfriend?" He repeated for clarification. She knew exactly where he was going with this. She reluctantly nodded her head again.

"So you slept with your ex once…" he stated slowly. "And then the very next day, you show up at my dorm."

"Yes."

"We agree to be exclusive…"

Her head bobbed up and down again.

"We get some lunch, you meet my sister, we go to a movie…" he laid out the timeline.

"That…sounds like the sequence of events," she admitted reluctantly.

"Right. Then after said movie, if I recall correctly, we went back to my place."

She glanced around, checking their surroundings to make sure they hadn't acquired an audience. "Yes."

"And…consummated our newfound relationship." She shrugged a single shoulder in lukewarm agreement. "Twice, if I'm not mistaken."

"I believe so," she admitted, gnawing at her lower lip.

"And then" he added, "We went out for dinner, and when we got back, we had sex yet a third time."

She crossed her arms, her feet shuffling with a combination of embarrassment and nervousness both at the fact that he was loudly announcing their sexual history in her place of work, and also at the confession she knew she was about to have to make. "That's right."

Logan's face was flushed with anger. He looked like the top of his skull was going to pop open and steam was going to start pouring out like it did in the cartoons.

"I know they've gotten pretty good at determining the age of the fetus these days, but you can't expect me to believe they've got it down to the minute now."

"Logan, I know what you're thinking."

"Yeah, because I'm not an idiot. For starters I can do math and know that three is more than one. Three times more than one, actually. Which means statistically this baby is three times more likely to be mine than his."

"No," she shook her head, "It's not."

"Well then, I assume you have the DNA test to prove it?" he asked challengingly. Of course she didn't. And he very likely knew she didn't. He knew there was no way she could afford that. Not without insurance.

"Logan, I know what this looks like, but I'm telling you, this baby is not yours."

Logan scoffed skeptically. "How can you possibly be so sure? Do you have ESP? Maybe you found out in a Tarot card reading? This isn't some game, Rory. These are real lives you're dealing with. You can't just decide what you want to be true and expect it to be gospel. So really, I'd love to hear how you can be so damn sure?"

"Because," she shouted, tired of listening to his sanctimonious soliloquy. "We were always safe."

"Excuse me?" he replied, staring blankly at her.

"We always used a condom," she reiterated. "It's rare enough for birth control to fail. But birth control and a condom? And I'm assuming yours weren't expired or some unreliable off brand…" she added pointedly.

That nauseous look was back on his face. "So you and him…" Rory nodded in conformation. "I didn't need to know that."

"Apparently, you did."

"Right," he swallowed uncomfortably, nodding his head. He looked straight at her. "So it's really not mine?"

"You're off the hook," she assured. His shoulders sagged in relief, his eyes drifting shut. Rory felt a pang of sadness. If only it was his, maybe everything could be different. But probably not. Just getting him to commit to her had been a monumental feat. Asking him to commit to a baby? Only a fool would think that would turn out in her favor. Still, seeing the relief on his face hurt more than it should. "I should get back to work." She pointed to the stacks of books, "there's new inventory to unload." She started to turn away feeling the tears welling up in her eyes.

"Wait!?" She gritted her teeth, steeling her face and turning to look at him once more. "That's it? You're just going to walk away again?"

"What else is there to say, Logan?"

"Are you kidding?" he scoffed. "You ran away. You got pregnant and ran away. Do you have any idea…?" he exhaled, bringing his hands up to scrub his face. "You don't get to just disappear on the people who care about you."

Rory's heart started pounding faster. People. He said 'people,' not just him. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know that they love you. I know that they're scared out of their goddamn minds. We all have been. You could have been anywhere. You could have been dead on the side of the street somewhere. You could have been kidnapped by human traffickers and sold into prostitution…"

She scoffed at that. "It's not funny. Do you know the lengths your family has gone to to find you? Richard and Emily hired a PI."

"If I wanted them to find me, they would have. And you can't tell them."

"The hell I can't."

"Logan, please," she was begging now. "You can't tell them." Her breath was coming faster, her chest felt tight, there was a buzzing in her ears. "You can't…I can't…" the words were coming out as gasps. She wasn't ready for this. She wasn't ready to face them. She clasped at her chest. She needed oxygen; there wasn't enough, but she couldn't seem to make the air flow into her lungs.

"Hey," she heard his voice intone; softer, calmer than it had been. He slipped his fingers into hers, squeezing her hand. "Hey," he repeated, using his other hand to rest on her cheek, guiding her face up to look at him. "Deep breaths," he told her. "In…and out… It's going to be okay,"

"No," she shook her head frantically.

"Yes," he said. "They love you. They'll just be happy to know you're okay."

"No," she gasped again. "Mom kicked me out just for telling her I wanted to take time off of school. What do you think she'd do if she knew I was knocked up?"

"Well, for starters, I think she'd understand why you wanted to take time off of school." He replied.

She shook her head again. "You don't understand; getting pregnant was the one thing you did not do. Not after what she went through. It's…the unforgivable sin. And Grandma and Grandpa? Do you know how ashamed they would be?"

"None of that matters, Ace. They don't care about any of that. You're the only thing they care about." He pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her. Their bodies didn't fit together the same way they used to but still, there was something familiar and comfortable about the embrace. Rory felt the full-on panic attack abating, but the tears were falling faster now. Soaking into the fabric of his sweater.

"Please, Logan," she begged again.

"It's okay," his hand was soothing up and down her back. "It's okay, Ace," he whispered softly. "We'll figure it out." She cried into his arms for a while longer before finally pulling herself together. She stepped out of his hold, wiping away the tear residue on her face.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You shouldn't…this isn't your problem."

"Ace." God, just hearing that name out of his mouth felt like coming home. But she wasn't home. She couldn't go home. There was no home left for her. His face fell as he looked down at his watch. "I have to get to Honor's shower," he informed her.

"I get it," she nodded in understanding.

"What time do you get off work?"

Her eyes popped up to look at him in shock. "Logan, no…that's…you should just go back to your life. Don't worry about me."

"I'm gonna worry about you, Ace. You're out here all alone. Living on a salesclerk's salary, unless you secretly won the lottery too?" He cocked his head to the side, giving her that grin that always managed to make her knees weak.

"I didn't win the lottery," she mumbled half-heartedly.

"Right, so then let an old friend take you out to dinner."

"Seriously, Logan, that's very nice, but very unnecessary." So why couldn't she stop the pitter patter of her heart that came from the thought of sitting across from him at a restaurant. It's not like it was a date. It was just a pity dinner.

"Actually, it is."

"What are you talking about?"

"If I'm going to keep this secret for you…if I'm going to lie to your frantic parents and grandparents, then at the very least, I'm going to need to know that you're alright. And that starts with going to dinner with me."

"Logan…"she protested again.

"That's the deal, Ace. Take it or leave it."

Her shoulders slumped, a huffy sigh escaping her lips. But inside, she'd be lying if she said a part of her wasn't doing cartwheels at the thought. "Fine," she agreed. "I'll take it."

AN: So I know a lot of you wanted Rory just to be lying and to have Mitchum behind her disappearance. But honestly, that story has been done before. I know many of you will be unhappy with the turn of events. And I think we all (myself included) were with Logan when he stopped her from giving anymore details about her encounter with Dean, lol. Anyway, despite all that, I'm asking you to trust me. If it helps at all, I will tell you that you shouldn't be worried about Dean. This story is not about him. So that being said, I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter, even if it's a hate review about how terrible Dean is (because he TOTALLY is.)