AN: This is the longest chapter of anything I've ever written AND there's smut...you're welcome ;)

May 2005

The sounds of laughter and life filled the air around her as she made her way down the dock. There was joy, and celebration, and promise of a brighter future. But not for her. Apparently the bright, promising future she'd always dreamed of had been just that, a dream. She wasn't destined for greatness. She wasn't even destined for moderate success. As it turned out, she was destined for nothing more than mediocrity. Her future was going to be exactly what she spent her life avoiding; she was going to wind up alone, back in Stars Hollow working at the bookstore and wondering where she was going to get the money to pay the exterminator to get rid of the termites. But that was the future and she didn't want to be thinking about that yet. For now, she just wanted to pretend it wasn't happening.

"Hey!" Logan looked away from the stunning, giggly blonde he was emersed in conversation with. They had both been leaning against the railing of the yacht, quite comfortably lost in conversation. "You're here early!" He smiled down at her.

"I guess." Clearly he wasn't expecting her; he was looking way too cozy with the girl with the perfectly sloped nose and the smile so white you could almost hear the cartoon 'ding' that accompanied the sparkle.

Logan looked at his fancy watch. "Way early. Did you skip your dinner?" She had, in fact, skipped her dinner. She couldn't face her mother and grandmother just yet. At least her grandfather was out of town. It was too much—even without telling them; just knowing the disappointment she was about the rain down upon them. There was no way she'd be able to look them in the eye. And so, once she'd been able to stop crying in the bathroom at work, she'd touched up her concealer and lipstick, donned the dress she'd brought for Friday night dinner, and let her hair out of her ponytail. She got in her car and before she knew it, she was pulling off the exit in Bridgeport instead of continuing north up the 9 to Hartford. If anyone knew how to live in the moment and not think about the future, it was Logan. He would make her forget. He would make her feel something other than despair and desolation. He would make her happy—even if only for the night.

Only there he was, with another woman, looking perfectly happy himself without her. And Rory couldn't help the pang it caused in her heart. Just one more ding in a day full of painful dings. Then again, maybe that was for the best given the circumstances. "Come down here, so I don't have to yell," she waved him to the dock. He excused himself from the blonde and made his way off the boat until he was standing right in front of her.

"So, there she is."

"Who?" Rory asked. Was she supposed to know who that model-esque woman he was talking to was?

"The boat," Logan clarified. "Calling them 'she' is one of those fun nautical traditions."

"Right," Rory nodded dourly. "Something sexist in that, I'm sure."

"I'm sure," he agreed placatingly. He reached his right hand up to cradle her face and leaned in for a kiss. His lips felt slightly chapped, likely from being out on the boat in the brisk spring air for the last couple hours. Still, the rasp of his lips against hers sent a wave of serenity over her. It passed as quickly as it came. She immediately wondered how many more of those kisses she had left to enjoy and she instinctually pulled back. "So, how'd you get away?" He asked.

She pursed her lips together, "I don't know," she shrugged, looking away, "I just got away."

"I'm glad."

"So, who is she?" she nodded towards the schooner behind him.

"Who?"

"The girl on the boat," she huffed.

"Okay, I'm sorry, we were just calling the boat a 'she.' I'm a little bit behind but I'm catching up. She's a friend of my sister's."

"Well, I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

"You weren't interrupting anything." He shook his head as though the mere notion of him flirting with another girl was ludicrous. As though flirting with girls wasn't the number one skill on his resume.

"Looked like I was," she snipped back. She knew she was being ridiculous. Even if he was flirting, it was just flirting. He was clearly happy to see her. But she couldn't help but be angry. She was angry at the world. And Logan being happy that she had shown up unexpectedly was only making her feel worse. He'd changed for her…and how did she repay him?

"I've known her forever," Logan assured her.

"Well, I didn't mean to pull you away." She wouldn't be pulling him away for much longer. She should just let him go flirt. Let him go be with other girls. She should just let him go. But she didn't have the strength yet. She needed him that night. She needed just him…not him and a pretty blonde and a whole boat full of his sister's friends. She certainly didn't need to risk running into Mitchum Huntzberger.

"We were just talking," Logan insisted in that tone of voice that was somehow patronizing and sexy at the same time. The one that made her feel ridiculous for doubting him. "Me, her, and her husband. If you want, I can have them pull out pictures of their two-year-old. Ben has them in his jacket pocket," he patted his own suit jacket.

"Do you even want me here?" A part of her hoped he'd say no; that he didn't want her there. That there were a dozen other girls on that boat that he could be with and he was done trying to be a boyfriend. She didn't know if she could take another rejection today, but at least if he cut the cord, she wouldn't have to. She'd already lost everything, she didn't know if she had the strength to let him go too.

"Ace, I invited you here." He pulled back, looking at her through narrowed eyes; half annoy, half concerned.

"Right. On a Friday night, when you knew I couldn't come."

"It's my sister's party. I didn't pick the night."

"Traffic sucked getting here." She wasn't even being subtle about wanting to pick a fight now. She was just looking for any reason to blow this whole thing up.

"Sorry, but I can't do anything about the traffic either," he looked around the dock. "Can we just, um –" he pointed down a ways, away from the crowd. He placed the smallest of touches on her back, leading her to an area where they could talk alone.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked.

Everything. Everything was wrong with her. Her whole life was wrong. She'd picked the wrong dreams, she'd made the wrong choices, she'd slept with the wrong man. It was all wrong, and it all led her here. "Nothing. I…" she sighed. "I'm just in a weird mood."

"I'll say."

"I'm sorry," she bounced slightly, trying to fend away the chilly evening air…and the anxiety. "I just – can we go somewhere else?"

"What?" She knew she must sound insane. They were at his sister's engagement party. She couldn't just ask him to leave. But she needed to leave. She needed to be somewhere else. Somewhere away from…everything.

"Let's go somewhere else. I don't really feel like being around people."

Logan sighed. "Okay, name it."

"Will your sister mind?"

"I've been here for an hour and a half, I've talked to everybody. My duty is done. Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know. Somewhere. Far." She inhaled deeply, looking out at the wide-open waters. "Out there."

Logan looked around in confusion. "Where?"

"Out to sea."

"Out to sea?" He looked at her, completely perplexed and a little impressed.

"Yeah." She felt suddenly lighter at the thought. Being out there on the Sound, the salt-water air lapping against her face and coating her lungs. The lights of town far behind them so that nothing could mute the magnificent Milkyway above them. Out there, she was sure her problems would disappear. "Let's take that fancy-pants yacht of yours for a spin."

"Tricky, since it's about to head out with all of my sister's friends on it," he reminded her.

"Oh," her heart sank. "Well, don't you have another one?"

"Not here."

"Well, where's the other one?" Once the idea had manifested in her mind, there was no stopping it. She needed this.

"Far away," Logan informed her. "Let's just drive somewhere. Let's go to New York."

"I don't want to drive." Crowded streets, stuffy city air, traffic. It was too much, it wouldn't work. Only by escaping everything, could she escape her totally crappy day, and the consequences she would have to live with forever. But if she could just get away from them, just for one night, maybe she could learn to live with it. Maybe, if she just had this one memory, it could sustain her through the rest. "I want to be out there, just the two of us. Alone."

"Well –" he shrugged, clearly not having a solution for her. But Logan always had a solution, a way to make the impossible possible. That's why she'd come to him.

"You know the beginning of 'Moby Dick,' when the narrator says that when he finds himself growing grim about the mouth and wanting to knock people's hats off, he takes to the sea?" She explained.

"Yeah." He was looking at her intently, he's eyes alit with amusement. She knew he saw the solution. They both did. But he didn't think she had the courage to go through with it. She wasn't a 'throw caution to the wind,' kind of girl. But that was the old Rory, the one with hopes and dreams, and plans. That Rory was gone now. This one had nothing left to lose.

"Well I feel like knocking people's hats off," she told him resolutely.

"So I guess we gotta take to the sea," he surmised. He was giving her one last out, but she didn't need it…didn't want it. She looked up and down the dock and the myriad of sea vessels that surrounded them.

"That one looks good." She pointed to a fancy looking yacht a few Kropogs down the way.

"Yeah."

"Nice and seaworthy," she prodded. He still wasn't convinced.

"Not ours to take."

She knew he didn't care. This was the man who made a habit of 'trading' rich people's things when he visited their homes. The man who kidnapped her and took her blindfolded to the woods. The man who gambled away thousands of dollars in a single hand. He didn't care about consequences. And tonight, either did she. "That ever stopped you before?"

He looked at her, a knee-weakening smirk on his face, then glanced down towards the boat in question again. "I think I've been a bad influence on you, Ace," he said with a sigh and a nod of his head.

She had him. "Let's go, Huntzberger." She touched his arm.

He inhaled deeply. "Let's go," he agreed and, twining his fingers through hers, they turned away from the party happening behind them, and ran for it.

Rory watched as Logan pulled on a rope, his entire body leaning back against the tension. He'd shucked the jacket of his Brooks Brother's suit almost immediately as soon as they'd left dock, the outboard motor taking them safely away from any prying eyes before attempting to raise the sails. His purple striped Oxford shirt was half untucked from his trousers, the sleeves rolled up, the top buttons undone, the muscles of his broad shoulders straining against the fabric as the mainsail rose into the air.

Rory tucked the blanket they'd found in a storage bin underneath the bench seat tightly around her legs, pulling her feet up further underneath her as she stared at her boyfriend with hungry eyes.

"You could help, you know," he suggested as he tied the rope in place. "I still need to get the jib up." He turned to look at her with a pointed gaze.

"Why would I do that when the view from this seat is so nice?" she replied playfully, batting her eyelashes at him.

"Of course," he rolled his eyes as he walked over to the helm to turn them out of the headwind. "What was I thinking? But maybe you could at least go check if there's anything to drink while I finish up here? The galley should be down below." He pointed to a set of stairs. "Most likely place they'd keep it."

Rory's smile faded slightly. He wanted her to find them something to drink. She could pretend she couldn't find anything, but on a boat like this, it would probably be a little bit of a hard sell to convince him there was no alcohol on board. And he'd probably wind up going to check himself. He certainly wasn't going to buy that she wasn't in the mood for a drink, not with the way she'd acted back on the dock. If she didn't partake in at least some libations, he was bound to know something was up.

Of course…it wasn't like she even knew what she was going to do. She still had her options to consider. And at this early stage…In fact, she thought she'd read somewhere that a glass or two of wine was okay on occasion. So she'd just nurse the drink as slowly as possible, make it seem like she was having more than it appeared. Nurse, what a strange choice of word to use. She shook the thought away to concentrate on the matter at hand. If her plans went right, she was quite certain it wouldn't be long before she'd have Logan well distracted from paying any attention to the state of her glass.

"Anything in particular you want?" she asked, getting up from her seat. The blanket in her lap tumbled to the ground but she pulled the one draped over her shoulders more tightly around her.

Logan shrugged. "Whatever they've got that can get us drunk."

"Right," she nodded as she made her way towards the galley. As she walked past him, she felt his fingers curl gently around her arm. They were cold to the touch, but they still sent a jolt of warmth through her. He pulled her body in to his, placing a lingering kiss on her lips before letting her go.

With a forced smile, she made her way down the stairs through a swinging door into a small kitchenette. The door swung shut behind her and she collapsed against it, her heart thudding in her chest. And it wasn't because they were currently joyriding in a five-million-dollar yacht. She brought her hand to her stomach, her fingers whispering softly over the fabric.

She bent her neck, her gaze falling to her midsection. She should have known something was amiss when her last period was super light and only lasted three days instead of the usual five. But apparently, she was an oblivious moron. Which only further served to prove that Mitchum Huntzberger had been right this afternoon when he told her she didn't have what it took to be a reporter. If she couldn't even put together the clues to tell she was pregnant then what made her think she could break true, hard-hitting stories? And yet here she was, six weeks along by her count. After all, there was really only one time it could have happened. One time when she'd let her guard down. And it wasn't with the man standing on the other side of the door currently committing a felony just to cheer her up. She wondered if this would be easier if it had been him. But she knew it wouldn't be. Dean was the commitment guy, the family man, the one most likely to know how to change a diaper. Logan was the fun guy, the life of the party, the one most likely to be horribly maimed in a sky-diving accident. If she told him she was having his baby, he'd take this yacht and sail it to China to get away from her.

And yet he was the one she loved. Loved?! Dear god, had she really thought that? She couldn't have, it must have been the hormones. It was just her body's primitive endocrine system telling her to lock down a mate so she had someone to keep her and her baby from getting eaten by a mountain lion. It was way too soon for her to be feeling love.

Logan was fun; he was adventurous, and kind, and he had this way of making her feel alive. That's all it was supposed to be—exciting and causal. A chance to stop being so serious about everything. She needed that after spending her freshman year in a man-less funk, locked in the library, and spending the little free time she did have covering for Paris' affair with a sixty-year-old professor. She needed that after breaking up Dean's marriage and then jumping straight into something serious with him just to try to justify their actions.

And now, here she was, staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, looking at a life of single motherhood. Dean would probably ask her to marry him, but she couldn't do that; she didn't love him. Besides, how long before she resented being forced to live the life of a small-town wife whose husband worked three minimum-wage jobs just to pay the bills?

But those were all concerns for tomorrow. Tonight, she was still that girl that Logan helped bring out in her. Tonight, she was still adventurous, and exciting, and free. She pushed herself up off the door and entered the galley, opening cupboards and searching through them for the liquor. She found the stash in a lower cabinet to the right of the sink. There was scotch and gin, and rum, and pretty much every other kind of liquor you could think of. She pushed the bottles aside, finally coming to find a bottle of malbec in the back. That would do, wine was definitely safer than the hard stuff. After a short search through a couple of drawers, she'd secured a bottle opener and two glasses.

She made her way back out onto the deck just as Logan was neatly winding up the edge of a rope which she presumed was the jib sheet based on the brief tutorial he'd given her when they'd first climbed on board.

"Hey," she announced her presence and Logan stood up to look at her. She'd readjusted the blanket around her shoulders so she wore it like a shawl. Rory held up her contraband. "I come bearing alcohol."

"Wine?"

"Mmmhmm," she confirmed. "A 1999 red something. I bet it's very oaky and corky and full of fruity legs."

His lips curved up into an amused smirk. "Know a lot about wine, do you?" he teased.

"Not so much," she confessed. "But it was there, and it seemed more romantic that the tequila, so…"

"Romantic, huh? Is that the vibe we're going for on this crime spree?"

Rory squared her shoulders, her jaw jutting out with determination. "Like Bonnie and Clyde," she answered.

"Well then, Miss Parker," he replied, talking the bottle of wine and the corkscrew from her. "What other heists did you have in mind for us?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I just thought for now we could enjoy this one before we started planning the next."

He popped the cork out of the bottle and Rory held the first glass out for him, letting him fill it generously with the burgundy liquid. "You, Rory Gilmore, not want to make a plan? You're feeling very 'of the moment,' these days, aren't you?"

Rory shrugged as she switched the glasses, letting him fill the second one. "Just call me Miss Spontaneity."

Logan looked around for a secure place to set the bottle down, then returned to take a glass from Rory, helping himself to a large dreg of the liquid. They were standing near the helm and Rory wiggled her way between him and the wheel, her back pressed up against him. She ran her free hand over the sleek, polished wood. "So," she started, "how does this work?"

"The steering wheel?" he asked, and she could hear the amusement in his voice. "You turn it, it steers the boat."

"Show me…"

She felt his hand run down her arm until it was resting directly on top of hers. He took a step closer so that she could feel him pressed right up against her ass. "Well," he said, "the helm attaches to the rudder under the boat. If you want to turn to the port…" his hand clamped tighter around hers, guiding it down, "you turn the wheel to the left…"

"Port?"

"The left side of the ship."

"I actually knew that," she told him. "I just like when you use sailor speak."

"Sailor speak?" he repeated.

"Uh huh." She leaned her head back against his chest.

"Like starboard, helm, jib?"

"Mmm, and ahoy, matey…plank."

"Is this a sailboat or a pirate ship?" he laughed.

She didn't answer, she just turned around to face him. "So, just how much attention do you need to pay to steering the boat?" she asked.

Logan shrugged. "I set the autopilot," he informed her.

"Good," she bit her lip coyly, her hand running down the exposed portion of his chest looking up at him through her eyelashes. She let the blanket fall from her shoulders.

She heard him exhale, his eyes stared intently back. After a moment, he took a step backward, swallowing half his wine in a single gulp. He grabbed Rory's still full glass from her. "I think it's time we got rid of these," he replied, taking them both and walking a few steps away to set them in the glass holders built into a table on the deck.

Rory followed, coming up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist. "Have I said 'thank you,' yet?"

He turned around in her arms. "For what?" he asked.

"For…" she held her arms out gesturing around her, "this. For our grand boating adventure."

Logan shrugged. "I'm sure you could find a way to show your appreciation," he replied with a smirk that made her pussy quiver with desire. A part of her knew it was wrong—to sleep with him when she knew it was over. But she didn't care—she'd already done all sorts of wrong things tonight. And right now, all she wanted was to feel…to feel the way that only he could make her feel. To feel powerful and in control, instead of like the inept, hot mess she apparently was.

"I'm sure I could," she agreed, tugging at the section of shirt that had yet to come untucked in all his pulling, and hoisting, and unfurling. Once the fabric was free, she started in on his belt buckle.

"Ace," he said, reaching down to stop her motions. She looked up at him questioningly. "Do you want to talk first?" he asked.

"No."

"Are you sure?" he questioned. "Because I assure you, I am all about the pants removal portion of the evening, but you seemed kind of upset before."

She looked straight into his gaze, her blue eyes steeled with determination. "I don't want to talk." He nodded, removing his hand from hers and she wasted no time in tugging his belt free and popping the button of his slacks open. His hand reached around her, searching for the zipper of her dress, but she shrugged him away. "Not yet," she informed him. Her hands grasped the waist band of his pants, pushing them down off his hips along with his boxers.

"Jesus, Ace" he breathed out. She'd only done this for him a couple times before. Once for his birthday shortly after they'd first started the 'no-strings' phase of their relationship, and again after he'd gotten a good grade on an exam she'd coerced him into studying for. She'd never gone down on Dean. She still felt a little insecure about it…amateurish and bumbling. But Logan had never voiced any complaints, and the look on his face currently…she didn't think he had any now.

She turned her attention away from his face and back to the semi-erect member between his legs. "Looks like we're at half-mast now, Captain," she stated teasingly. "Let's see what we can do to get you to full-mast."

"That shouldn't be hard," he assured her.

"But you should be," she grinned. She ran a finger down his length. Her right hand wrapped around the base of his shaft and stroked upwards. She heard him grunt in pleasure as she applied just a tiny bit of pressure. He grew harder.

She remembered reading something about the perineum in a magazine once. What was it again? The area just behind his testicles? She used her index and middle finger to stroke it lightly. She heard a very encouraging sound emanate from his lips and his body weight shift backwards, seeking support from the table behind him.

"God that feels good."

"More?" she asked.

"Fuck yes." She increased the pressure, massaging him there and stroking his cock once more.

She felt his hand go to the back of her head. He fumbled with the clip that held half her hair back, finally releasing it so he could tangle his fingers properly in her locks and guide her head down to him.

She trailed her tongue tentatively around his head, flicking softly at the frenulum. She recalled from last time that he liked that. His hips bucked upward, confirming her memory was correct.

"That's good?"

"So fucking good."

"What else?" she asked.

"I…" he gasped, "my balls," he prompted her, reaching his own hand down to find hers and guiding her to the desired location. She cupped him, squeezing lightly as she continued to lick his dick.

"Ace," he chanted. "Please…"

She took him into her mouth finally, sucking gently while her right hand continued to grip the base of his penis, guiding him into her. He thrust forward, his grasp in her hair tightening to the point just between pleasure and pain as he writhed under her ministrations. She took him in deeper and his hips continued to buck up towards her mouth and soon he was giving one last strangled moan as he spilled out into her, filling her mouth with the warm, salty taste of him.

"Holly fuck, Ace," he breathed as his muscles slackened. She pulled herself off of him, searching for somewhere to empty the contents of her mouth. Her eyes landed on the wine glasses on the table above and she pulled one down, spitting into it. She stood up, ridding herself of the glass once more. And at least now she had a good reason for not drinking the contents.

He grabbed her arm, pulling her into his body. "That was amazing," he whispered.

"Yeah?" she smiled, her eyes twinkling at her triumph. At least there was one thing she was good at today.

"Oh yeah," he assured her. He reached up, smoothing out the hair that was no doubt all askew from his fingers. "But let's not forget about you." He reached around her again, this time succeeding in finding her zipper and pulling it slowly down her back.

Rory shrugged out of the dress, letting it slip down her arms. She was in a plain beige bra and a pair of navy-blue bikini briefs. Nothing fancy since it was the same as what she'd been wearing under her work clothes at the paper earlier. Still, Logan let his eyes rove over her with the same look of lust he'd have had if she were wearing that one light blue, lacy Victoria's Secret set she'd bought just for him. She wondered how much longer she'd be able to elicit that look from him. Not that she'd ever find out, since this was likely the last time they'd ever be together. She didn't want to think about that though. She just wanted to enjoy the moment, the hunger in his eyes, the feel of his skin against hers. "You are so beautiful," he told her, leaning in to place a kiss on her collar bone, his hands roving up and down her side. "Wait here." He turned and walked away for a moment, leaving her there in her underwear, the cool wind lapping against her skin. He picked up the blanket she had dropped earlier and returned it to her, then he headed to the storage bin they'd first retrieved it from and pulled out several more. He laid a couple on the deck. "Lay down," he instructed her.

She hesitated for a moment, but then did as he said, taking a seat on the blanket bed and laying back, the cashmere throw that had been wrapped around her falling open so he could see her once again. He kneeled down, straddling her, his body hovering over hers. "I'll keep you warm, Ace," he promised, bending down to press his lips into hers, his tongue teasing at the seam until she opened her mouth to let him in. She still had the taste of him in her mouth and she wondered if he could taste it too as his tongue plunged inward to frolic with hers. She squirmed in delight as his hand found its way to her boob, massaging her through her bra. When their lips finally separated, he smiled down at her for just a moment before diving in again, this time kissing the tops of her breasts. He nipped and licked and sucked as he made his way down her body, his lips traveling over her rib cage and down to her belly. She tensed momentarily, her eyes squeezing shut. She noticed him pause in response, so she inhaled deeply, then attempted to breath out the tautness of her muscles. It must have worked because his lips started back up again, creeping lower and lower until they were just above the waistband of her panties. She lifted her hips and he pulled the material down her legs, tossing them to the side.

He repositioned himself, his hands unfurling over her hips, trailing inward over the soft flesh of her upper thighs and pushing them apart. She propped herself up on her forearms so she could look at him. His tongue darted out of his mouth, licking his lips ravenously as he took in the sight between her legs. He was practically drooling as his thumb caressed over her slit. She fell backwards once more. A moment later his nose was pressing into her and then she felt his tongue drag along her center.

"Have I ever told you that I love the way you taste, Ace?" He hadn't. In fact, she was quite certain that was the first time he'd ever used the word 'love' in respect to anything specifically about her. She knew it wasn't the same as him actually saying he loved her. And she was grateful for that. But there was still a pang of sadness at the knowledge that he loved anything about her when she knew what their future held. But the sadness was gone as soon as she felt him helping himself to a second serving of her. Her hips bucked upward in pleasure.

He continued to lap greedily as she squirmed against his ministrations, her hips lifting to meet him. "Fuck, Logan," she hissed in pleasure.

He took her left leg, lifting it and draping it over his shoulder. She felt his fingers spread her apart before his tongue finally plunged inward.

"Oh god," she moaned. The pleasure mounted as his tongue continued to do things her mind couldn't even put words to. "Logan, please." Her hand found its way into his golden tresses as her hips bucked up.

He inserted a finger into her, then two. His digits slid in and out of her. "God, yes, yes, yes, yes…." She chanted until finally she burst, wave after wave of pure bliss passing through her as her muscle contracted, throwing her body into a strange series of contortions. Once her orgasm had ended, she felt Logan crawling up the blankets and settling himself next to her. He threw a blanket over both of them and she snuggled into his side.

"We should spend every night naked on a boat doing that," she suggested. It was a pipe dream, she knew, just like her dreams of making it as a journalist. But right now, she just wanted to pretend it was all going to be okay.

"I concur." He wrapped his arm around her, rubbing his hand soothingly up and down her back.

They laid like that, just entwined in one another for Rory wasn't sure how long. She stared up at the twinkling starlight up above. "I think that's Pisces," she pointed off to a cluster of stars in the western sky. "Isn't that your sign?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "Your birthday is in October. What sign is that again?"

"Libra," she told him. "But the constellation is in the southern hemisphere. You can't see it."

"Well, Finn has been bugging me to go to Australia…" he said. "Maybe we can plan a trip." It was a flippant remark, she knew. He wasn't actually suggesting they plan a trip. But still, it made her uncomfortable. "Look, Cassiopeia," she pointed out. "That's my favorite." She was just about to start regaling him with the story of Cassiopeia when a loud, high pitched chirp cut through the otherwise silent air.

"Shit!" he sat up suddenly as the siren continued to blare. He scrambled for her dress, throwing it her way.

"Crap," she said, as she pulled it on. "Crap, crap, crap." Just when she thought things couldn't get any worse, it looked like she would be adding a criminal record to all the ways her life had spiraled in the last 24 hours.

October 2005

Rory pulled back the curtain she'd hung around the clothes rack she used as a makeshift closet in her otherwise closet-less, Mission Hill studio apartment. Staring at the sparse contents, she willed something to magically appear. It was useless though. She hadn't worn anything that didn't have an elastic waist band since her stomach had started ballooning out like an inflatable raft two months ago. There were a few pair of sweatpants, a small array of long and short sleeved t-shirts, and a couple cozy cardigans—all from the thrift store. The two pairs of work kahkis she'd purchased from the maternity section of Old Navy were probably the nicest thing she owned. Or at least the nicest thing she owned that still fit her. The pre-pregnancy clothes she had managed to take with her—the ones she hadn't already brought back to Stars Hollow before her mother kicked her out—were neatly folded in clear plastic bins underneath the tiny twin sized bed that was located about six inches behind her.

Not that it would typically matter that her clothes sucked. What did she need nice clothes for? She worked full time at the bookstore, plus any over time she could get, and another 15-20 hours a week babysitting for some of the kids in the apartment building—she figured she could use the experience, what with the future that awaited her; and she sure as hell needed the money. The only other place she went was the doctor, the grocery store, and this studio apartment. There wasn't the time or energy in her life for anything else.

She'd been insane…insane to tell Logan she'd go to dinner with him. If only her baby bump hadn't turned her fastest possible gait into nothing more than a sluggish waddle, maybe she would have been able to get out of there before he realized it was her. Then she wouldn't be in this predicament. Of course, she knew that was a foolish notion; the second their eyes had met it was all over. What had he even been doing there in the first place? He said he was in Boston for Honor's wedding shower, but what were the chances he'd walk into her bookstore? It couldn't just be a coincidence; did he know she would be there?

It didn't matter; what mattered was that he knew she was there now. So she'd had no choice but to say 'yes' to his dinner invitation. If there was any chance of keeping her family from finding out where she was—and her family couldn't find out—then she needed to convince Logan to keep her secret; that, or she needed to run away again.

She knew it made no sense—her aversion to going home. Logan had told her they wouldn't care; that they'd just be happy to know she was alright. And on the outside, it would seem that way. The only problem with that was that she wasn't alright…she was pregnant. And sure, those two things weren't mutually exclusive—not for everyone, at least, but they were for her. And they were for her family. And so, yes, they would still love her, and they would help her and take care of her and the baby. But it wouldn't be the same. Nothing would be the same—the specter of her own untimely conception would hang over her forever. She was supposed to have more, supposed to do more, she was supposed to be the great, shining hope for the Gilmore family. And if she went back, she would forever have to live with the fact that she threw it all away. That she'd failed to live the life her mother gave up for her.

And so she couldn't go back. She'd spent her entire life trying to live up to the expectations her family had for her. She'd spent her entire life trying to be the perfect daughter and granddaughter. She'd spent her entire life trying to prove that she deserved to be born. That had been hard enough—living up to all those expectations. But not living up to them? That was way worse. There was no way she could go back to that life knowing that she was a disappointment and a burden. And they were better off not knowing too. Her mother was better off not knowing all her sacrifices were for nothing and her grandparents were better off not having to go through the shame and humiliation and scandal of having a granddaughter who'd followed in her mother's footsteps. It was better this way. Now she just needed to convince Logan of that.

But how was she supposed to convince him when she had nothing to wear to go see him? In other circumstance showing up to the restaurant naked might have done the trick, but alas, she was pretty certain she couldn't rely on her sex appeal these days. She placed a hand on her protruding belly as the stress, combined with the fetus compressing her internal organs, triggered an excruciating bout of heartburn.

She reached for her cellphone sitting on top of the microwave which sat on top of the minifridge which doubled as a nightstand. It was actually quite convenient when her swollen feet ached too much to move after a 12-hour shift at BeanCity Books. Flipping the device open, she hit the speed dial and let the phone ring.

"I have nothing to wear," she stated as soon as the person on the other end picked up.

"Don't you have tonight off? I thought you were planning to stay in and watch that Buffy marathon on TBS while stuffing your face with cookie dough."

"Well, plans have changed," Rory stated as she got down on her hands and knees to pull a clear plastic container out from under her bed. Maybe something in there could still fit her.

"Did you get a job?"

"No, Jo," Rory huffed. "I didn't get a job, I got found."

"Found?"

"Found!" Rory repeated meaningfully.

"Ohhhhhhhhh!" There was a pause on the line. "Your family?"

Rory sat back, leaning against her bed for support, her knees pulled up to her chest. "No," Rory replied softly. She buried her face in her hands, willing back the tears. She'd done an excellent job the last few months of not thinking about them. Of not thinking about her old life at all. It was just too painful. It hurt too much to think of everything she'd lost. Only now, one of those lost things had turned up again, which would be great, except that she knew she couldn't keep it. After tonight, he'd be gone again. She didn't know how she'd be able to go through that loss all over again. "Logan showed up at the bookstore today."

"Logan!?" her friend exclaimed. "Like rich, sexy, yacht stealing ex Logan?"

"That would be the one."

"Wow," Jo muttered in surprise. "How did he find you?"

"I don't know!" Rory had been unable to stop asking that question all afternoon. How had he found her? But the truth was, he'd seemed just as shocked to see her, even before he'd laid eyes on her baby bump, as she'd been to see him. She didn't think he'd been expecting to find her there. "I don't think he did. I think…I think it was just a coincidence."

"Hell of a coincidence," Jo breathed out.

"Yeah, and now he's insisting on taking me to dinner. And Logan doesn't do McDonalds. He does swanky five-star restaurants where the appetizers cost more than my weekly paycheck. And I don't think my secondhand yoga pants and my pregnant pickle t-shirt will be welcome at Chez Fancy."

"Did you tell him he's not the daddy? Because that could eliminate your dinner dilemma."

"I told him!" Rory exclaimed, throwing her head back against her bed, banging it repeatedly against the bed frame. "I told him and he still insisted I go to dinner with him."

"Wow. Impressed."

"He's just being…I don't know…Logan." Logan was a perennial gentleman. It was bred into him to take care of a lady.

"Well, I mean…do you want to go to dinner with him?" Did she? If nothing else, it would be nice to eat a meal that didn't come out of a box or a can.

"If I don't, he'll tell my family where I am."

"He said that?! What kind of jerk blackmails you into a date?"

"First of all, it's not a date. It can't be a date; I'm having someone else's baby. You don't go on dates with men you broke up with via letter after finding out you'd been knocked-up by someone else. And second of all, it wasn't like that." Logan hadn't been a jerk, he'd been…amazing. He was just trying to make sure she was okay, like that night on the Coast Guard ride back to Bridgeport. He made sure she knew what to expect, he gave her his blanket to make sure she stayed warm, he assured her it would all be taken care of. "He was…" Rory sighed. "I broke down into a blubbering mess when he brought up my family, I made him swear not to tell them and…"

"And…" she could almost hear the anticipation in Jo's voice, could almost see the way she leaned forward expectantly.

"And…he held me and comforted me. And then he asked to me to dinner. I told him that wasn't necessary, he didn't owe me anything, but he said if he was going to keep my secret for me, then he needed to make sure I was okay."

Jo sighed audibly over the phone line. "You know I'm not usually a romantic, but from what you've told me of this guy…why did you break up with him again?"

Rory glared at the rack of clothes in front of her and even though Jo couldn't see her, she knew she could tell. "Oh, right," her friend said. "Knocked up…someone else's baby…kicked out of your house, yada, yada, yada…"

"What am I going to do, Jo?"

"I don't know," her friend replied, Jo's voice serious once more. "I mean…maybe it's time."

"Time for what?"

"Time to go home."

"No," Rory shook her head, pushing herself up to standing once more. "Uh-uh, no way," she began to pace. "I can't, you know I can't. They can't find out about this…"

Jo was silent on the line for a few moments. "I think I have a dress that might fit you," she finally sighed. "It's nothing super fancy, but it's got an empire waist and an A-line skirt, so it's pretty forgiving. It might be a little big in some spots."

"I'll take it. Whatever, it's got to be better than the pickle." Jo laughed. Her friend loved the pregnant pickle shirt. Rory had found it at Good Will. It had a picture of a pickle with a protruding belly licking an ice cream cone, and above it were the words 'what else would a pregnant pickle eat.' For some reason Jo found this hilarious.

"What time are you meeting him?"

Rory glanced down at her watch. It was just after 5:30. "7. I've got about an hour before I have to be out the door."

"Okay, finish showering and stuff, I'll be there in about 20. How's your make-up situation?"

Rory glanced over at her bathroom. She knew what was in there. She had a stick of concealer, some powder, one lipstick and a tube of mascara that was well past the date it could be used without fear of pink eye. "Not good."

"Right." She imagined her friend nodding. "I'm on it."

"Thank you, Jo," she gushed profusely. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

AN: So there you have it...another chapter. I'm having a lot of fun writing this one. New stories always get me excited. I hope you're enjoying it just as much. Please, please, please, let me know what you think in a review. I love to hear your thoughts, even constructive criticism.