AN: Sorry this chapter took so long. Besides the fact that I've had a lot going on work wise, and I wanted to finish RLH, this chapter was just really hard to write. I know you've all been waiting for their dinner "date" and I just really wanted to get it perfect. I'm not sure I quite accomplished my goal, but hopefully it's still good. And also the flashback scene deals with a pretty sensitive topic too, so I wanted to make sure I handled that appropriately. So anyway, here it is, please let me know what you think.

May 2005

The building was a strange mix of materials; concrete and metal, and brick, and glass all meshed into one surprisingly bland feat of modern architecture. Blue banners hung along the side, and a large, blue plaque with a familiar logo was mounted near an entrance with a sloped awning.

A half a dozen people were congregated on the street outside with signs that had blown up pictures of fetuses and said things like "Pray to End Abortion," and "Abortion is Murder."

Rory's heart fluttered apprehensively in her chest. She would need to walk past them to get inside. Would they talk to her? Throw things at her? Touch her? Maybe she should just turn around and go. She wasn't even sure what she wanted to do yet. She was just there to find out all her options. But even if she did want to get an abortion, who the hell were these people to tell her what to do? They weren't in her shoes. It wasn't their bodies that were going to have to grow a human being inside of them. If she didn't want to do that, that was her prerogative.

Besides, she didn't know where else to go. She hadn't thought that far ahead. She hadn't had a plan at all other than to get away where no one could find her. She didn't even know where she was going when she threw the last few bags of clothes and toiletries from her dorm in the back of her car and drove it away. She'd just driven aimlessly until she'd passed a small car lot offering to buy cars for cash. There had been a few hundred dollars in her bank account that she had emptied when she'd passed a drive through ATM, but that wasn't going to get her very far for very long. She needed money. So, she pulled into the lot and an hour later, she was in a shuttle to the bus station. Even then, she didn't know what would come next, where she would wind up. She had just looked at the board listing all the places she could go, and the next thing she knew she was on a bus to Boston.

It was weird, not having a plan. Rory had never in her life not had a plan; she was a planner. She planned her schedule down to the minute, she made meticulously crafted pro-con lists, even movie nights were carefully thought out so that one movie flowed seamlessly into the next and stayed on theme. And then, in just a few days a horrible amalgamation of events conspired to blow all her plans to hell. She had no more plans…not plan A, not plan B, not even a plan C, D, or E. There wasn't a back-up plan or an emergency plan. There was nothing; just her alone with no one she could count on.

So, she'd decided to give up on plans; she'd figure it out as she went. It wasn't even until she'd disembarked at South Station that she bothered to think about her next step. She had no job, nowhere to live, and an embryo whose cells were dividing more and more with every moment. How was she going to support herself, let alone a baby? Did she want to support a baby? And that was when she had seen the ad. "Planned Parenthood: Care. No matter what."

And so, here she was standing on the corner across from the clinic. She figured they had to have a lot of experience with women in her situation; and not just physically either. They might be able to help her figure out where to find a place to live and a job. They could help her. And so, as the little white stick figure appeared on the crossing signal, she steeled her shoulders, grabbed the rolling suitcase that contained all of the possessions that weren't in the knapsack on her back, and crossed the street.

"Murderer!" someone shouted.

"You don't have to do this. God still loves you," someone else said. A pamphlet was being thrust into her face. Rory waved it away, her eyes trained on nothing but the doors that were still about ten feet away, until finally she saw a woman in a blue apron approaching out of the corner of her eye.

"I'm a volunteer with Planned Parenthood," she said in a calm voice. "I'm going to escort you into the clinic." Rory nodded, tears welling in her eyes. She took a shaky breath.

"Abortions give you cancer," someone else yelled.

"Just keep listening to me. You don't have to pay any attention to them," the volunteer continued to speak. Another hand was thrust into her line of sight holding another pamphlet. "You don't have to accept that," the calming voice of the escort said. They'd finally made it to the door and the volunteer pulled it open for her. She entered the building and as the glass swung shut behind her, the voices mercifully disappeared.

She followed the signs to the stairwell and down a level, stepping out onto the worn grey carpet of the waiting room. Vinyl chairs in a variety of obscenely bright colors like sunflower yellow and fuchsia lined the walls. Her eyes scanned over the fellow occupants of the room; a middle-aged black woman, a white teen and her mother, and a Latina girl who looked to be about her age. At the far end of the room, behind plexiglass dividers sat the receptionist.

Rory made her way to the desk. "Hi, I um….I need…" she bit her lip, looking around nervously.

"Are you here to see a doctor, hun?" the woman asked.

"Yeah," Rory nodded. "I, umm… I need to discuss…"

"It's okay, you don't need to tell me if you're not comfortable. Do you have an appointment?"

"No, I uh," Rory shook her head. "I didn't know I needed one."

"That's alright," the receptionist looked down, clicking a few keys on the computer. "We can get you in to see the doctor today."

"Good, umm, thank you," Rory stuttered, shuffling her feet nervously.

"We're just going to need you to fill out these forms." The woman behind the desk picked up a clipboard and passed it through the window and we'll need a copy of your ID and your insurance card if you have one.

"My ID?" Rory asked, feeling the same tightening in her chest she'd felt a little while ago standing outside the clinic. She couldn't give them her ID. And she definitely couldn't give them her insurance information. She was still on her Mom's insurance…the insurance that she got as part of the Inn's group plan for the Dragonfly…the insurance that her grandfather had helped set up through the insurance company he owned. Giving her insurance information was a giant neon arrow pointing her family to a Planned Parenthood in Boston.

"Yes, a driver's license or a passport, even a student or company ID is okay…so long as it has your photo on it."

"But, I…what if I don't have one?" she squeaked out, pressing her hands to her stomach.

The receptionist looked up at her with a sympathetic smile on her face. "What's your name, honey?" she asked.

Crap, she hadn't even planned on what to call herself. "Umm…Leigh," she said. She regretted it the moment the name escaped from her lips. She couldn't come up with anything better than her middle name?

"Well, Leigh, I promise you, we take your privacy very seriously. No one will find out you were here." Easy for her to say, she'd never seen her grandmother try to weasel information out of her DAR friends, watched her mother flirt her way into getting proprietary information from a gay man, or heard her grandfather's deep, booming voice trying to intimidate some poor Joe into sealing a business deal; their powers of persuasion were unrivaled.

"I umm, I don't have any ID on me," she reiterated. "Can't I just…talk to someone? I can pay out of pocket."

"We can't provide medical services or advice without proper medical records. But I assure you, you have nothing to worry about."

"I just," she shook her head, backing away from the desk, "I shouldn't have come, this was a mistake…"

"Leigh," the woman called as Rory turned her back and beelined it back across the waiting room to the stairwell. She was halfway up the stairs when she heard another voice.

"Hey!" It wasn't the receptionist this time. "Leigh." She kept moving, her suitcase clunking up the steps behind her. "I can get you an ID." Rory stopped on the landing and slowly turned around. It was the Latina girl; the one from the waiting room. Her curvy body was dressed simply in a pair of skinny jeans and a black tee and her hair was cut into a sleek, asymmetric bob. She was standing at the bottom of the steps looking up at her. "I um…I may have overheard you," she admitted.

"You were listening to me?"

The girl shrugged. "If you're aiming for stealth, you may want to keep your voice down." She made her way up the stairs so she was standing on the landing with Rory. "I'm Jo, by the way. And you are… Leigh?" she said, eyebrows arched in suspicion, making it clear that she didn't buy the fake name for a minute.

"Yeah," Rory nodded. "Leigh."

"Well, Leigh, like I said, I can help you with your ID situation."

Rory looked at her warily, "You make fake IDs?" she asked.

Jo laughed. "No, I'm not quite that…recalcitrant." Recalcitrant; it was an awfully big word for some dangerous vagrant or gang member or something.

"So, you want me to pay you to get me an ID?"

"Wow," she laughed, "you really know how to make a girl regret offering her help."

"I'm sorry, it's just…you don't even know me."

Jo looked her up and down and Rory felt her hackles rise. "I know you're scared. I know you don't want anyone to know who you really are. And I know you're all alone at a Planned Parenthood carrying around suitcases full of belongings, which means you probably don't have anywhere to stay."

"What does it matter to you?" Rory asked stiffly, pulling her shoulders back defensively. There was something about the way this girl saw so much that made her feel instantly defensive and yet somehow at ease. It was a dichotomy she couldn't quite wrap her head around.

"Let's just say…" she placed her hands on her stomach. "I thought I could use a little good karma." She looked up at Rory. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't feel guilty about my choice. You gotta do what you gotta do, right? but I guess, I don't know...maybe I feel a little guilty about not feeling guilty; you know?"

"So you're here for an…"

Jo cocked her head to the side matter-of-factly, "abortion," she confirmed with a resolute nod.

"Oh."

"Aren't you?"

"That's…to be determined," Rory admitted.

"Right, because teen, runaway pregnancies always turn out so well."

"I'm 20," Rory defended. As though the eight months since she had been a teen really made all the difference. "And besides, my Mom made it work with me when she was only 16."

"And yet here you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, just…maybe you could break the cycle."

"Now who's being judgey?" Rory asked. "Just because I'm taking the time to consider my options?"

"Sorry." Jo held up her hands. "You're right, it's none of my business. Guess I just thought you might be going through the same thing as me."

Rory shrugged. It would be nice to have someone who understood what she was going through. And whether or not she decided to keep the baby, at least this part Jo could understand. Still, the girl made her kind of nervous. "So," she said shuffling her feet. "The ID?"

"Right," Jo said. "I take it you have money?"

"Money?" Rory mentally envisioned the rather large money order tucked away in her back pocket. The one she'd gotten for trading in her Prius. She needed to put that somewhere safe…soon. "I heard you tell the receptionist you could pay for the visit. I might not charge, but the guy I know is gonna."

"Guy?" Rory asked, her mind suddenly filling with images of back alleys and some large, burly dude loaded with tattoos and piercings. Despite her recent run-in with the law, Rory was hardly a hardened criminal.

"Relax," Jo chuckled. "He's a mechanical engineer major at BC, not a member of MS-13."

"MS what?"

Jo laughed again. "You're a little sheltered, aren't you?"

Rory paused as a wave of nostalgia passed through her.

Come on, you look like you need a little adventure.

What does that mean?

You're just a little sheltered

"You're not the first person to tell me that," she confessed.

Jo let her eyes lower to Rory's abdomen. "Let me guess…Daddy?"

Rory bit her lip. "Sadly, no."

"Right, well," Jo pulled a piece of paper and a pen out of her purse and scribbled something down. "Meet me at Fitzpatrick Hall on the BC Campus at 6 and we should be able to catch him. He might know of someone subletting an off-campus apartment too. Spring semester just let out so that's in your favor." Jo looked behind her back at the clinic waiting room. "I gotta get back before they call me in."

"Are you…today?" Rory asked.

Jo shook her head. "First appointment. Based on what I read, they won't let you do it on the first appointment if you're more than eight weeks."

"Oh, well, umm… Rory twiddled her thumbs nervously. "Maybe when it is time, if you…you know…need someone to keep you company or something." She wasn't sure where the invitation had come from, it had just bubbled up from inside her and floated off her lips. But this girl was helping her out, for no reason other than just wanting to help. And she was here going through all this alone too. Besides, it couldn't hurt to have a friend.

Jo smiled up at her. "Yeah," she nodded. "I definitely think I could use some company."

October 2005

The ice cubes clinked together audibly as Logan swirled the otherwise empty tumbler glass in his hand.

"Refill?" the bartender asked. Logan looked down at his watch…6:52. Rory would be there any minute.

"Just a Coke," he ordered. He didn't want to drink in front of Rory. Not that she'd ever had a problem with him drinking while she abstained before, but that was when she was abstaining by choice; now she couldn't drink. The bartender took his empty glass and replaced it with a new one, filling it with brown liquid from the fountain hose.

Logan took a sip of the carbonated beverage as he glanced up towards the windowed storefront waiting for Rory to arrive. He had no idea what would happen once she did. He didn't know what he expected to happen, or even what he wanted to happen. All he knew was the once he saw her at that bookstore, he couldn't not see her again. He'd spent too long looking for her; wondering, worrying, pining. He'd turned into a man who pined. But how could he not when she'd just disappeared like that? It wasn't just being dumped…that he could have handled, though his ego did smart a bit from it. But she'd dumped him and then disappeared off the face of the planet leaving her entire life and family behind. A person didn't do that unless they were in trouble. And the thought of her out there alone and in trouble…it had killed him a little inside. So the idea of walking away and leaving her all alone again just wasn't an option. Not that she would be alone for long; soon she would have a baby.

And that baby was a whole other story. He couldn't even begin to comprehend that. His mental and emotional state over the last eight hours had been a whirlwind, tossing him like a limp rag doll in every possible direction. There had been relief of course, but also sadness, and anger and disgust. There had been acceptance and disbelief. There had even been hope.

He couldn't explain that last one…that little niggling morsel of hope he had when he imagined a little brown-haired, blue-eyed baby like the one he'd held at the shower. It made no sense; what was he even hoping for? Was he hoping the baby wasn't his? He couldn't hope for that. He couldn't even stand to think of her with him. He knew he had no right to judge. He knew she hadn't done anything wrong by sleeping with him. But him? The asshole who publicly dumped and humiliated her in front of him and half the Life and Death Brigade? Did he even know he was about to become a Daddy? And if so, where was he? Logan wouldn't put it past the man to leave Rory high and dry like that. So he couldn't hope that…that Rory had been abandoned in her time of need. And he couldn't hope that he just didn't know and once he did, he would be there; a permanent fixture in Rory and the baby's lives. She deserved better.

So then, what? Was he hoping the baby was his? That was ludicrous. He was only 23, still a kid who could barely take care of himself. He hadn't even graduated college yet. And once he did, he would be at the mercy of his father; working 18-hour days, going wherever he was told, whenever he was told. Being shipped off on business trips every other week. No kid deserved that…a father who spent all his time at a job he hated instead of home with them. So hope was insane…a clearly irrational emotional response to the trauma of the last four months of grief and despair at not knowing if someone he cared about was dead or alive.

But she was alive, and pushing her way through the front door of the restaurant at that very moment. She was in a ruby red, A-line dress with a sweetheart neckline; the skirt flaring out just beneath her chest to float over her swollen stomach. It was too large in the waist, and even her more ample pregnancy breasts, didn't quite fill out the top. But still, despite the ill-fitting dress and baby bump, she looked as beautiful as he remembered her.

Logan stood up off his bar stool and went to greet her.

"Hey," she said, waving timidly as he approached.

"Hey." He plastered on his most charming smirk despite the awkwardness and his complicated emotional state. If nothing else, he was happy to see her. A part of him was worried she wouldn't show up; that she would run again, or maybe that she'd never even been real to begin with and he'd just imagined seeing her in that store. He let his eyes memorize her face for a moment; the slight downturn of her nose, the dimple in her chin, that little patch of freckles on her right cheek. He'd almost given up on ever seeing that face again. He let his eyes drop lower to the curve of her stomach and something stirred inside of him. He found himself resisting the urge to reach out and touch it. Only monsters and morons touched a pregnant woman's stomach without permission. "Umm," he shook himself out of his daze. "How are you feeling?" He shoved his hands in his pockets, fingering the little vial of ginger tea.

She shrugged. "Alright, I guess."

"You haven't been…nauseous or anything?" Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "You know, morning sickness?"

"Oh," she chuckled nervously, shaking her head. "No, umm, I did, but that went away after the first trimester."

"Oh."

Her face scrunched up again as she appraised his reaction. "Are you upset that I'm not sick?" she asked. "Kind of hoping I was suffering a little?" she added with a self-deprecating laugh, apparently trying to lighten the mood.

"What? No. I just…"

Her head cocked to the side. "Just what?"

"Nevermind, it's nothing." He released his hand from the vial inside of his pocket.

"Logan…" she prodded, smiling at him, one of the first real smiles he'd seen from her. "Come on, tell me."

"Nothing, it's just…" he let his shoulders slump. He never could say 'no' to her. His fingers curled around the tiny bottle once more and he withdrew it from his pocket, holding his palm open for her to see. "I got this for you."

She stared at it, her eyes blinking, her face expressionless. Finally she lifted her gaze up to his. "You got that…for me?" she breathed out.

"Yeah," he shrugged. "It's no big deal, Honor's shower was a tea party, so they were everywhere. And ginger's supposed to be good for nausea. But you don't need it, so…" he started to withdraw his hand.

"No," she reached out to grab his wrist. "No, I…I'll take it."

"You don't have to. You know, if you don't want it." God, where the hell had all his game gone? Not that he needed game. This wasn't a date. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew he was making a pathetic fool out of himself.

"I want it." She took the tea from his hand, opening her purse and tucking it inside. "Thank you." Logan noticed a slight grimace cross her face and an almost silent 'oof' escape her lips as she did so.

"Are you okay?" he asked, a cold sense of dread filling his body.

"I'm fine."

"Rory, you made a face. You were in pain."

"No," she shook her head as she placed a hand over her stomach. "I…" she smiled up at him. "The baby kicked."

The dread was gone, replaced by a tingly sense of wonder and a twinge deep in his gut. The baby kicked.

"Is it still…?"

"Oh, yeah. I think someone knows it's dinner time."

Logan reached up to scratch nervously at the base of his neck "Umm," he hesitated. "Can I?" he pointed at her. Had he really just asked that? Dear God, what was wrong with him.

"You want to touch my stomach?"

"Nevermind, It's…" he shook his head. "Nevermind."

Rory just smiled at him, a soft, breathy chuckle emanating from her lips. It was a sound that made him ache. He started to turn away, but she stopped him, placing her hand over his and guiding it to her abdomen.

Nothing happened for a moment, and then, he felt a slight thump against his hand. A feeling he couldn't describe came over him; all consuming. He couldn't breathe. That surety he had had after his chat with Honor had faded in the hours sense, leaving him uncertain and befuddled. But with that one little kick, any doubts that had started to fester were gone. This child was his. Maybe that was why he could never get over her; why he had been unable to move on. She had literally taken a piece of him with her. And now that piece was back. In that moment, he felt whole in a way he hadn't since…ever.

"Your table is ready sir." The sound of the Maître D's voice startled him out of his trance and he instinctively drew his hand back. "If you and your wife would like to follow me?"

"Oh, we're not…" Rory started, looking at him with wide eyes.

"It's fine," he said, stepping up to place a hand on her back. An unexpected sense of calmness had settled over him, a certitude. It made no sense, but it didn't have to be logical, it just was. "Lead the way."

Rory gave him a strange look, maneuvering away from his touch. "We're not married," she reiterated. "We're just friends." The host gave them a skeptical look but said nothing further about the matter.

"Right this way." The Maître D led them to a small, square table with a white, linen tablecloth and Logan pulled out Rory's chair for her.

"Thank you," she said, looking up at him with a shy smile. The Maître D handed them their menus as Logan took his own seat.

He sat back, watching with rapt interest as she fiddled with her menu, flicking the laminated edges between her fingers, her eyes trained firmly on the page in front of her. He took in all of her; every flutter of her eyelashes, every nervous tap of her unkept fingernails, the way her shoulders curled forward as though she were trying to disappear into herself. It wasn't surprising; she'd been on the run for months. Her whole life had become about staying hidden and keeping people out. It was her natural instinct now to try to make herself invisible. But she could never be invisible to him.

Still, he knew he needed to play this carefully. She was a flight risk; if she felt too exposed, she could run again and there was no way he could let that happen. Logan knew what he knew now. And he knew what he had to do. That didn't mean he wasn't scared; he was terrified. But he was sure that this baby was his, and that he was meant to find them. The rest would work itself out. So, for now he'd play the friend role, let her think he believed as she did. Although keeping this from Lorelai, Richard, and Emily was going to be hard. He knew what they were going through and it was torture not knowing. Still, the most important thing was Rory. They would understand that. And with time, he'd be able to convince her to come out of hiding.

"I'm sorry about," she looked up towards the entrance of the restaurant. "You shouldn't have to deal with people thinking…that…about you."

"Well, yes, because if random people in restaurants assume you're my pregnant wife then I'm automatically obligated to pay you child support and coach T-ball."

"I just meant," she shook her head, exhaling slightly. "I know what it's like…to get the looks."

"What looks?"

"You know…the looks," she said, setting her menu down in front of her. "The judgment and shame."

"Ace," he sighed. Shame. She was full of it, it oozed off of her in waves he could almost see, like bad odors off a cartoon character. So much shame it consumed her so that she was barely a shell of the women he once knew. He hated that she felt that way; that it seemed to be the only emotion she had left in her. He reached across the table to take her hand but she pulled it away. "Anyone who looks at you that way can go screw themselves. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

"Right," Rory scoffed, pulling back to look down at herself; her blue eyes rolled in their sockets. "Nothing to be ashamed of."

"So, you got pregnant. It's not like you became a member of the Spice Girls."

Rory giggled and he felt a sense of relief at the sound. "Can you imagine? Pregnant Spice?"

Even in jest she was letting this one thing define her. It was time to remind her that she was so much more than this one life event. "Nuh uh," he shook his head. "You'd be Book Sniffing Spice…or maybe Yacht Stealing Spice."

"Gogo Spice?" she suggested.

Logan smiled at the memory of her in her costume at Finn's party, driving him crazy by completely ignoring him. She was insanely sexy in that schoolgirl outfit. "That's more like it."

She bit her lip, looking back down at her menu.

"So?" she asked. "What are you getting? Because I'm thinking baby really wants a steak."

They continued to keep conversation light as they ordered and waited for their food. He could see Rory relaxing slightly, signs of her old self returning in fleeting moments; the playful roll of an eye, the exasperated sigh when he said something condescending, the excitement over something as mundane as the travesty that is the mushroom and how it can ruin everything it touches. But he also noticed that they only talked about him…his classes, his friends, his sister. Anytime he tried to bring up her life, past or present, she skillfully changed the topic. After their initial exchange, she'd even tried to avoid any mentions of the fact that she was pregnant at all. At least she had said something about a friend that let her borrow the dress she was wearing. He wondered how much the friend knew of who she really was.

"Oh," she said, halfway through their meal as she shoved a forkful of mashed potato in her mouth. "How was Europe?"

"Europe?" he asked.

"Europe. Over the summer. With Colin and Finn," she clarified.

He'd almost forgotten about his European vacation, blocked it out of his memory. "It was fine," he told her. It was terrible. He almost hadn't gone. How could he go jetting off to Europe when she was missing? But his friends were starting to get fed up with him and his obsession with finding her. He needed to get over her, they told him, it was getting pathetic. And he knew they were right. He was pathetic; pining over a girl who hadn't even had the decency to dump him in person. So he thought maybe, if he went, he could start to move on. But instead he found himself looking at every passing girl on the streets of London, Paris, and Madrid, wondering if it was her; if she had somehow made her way across the Atlantic. It had gotten so bad that Colin had threatened to ditch him in Berlin and Finn had tried to trick him into sleeping with a hooker in Amsterdam.

"Did you get to Prague? Ooh, did you visit the Prague Castle she asked?"

Logan chuckled. "We did make it to Prague, but Colin and Finn were more interested in partaking in the Absinthe than in the history."

She shook her head with a chuckle. "Of course, how silly of me. Well, what about Greece? I wanted to go to Santorini so bad, but we only had two days there and it took more than that just to get through Athens, and Mom…" she trailed off, pausing awkwardly and shifting in her seat. "Anyway," she said. "I didn't make it there." An awkward silence filled the air, any sense of comfortable ease they had managed to get back to during the evening was washed away with a single word…'Mom.'

"Rory…" he sighed. She used to love to talk about her mother and their exploits. He'd never understood their unnaturally close relationship, but he loved that she had it. There was this undeniable sparkle in her eyes that came out every time she spoke of her life with Lorelai. But not now—not anymore. He still didn't quite understand how that relationship had become so broken that she felt the need to flee her entire life. But he hoped they could fix it, for both their sakes.

"So did you?" Rory asked, trying to return the conversation back to the safety of him and his friends and their exploits.

He wasn't going to let her. He'd been avoiding pushing her for fear of scaring her away, but he was tired of it. She couldn't avoid the subject forever. He set his fork down and looked her straight in the eye. "She misses you, you know. She hates the way things ended."

She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "Well, she's the one who ended them. She made herself perfectly clear—stay in school or don't bother coming home."

"She didn't exactly have all the information, Ace."

"Right; and that would have made it better?"

"Maybe not at first, but once she got over the shock..."

Rory leaned in angrily. "She made her choice. She told me not to come home. Well, she got her wish, I'm not going home and if you just brought me here to try to guilt me into it, well…" she pushed her chair back preparing to stand up, "I'm not interested."

"Rory, wait," he told her. She paused, hands on the arms of the chair, ready to bolt if she didn't like what she heard.

"Just…can I say one thing? One thing and then we don't have to talk about it at all the rest of the night if you don't want to."

She sighed, lowering back into her seat but her posture was still tense, the look in her eyes guarded. "Fine," she finally huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, "but only because this is the first meal I've had in a really long time that didn't come in a microwavable plastic tray."

He cringed at the thought of how she'd been nourishing herself. He knew she didn't have the healthiest eating habits but add in the tight budget she was no doubtedly working on, and he was halfway convinced she and the baby would have scurvy. But he had to pick his battles, and right now his battle was finding a way to let her family know she was okay, not trying to convince her to let him provide her with a lifetime supply of groceries. Besides, she had to at least be on prenatal vitamins, right?

"You don't know what it's like," he said, "not to know where someone you care about is and if they're okay. And I know you have your reasons and that's your business. I promised not to say anything and I won't. But I really think you should."

She started to open her mouth to protest but he didn't let her. "I'm not saying you need to go home—not if you're not ready. But just call or send a letter or something to let them know you're alive and not starving or living under a bridge somewhere. If you care about them at all you owe them at least that."

Rory shook her head adamantly. "They'll figure it out, they'll trace the call or something. Even letters have postmarks. They'll know I'm in Boston."

"How about you give it to me, then," he suggested. "I'll take the letter and I'll stick it in a mailbox somewhere else."

She stared at him circumspectly, but he could tell she was considering it. "You'll take it far away?" she asked. "And you won't just stick it in a mailbox in Hartford or New Haven, right? Because then they'll know I'm in contact with someone from home."

"My Dad is dragging me to a business dinner in Manhattan Tuesday night. I'll send it from there."

She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. He could see the thoughts whirling through her head; the mental pro-con list forming behind her eyes. "Okay," she said softly, nodding in acceptance. "Fine, I'll write a note. But they can't know where I am, and they can't know about the baby."

He nodded. "Good," he said. "Can I ask one more question?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "About my family?" He'd promised just to say the one thing and then he'd drop it, and it was clear she was going to hold him to that promise. But that wasn't what he wanted to ask her anyway. It was something that he'd been wondering all day. And now that they weren't completely beating around the bush, he figured it was as good a time as any.

"No," he told her, then bobbed his head back and forth waveringly. "Well…" he said through gritted teeth, "technically yes, it is about your family. But not your Mom or your grandparents. It's about the baby."

He noted her hands go to her stomach in an almost protective gesture. Finally, she shrugged, silently telling him to go ahead.

"Do you know the sex?"

A small smile pulled up at the corner of her lips and she nodded tentatively. "It's a boy," she confessed.

A wave of warmth washed over him, bubbling up from his center and working its way out to the tips of his toes. It was a boy. They were having a son.

The walls of the hallway were light grey, with patches of unpainted plaster haphazardly dotted throughout. The carpeting was worn and the fluorescent lights above flickered and hummed. All in all, it was a dreary place to be. But it was just the hallway. And at least the location was decent. Mission Hill was home to several colleges, which meant that it was mostly populated by students. And maybe being surrounded by that much academia would reignite Rory's passion for school. So, he'd hold off on judgement for now.

"Well," Rory said, shuffling her feet as she pulled a single key from her purse; a simple brown leather bag with a flap front and a long strap. She'd rarely used a purse in the old days, but maybe being pregnant required more things. Or maybe she just felt more secure having her belongings with her these days. "This is me."

"I would hope so," he replied with a smirk. "We've already been nabbed for grand theft boating, we don't need to add breaking and entering to our rap sheet."

She lifted the key up to the door but stopped suddenly, turning around to face him. "It's just, it's a little small—but cozy," she interjected the last part with enthusiasm. "And I know it looks a little run down, but everything works.

"Ace," he prodded, "it's fine, just open the door."

She looked at him tentatively for a moment, before letting her shoulders drop in reluctance and inserting the key. The door swung open and Rory stepped inside, Logan following right behind her.

It wasn't fine. Nothing about the room he'd just walked into was fine. His eyes scanned over the place—all 300 square feet of it. Actually, that was probably a gross over estimation. Rick Moranis' kids couldn't live here comfortably…after they'd be shrunk. And speaking of shrunken things, there wasn't even a real refrigerator, only a mini fridge…which doubled as a nightstand because the kitchen area was practically non-existent. There was no oven, just a stove which only had two burners…both of which he was fairly certain had to be a fire hazard. At least it was right next to the sink (which was about a third of the size of any sink he'd ever seen). A set of broken blinds dangled from the windows. And the bed, while not exactly a cot, was not exactly a real bed either; it looked more akin to those roll away beds they had at hotels. And other then a crappy fold out chair in front of a desk that looked like it was made for a toddler, there was no other seating.

On top of that, the place was a mess. The Rory he knew was a neat freak. She didn't mind a mess being made, but at the end of the night, everything always went back in its rightful place. But not now. There were clothes strewn everywhere, which he could potentially attribute to the apparent lack of closet. But the peanut butter sitting out on the tiny strip of counter between the stove and the sink? The bottle of mustard on top of the microwave? The papers strewn messily all over her desk? None of that was like her at all. The 'bed' wasn't even made, which gave him a horrifying view of the old, saggy mattress. That could not be good for a pregnant woman's back.

"It's…nice," he ground out through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the pounding in his chest and the little voice in his head wondering if it would hurt the baby if he clubbed her over the head and carried her out of there to appropriate accommodations…like a suite and the Omni Parker House. It was probably less of a risk than the lead paint that undoubtedly coated the walls in this hovel she was currently living in.

"Nice?" she repeated, clearly not believing him. She was well acquainted with his version of nice and she knew this wasn't it.

"What?" he said innocently. "It is. It's…cozy, like you said." She'd be staying here over his dead body. This was no place for a pregnant woman. And it definitely was no place for a baby. Where the hell was she going to fit a crib?

She crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously. "Well, umm, help yourself to a seat," she gestured…he wasn't sure to where since everything was smooshed into the same eight by ten square of space. "I just have to go to the bathroom real quick."

Dear god, he didn't want to think about what that bathroom looked like. He was better off never finding out. He reached up to rub fussily at his chin, a nervous tic he couldn't quite avoid. He at least managed to avoid burying his face in his hands completely—at least not until Rory disappeared behind the door of the bathroom. Logan looked around again. There wasn't even anything worth snooping in…there was nowhere to hide a thing in this place. Of course, that didn't stop him from trying anyway. There was the cabinet under the sink, but that just contained cleaning supplies. The cabinets above had a collection of mismatched plates and cups, and—thankfully—a bottle of prenatal vitamins. There were a few clear storage bins of clothes under her bed. The only thing remotely interesting were the folders on her desk. The top one was full of paystubs—made out to Leigh Parker. There was something familiar about the last name that he couldn't quite place…though it wasn't an incredibly uncommon name, so…He also noted the checks were direct deposit which meant she'd somehow managed to set up a bank account under her assumed name; which probably meant she'd managed to find someone who could get her some fairly official looking documents. And then there were her hourly wages—he didn't even think minimum wage was that low. How the hell was any human being expected to survive on such a pittance?

He slid the folder over to take a look at the one below it. His heart stuttered in his chest slightly when he saw the handwritten label on the tab—"medical." He was just about to flip it open when he heard the bathroom door start to open. He quickly sat down on the bed which was directly behind him. He could feel the springs digging into him through the worn surface of the mattress.

"Alright," she said her face contorting into a pained grimace. "I guess I should…" she gestured to the desk.

"Yeah," he nodded.

She sat down in the chair and opened up a drawer, pulling out a notepad and grabbing a pen that was laying haphazardly on the desktop. She started to bring the writing utensil down but paused just above the surface of the paper. "What do I even say?" she asked, not turning around to face him. "'Dear Mom, sorry I disappeared but you wouldn't understand…actually, you would but that's why I can't tell you.'?"

He sighed, his heart breaking a little for her. "Just let her know you're okay," he told her. "That's the most important thing."

He watched her torso expand with air as she inhaled deeply and then, as she let it go, her hand descended to the paper. The room was silent but for the muffled sounds of traffic outside. He watched as she wrote, pausing periodically to find the right words. After about 10 minutes she stopped, folding two separate stacks of pages into thirds and stuffing them into envelopes. She quickly scrawled her mother's address on one and her grandparent's address on the other. She didn't move for a moment after that, just stared down at the letters. Finally, she picked them up, turning around to hand them to Logan.

Her eyes were glistening with tears, a few streaks staining her peach-tinged cheeks.

"You're doing the right thing," he told her as he took the envelopes from her grasp. She used her now unencumbered hand to wipe away some tears.

"What if they find me?"

"They won't," he promised her. "Not until you're ready."

She wrapped her arms around herself in a hug, lifting her gaze to meet his tentatively. "You did," she reminded him.

He couldn't help himself, her reached up to thumb away a tear. She was right. He had found her—against all odds; a needle in a hay stack. And he hadn't even been looking for her at the time. That had to mean something—right?

"Yeah, Ace," he breathed out. "I did." He'd found her. And he wasn't going to lose her again. Not her, and definitely not their son.