Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything up to Jews and Chinese Food is fair game. Past that, it's just where my mind takes over.

Teaser: When Rory and Logan's arrangement goes prematurely sour, his friends take it upon themselves to intervene. Sequel to Keeping it Casual

Story Title: Nothing A Good Friend Wouldn't Do

Chapter Title: Pleasant Dinner Conversation

They'd been sitting in the parlor, a room that only old houses and sprawling mansions seemed to have, sipping drinks and making small talk for the last twenty minutes. Logan's parents were both smiling, looking shockingly non-threatening, and chatting with them about school and how they'd met. It was going smoothly, and there seemed to be no awkwardness at all.

And it was really creeping her out.

She had allowed Logan to hold her hand when they sat down, out of a need to be reassured, to stay attached to reality, it didn't matter. He'd outdone himself in that department, the following evening at any rate. He held her all night long, lulling her to sleep with soft whispers of her many glowing strengths seen through his eyes; and she chose to believe him as she drifted out of consciousness.

When at last his parents rose to check on dinner, leaving them alone for the first time since entering the front door, Rory pulled Logan closer with their joined hands. He smiled, leaning willingly into her.

"I knew you were dying to kiss me," he teased.

"What are they doing?" she whispered, conspiratorially.

"Uh, well, I'm not sure, but I think they went to check on dinner."

"They normally do that together?"

"Maybe they read the coming panic attack on your face. Calm down," he urged.

"Why are they being so nice? Why haven't they brought up any of the scary things that your friends threw at us?"

Logan looked down at his drink and sighed. He could feel her gaze narrow, zeroing in on him. He took a long drink and braved a glance her way.

"I might have asked them to take it down a few hundred degrees."

"What? When?"

"Last night. I came home, to tell them to lay off when you came over here. They sort of have a safety list of topics to draw on tonight."

"I can't believe you did that!"

She was standing now, turning behind the couch. He was afraid she'd leave, but she had no car, and instead he realized she was just pacing back and forth. Not that this behavior boded well for him either.

"It's not a big deal."

"It is," she whispered, lest his parents not really need more than five minutes to walk to the kitchen and back. Of course, she'd not yet gotten the guided tour of the estate, so she couldn't really be sure. "It is, because they aren't being real. They are pretending to like me, and for what?"

"They aren't pretending to like you. They're just putting off the big questions for another time."

"Oh, and that's supposed to make me feel better? I get to have more than one uncomfortable evening here?"

"If they get to know you, from you being yourself like you're getting the opportunity to be tonight, the bigger questions won't be so bad later on," he explained. She seemed to be contemplating his words, and her pace slowed.

"You think they're liking me?"

"How could they not? You didn't see my mother glowing when you told the story of how we met? I thought my father was going to shake your hand for trying to put me in my place during our first debate," he reasoned.

"So, they like that I can take you down a notch?" she asked, her voice bordering on hopeful.

"Believe it or not, it's not done often."

She smiled. He took her hand and stood up on the couch cushions. She giggled as he stepped over the back and hopped down to stand in front of her.

"Really, Logan," his mother's voice rang out in disapproval. "You aren't four years old," she continued.

He gave a smile, and Rory was suddenly struck at the similarity of his 'get out of jail free' smiles. He had finely honed his skills, and evidently it was a big winner with all ladies.

"I thought you said Honor was coming," he veered the topic.

"She had something come up, she said she'd come around next time."

"Honor?" Rory asked, taking a step back from her charming date.

"My sister," he added, seeing his father come back into the room. She turned, now standing right behind Logan. She felt almost as if they'd been caught in a compromising situation, and felt a blush creeping up into her cheeks.

"Dinner's ready, shall we?" Mitchum announced, and the small group headed towards the formal dining room. Logan and Rory hung back a bit, following at a safe distance to share quick whispers.

"You okay?"

"I'm trying to picture you eating in here as a small child."

"Don't. It was weird enough for me at the time," he assured her.

She smiled, and squeezed his hand. She was reminded of her mother, on the rare times she spoke of the oddity of growing up in a museum-like house. As nice as the Gilmore mansion was, it had nothing on that of the Huntzbergers'. She let the familiarity sweep over her, glad to feel the comfort of her mother though she wasn't physically there.

XXXX

"So, Rory, tell me, what does your father do?" Mitchum asked, as the group was nearing the end of the main course.

Rory looked up like a deer caught in headlights, then to Logan quickly as she chewed her food.

"Dad," Logan shook his head disapprovingly.

"What?"

"It's fine. He's working for a company that helps other companies downsize," she smiled tightly.

"I remember your mother from years ago, but I can't seem to recall meeting your father. What was his name again?"

"Christopher Hayden," she said quickly, making no means to elaborate on the topic.

"Your parents are divorced, then?" Shira asked, her tone seemingly innocent.

"Can we change the subject?" Logan asked bluntly, causing all three of his tablemates to look at him. "I don't think this is proper dinner conversation."

"We're getting to know Rory, isn't that why you've brought her over here?"

"You already know these things, Dad."

"Logan, it's fine," Rory said, her tone clearly trying to tell him that he was just making it worse. She turned to face Shira. "My parents were never married."

"Oh," she said, looking down at her plate.

"God," Logan muttered under his breath.

"Logan," Mitchum warned. "Rory, I'm sorry if we've made you uncomfortable, that wasn't our intent," he said with sincerity.

"No, it's fine. My mother felt they were too young to get married when she got pregnant. Dad's always been around, and we see him a lot."

"Well, that's good, that you're close to both of them," Shira offered.

"Yes, actually, it is."

There was an extended silence at the table, and Shira, being the proper hostess, tried another topic. "Emily tells me that your mother was interviewed for a travel magazine," she smiled.

"Yes, she was. For her Inn, it's only been open for a year."

"Your mother owns her own business?"

"She does. It's quite successful, for a first-year business," Rory said proudly.

"It is an amazing place," Logan agreed.

"You've been there?" Mitchum asked with interest.

"Rory showed me around her town last week," he nodded.

"So, your mother works for herself, she must have been quite busy raising you all alone," Mitchum continued.

"And all while wearing heels," Rory joked, but no one except Logan seemed to get it. "She was, quite busy. But I can't remember a time she wasn't there for me."

"And you intend on following in her footsteps?"

"How do you mean?" she asked, feeling one of those taboo topics that Logan had mentioned earlier coming on.

"You want to work and attempt to raise a family?"

"Dad."

"Well, I suppose that will depend," she said without batting an eyelash.

"Depend on what?" Mitchum asked with a lilt of amusement in his voice.

"On if I get married, or decide I want children. I definitely plan on having a career."

"And what steps are you taking towards this career?"

"Dad," Logan said, a little louder now.

"You mean besides school?"

"Every hopeful journalist went to an Ivy League college and popped out with a degree in journalism," Mitchum nodded. "Any internships under your belt?"

"Uh, no, it didn't work out last summer, but I plan on looking into that for this coming summer."

"The sooner, the better, these things are quite competitive."

"So am I," she nodded.

"Did you say you don't want children?" Shira asked, unable to cover her disappointment.

"I didn't say that, it's just that I'd like to find the right man to do so with," she glanced down at her napkin, wishing they'd agreed on some sort of mayday signal. Logan seemed to almost be watching her with the same amount of interest as his parents were.

"Well, you do have some rather lofty ambitions," Mitchum nodded, seemingly with approval.

"Thank you. May I be excused?" Rory asked, smiling as she stood up from the table. She made her way down a long hallway and made it to the nearest bathroom. She ran some cold water in the sink, only to notice her hands were trembling. She'd never been on the receiving end of a significant other firing line. She was used to the boys she brought home having to answer question upon question, especially from her grandparents. They'd loved Logan, finding no need to barrage him with the usual questions that would inevitably prove to show that the boy she'd brought home wasn't worthy of their granddaughter. And worst of all, she had no idea how she'd fared in there. She splashed some water on her face before taking a hand towel to dry off with. She heard a faint knocking at the door, and moved to the other side.

"Rory, let me in," came his soft voice.

She cracked the door, and looked at him. He smiled apologetically and moved closer to the opening, expecting to be let in.

"What?"

"I thought I'd come see how you were holding up," he said, reaching out to touch her face.

"I'm fine."

"Rory," he reasoned with her. "They used a loophole to get to you. It's not fine."

"A loophole?"

"I never said your father was off limits. I should have been much more painstakingly clear and thorough," he looked into her eyes.

"I'm fine. We should get back out there. I assume there's still dessert to get through?" she postulated.

"You assume correctly. And since they've taken care of you, I can only assume it's my turn next," he informed her as she opened the door and followed him back towards the dining room, wondering exactly what he meant.

XXXX

"I suppose we should thank you," Mitchum smiled at her now, and she put her fork down on her plate.

"For what?"

She saw Logan shift in his seat, and she wondered if he was uncomfortable in the chair or with the knowing what his father was about to say. They'd dropped the conversation about her family and future goals upon her arrival back at the table, moving onto Mitchum's days at Yale instead. Until now, that is.

"He's been much more studious since he's met you. And I know that you take your education seriously."

"That I do. But I have no control over whether or not he goes to class," she assured him.

Logan put his fork down as well, but remained silent, still watching the exchange.

"No, but you did encourage him to write a piece for the paper a while back."

"How did you know about that?"

"He has his spies," Logan assured her.

"You'll have to forgive my son, he exaggerates."

"Yes, that is my problem," he muttered, and Rory gave him a look of concern. She just wanted him to keep it together long enough for them to get out of there relatively unscathed and with a hope of their ending up having a good laugh about this later on. She willed him to remember Finn's promise to get them smashed—and therefore laid—upon their arrival back at the dorm.

"At any rate, I'm pleased that he seems to be taking school and the paper more seriously."

"Well, he's very talented."

"Rory, can I see you a moment?" Logan piped up, not wanting to hear this go on any longer. It was too much to hear his father picking over him, and in front of her—her continuous decorum just making it worse for him.

"Uh, sure. Excuse us," she said, furrowing her eyebrows as she followed him back out into the main hall. He stood in front of her, and shook his head.

"What are you doing?"

"I was going to ask the same thing of you, are you crazy?"

"Why are you being like that?"

"Like what?"

"Agreeing with him!"

"I'm not agreeing with him. I said you had talent."

"That's what he wants to hear."

"It's true!"

"Rory, please."

"What, even Doyle admits you have talent, Logan."

"Doyle has to say that. My father has terrified him into saying those things to my face."

Rory shook her head vehemently. "That may be, but he told me himself, away from you and your father, that you had talent."

Logan looked taken aback. "Really?"

"Don't look so thrilled. He also said you only wrote when bedded down from viruses, both airborne and sexually transmitted," she informed him.

He had to smile. "And you agree with him?"

"Logan, you have more talent in your pinky finger for this business than most people have in their whole bodies, people who would kill to be in your position. You don't even have to try, and you have a promising career in this business. Do you really hate it that much?"

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Fine. Don't talk. Butt heads with your father until you pass out. But I can't stay and listen to it," she informed him, turning down the hall towards the main entrance.

"What? Hey, where are you going?" he said, fast on her heels.

"I'm leaving. Thank your parents for me."

"What am I supposed to tell them?"

"Whatever you want."

"Why are you upset? This, surprisingly, has nothing to do with you!"

"Yes, it does," she said, turning back around to put her hand on the door.

"I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not."

"I drove."

"I'm a big girl. I can find my way home," she said, turning the handle and letting herself out the front door. He stood there, staring at the closed door for a beat. He heard footsteps behind him, but he didn't turn. He felt he had no explanations.

"You should go after her."

Logan turned to face his father, his brow furrowed in confusion. Her leaving, his father's support—nothing made sense. "What?"

"Go after her."

"Are you serious?"

"It's cold, she has no car, and she's upset."

"But I--,"

"If you don't understand why she's upset, that's even more reason to go after her. Go. I'll explain it to your mother."

Logan nodded, too speechless to attempt a simple thank you. He grabbed his jacket and moved to follow Rory, out into the night.

AN: Would have been up sooner, but I've been busy. Isn't that always the excuse?