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: Just the Price I Pay
AN: sorry for the slower pace of chapter crank out—between the fic juggling I've been doing and life. . . it's gotten a little slower. I appreciate all the kind words and support you guys have heaped on me. It's much appreciated and keeps me motivated (believe it or not).
Logan sped directly for Branford dormitory the second that he took his abrupt leave of his golfing partners, as he'd promised her before on the phone. He cut the ignition to his car immediately after shifting his car out of gear and slumped down into his seat, letting his head fall against the steering wheel.
They hadn't disappointed him in their presentation. He just hadn't expected to feel quite the way he had as it all unfurled before his eyes. It'd been like seeing an overly hyped film. Maybe it was the way they seemed to be talking about him, despite the fact that he was sitting at the same table. Maybe it was the knowledge that taking that ring meant buying into how it was supposed to be. How it had been forever. If he took that ring, nothing would ever change. And he couldn't live with that option.
He hesitated in opening his eyes, which had fallen closed as his forehead made contact with the center of the horn base. He felt like he might be violently ill at any moment. He didn't want to do this now. He wanted to go somewhere, blow off some steam, get the words right—but he'd promised her. And he always kept a promise.
He just needed one more minute.
XXXX
Paris didn't look pleased. Not that she ever looked all that thrilled when she opened the door to find him on the other side, but this was definitely a more evil, prison guard, cross me and I'll cut you look on her face. Suddenly the thought that a Halloween mask of her would be a big seller caused the corners of his mouth to pull upward, but he willed them to stay down.
"Go home, Logan."
"You know, I think I'm growing on you, Paris."
No comment came from her, just a narrowing of her eyes.
"You called me Logan, not Huntzberger or the self-serving pompous playboy. I'm obviously gaining your precious favor."
"I already knew you were clueless. Did you come here to give me a quote to put it on the official record?"
"Okay, look, Paris. I'm tired. As much as I enjoy the verbiage we throw at one another from time to time, I really would like to see Rory."
"And if you'd stop trying to be cute, you'd have realized by now that your desires aren't to be met today."
"Meaning?" he asked impatiently.
"She doesn't want to see you, Logan. Buy a clue," she said, moving to shut the door in his face.
He caught the door with an open hand, easily holding it open. "I need to see Rory. I'm not going to--," his voice lowered as his patience wore thin.
"No, Logan, I'm not going to be bossed or bought by you. Do you hear me? Rory is my friend, and I don't care about anything but her here. She's done a lot for me in the past and I think it's high time I step up and do the same for her. She's hurting and it's your fault, so you don't get to come in and try to clean up your mess. You've had your shot. It's my turn now."
"She's hurting? What happened?" his shoulders slumped at the utterance and he looked like the wind had been knocked out of him. "Paris?"
"Okay, see, now I'm beginning to think that you don't know what's going on here, and that would mean either you're incredibly daft or you—how can you not know?"
"In five words or less, Paris, please," he gripped the door handle.
"Richard was just here."
"What? Impossible! I broke the speed of sound getting here," he shook his head, as Paris actually looked at him with pity. That was what threw him back in the game. "What did he say?"
"I don't know. I just got home, and he was sitting on the couch next to her, and she was crying. He hugged her and when they saw me, he left and she went into her room."
"And then?" he pumped, feeling the blood rush from his head.
"And then she left."
"Where did she go?"
"She said not to tell you."
"Paris, please," he pleaded, his voice breaking a little from the disuse of the tactic. He had come close before with Rory, but now he had no other choice. He had to talk to her.
Paris sighed and let go of the door. "She was headed home. But I didn't tell you that. And I'm sure that you will respect her wishes and give her some time to cool off. I'm not sure what you did, but she was clear that she needed to get away from here because of you."
Logan nodded mutely. He stood before her, catching his breath and staring into space. He finally looked her in the eyes. "Thank you."
And then he turned to walk away. Paris watched his defeated gait as he rounded the corner away from their hallway, and she closed the door feeling completely unsure as to what the best thing for her to have done was. She just hoped she'd done it.
XXXX
"You look like you need a drink," Finn observed as his friend entered the suite. Logan moved to the couch in the center of the room and fell against the cushions.
"Make it a double."
"Shit," Finn said under his breath. "Colin!" he called, moving to the bar cart and starting a round of drinks.
"Finn, I said," he began complaining as he emerged from his room, but halted in both step and speech when he saw Logan. "You look like shit."
"Well, at least it's a consensus," he reasoned as Finn handed out drinks.
"What happened?"
"Do you have the ring?"
Logan looked to his friends, thinking this was the most unlikely conversation they would have ever had in the past. If you would have told him a few months ago that he'd be sitting around depressed about a girl while they asked for details of his love life and about jewelry procurement, he would have bruised a lung from laughing so hard. But it didn't feel so funny now. He took a burning sip of the whisky Finn had poured.
"No. I don't have the ring. I also don't have Rory."
Colin and Finn continued to stare at him, waiting for further explanations. When all they were met with was him taking another sip of the wince-inducing liquid, they exchanged a look.
"I don't get it," Colin admitted.
"Me either," Logan laughed. "No, actually, the sick thing is, I do. And there's nothing I can do about it. I refused to play by their antiquated rules and now they've locked me out."
"Details, mate, we need details."
"They offered me the ring. I told them I didn't need it and left. By the time I got to Rory, Richard had been there and she'd left, leaving only the instruction that I not be told where she was."
"How do you know all this?" Colin asked.
"Paris."
"Wait—Paris told you something in confidence?" Finn asked, concerned. "I thought she hated you on some cosmic, cellular level."
"She does. I begged."
Eyes widened, except Logan's—his closed.
"Did she tell you where Rory is?" Colin asked, trying to get to a solution as fast as possible. Logan needed a plan to get him out of this unnatural, self-defeated behavior he was exhibiting.
"She went home. And I'm supposed to leave her alone."
"Well, that's just too damn bad," Colin said, standing and reaching for his phone. He dialed and pointed to his friends. "Get your stuff and let's go."
Logan shook his head. "What are you doing?"
"Getting a driver. We'll all go."
"She's not going to--," Logan sighed, knowing what level of pain she must be in right now, from how she'd reacted. And when she didn't want to do something, it was damn near impossible to convince her otherwise.
But not completely. Not for him. He looked up hopefully at Colin.
"Does she have all the proper information?" Colin asked knowingly.
"No, but--,"
"Come on, man, you have to try. We'll be your first line of defense. I'll sweet talk the mother, and you can sneak past. They won't know what hit them," Finn promised.
Logan stood up and straightened his shoulders. "Just give me a minute to grab some stuff," he consented, moving toward his room. "Oh, and you better be hoping right now that the girls are alone. Lorelai's boyfriend looks like he might have a rough right hook," he disappeared into his room and shut the door behind him.
"She has a boyfriend?" Finn inquired.
"He was at the party," Colin nodded. "The one that looked like a lumberjack got shoved into a suit against his will?"
"Ah. Him. I thought he was some kind of bodyguard. All beautiful women have bodyguards."
"Well, we better hope this bodyguard isn't around. An angry, protective mother will be hard enough to deal with."
Logan reemerged and stood before them with a bag slung over his shoulder. "Okay. Let's do this."
"You know what you're going to say?" Colin asked.
"The truth."
"And that is?"
"Something she needs to hear before anyone else."
His friends nodded in silent agreement before slapping his back and heading out to their procured mode of transportation. They were off to find the girl.
XXXX
Lorelai left her daughter on the couch, who was now asleep from having exhausted herself solely by crying. She'd wrapped her arms around her the moment she came through the door, not getting much detail, but hanging on as Rory shook and sobbed, her face burying into the pillow that Lorelai had shoved into her lap for added comfort. That's all her daughter needed right now. She'd managed to slip out from under her sleeping form when the knock came at the door. She'd have to tip Joe extra for remembering to knock—the doorbell surely would have woken her daughter.
"That was fast--," she began, smiling as she rifled through her purse for cash. Her expression quickly changed when she saw the three men standing sheepishly on her front porch.
"Lorelai," Logan sighed, his eyes apologetic.
"Turn around and go back to school."
"We can't do that," Logan shook his head.
"Well, you aren't coming in here. I guess that leaves roaming around town. You might be safe—you never can tell how many people have seen how upset Rory is, what with the top-notch gossips we have around here. Luke may or may not know. It's your risk I suppose."
"Lorelai, you don't--," he began, but Finn jumped in to save him.
"Listen, Love, we understand that fair Rory is upset, but she needn't be. All she needs is a moment alone with our boy here, and all will be like new."
Lorelai raised an eyebrow at the man that had stepped in front of the disheveled version of her daughter's until recently preppy and refined boyfriend. "Not that I am likely to believe anything that any of you say, after having seen the state my kid is currently in," she pulled from her most impartial reaches of her body. "Should I allow Logan anywhere near my daughter tonight, what exactly would he possibly say to right this situation?"
"Do you even know what happened?" Logan asked softly.
"Well, no," she admitted. "But your name was mentioned between sobs."
He closed his eyes at the mention of her state of anguish. "Would you believe me that this isn't my fault?"
Her arms crossed. He hadn't thought so. "Just give me five minutes. You can clock it, and throw me out on my ass if she isn't any better after that."
"We'll keep you company," Finn smiled.
"Do you swear to me that you won't make this worse?" she questioned Logan. All eyes fell on him.
"I don't think it can get any worse than this."
Lorelai opened the door wider and grabbed her jacket. "I'll take the boys to Luke's for coffee. If the pizza comes, pay for it. I'm only a phone call away, and I can have the brute squad here in three seconds or less," she warned him before taking Colin and Finn with her out into the night by foot.
Logan let out an exhale and stepped into the house. Closing the door behind him, he stepped cautiously into the main room. Rory was curled up on the couch, gripping a pillow tightly as she slept. He could tell her face was tear stained, and it was clear though she slept, she was finding no relief at the moment. He took the few steps to bring him directly in front of her head and dropped down to his knees. Figuring he was on a clock, he put a hand out to touch her, even though he hated to wake her.
She didn't stir, but her face seemed to soften as he held his palm against her cheek. He felt a lump forming in his throat—and he cursed the irony of having been dreading talking to Rory earlier. Now everything was just magnified, completely blown out of proportion. It would have been so much easier earlier on.
"Logan," she breathed, her eyes still closed. He couldn't tell from her voice if she was awake, asleep, upset, or glad for his presence.
"I'm right here," he whispered into her ear, leaning closer to place a kiss on her cheek. "Wake up, Ace," he coaxed, feeling like sand was falling on top of his head from his position at the bottom of an overturned hourglass.
Her bloodshot blue eyes opened slowly, disbelievingly. She had expected to find her mother still next to her, coaxing her awake to eat the pizza that she vaguely remembered her ordering. Or maybe it had just been something she'd counted on automatically, like how she had come to expect a cup of coffee to appear in front of her at Luke's Diner, or how she could count on the rip in her skirt to be mended without her asking. She was sure she'd imagined Logan's touch—she could accept the fact that she might dream of him for a while. Loss isn't instant. It takes a long time to adapt to, no matter how abrupt the shock.
"Am I dreaming?"
"Not unless I am, too. Though I'd have to classify mine as a nightmare."
"Nightmare?" she asked curiously.
"Pretty bad one, too. Worst I've ever had."
"Wanna tell me about it?"
He nodded slightly and leaned in closer to her, in efforts to lower his voice. This, as most interactions with her, was unfamiliar territory. He didn't trust his voice right now. "I was trying to find you, but you'd left me without leaving a forwarding address. Seems I'd hurt you, unknowingly. I had to wrangle up my friends and hunt you down."
"What happened then?"
"Rory," he paused, looking down at the fabric of the couch cushion.
"I don't want to . . . can we not do this now?" her voice broke easily.
"Not do what?"
"Break up."
"Rory," his voice was louder, firmer, intent.
"I don't want this to be how you remember me—I mean, that's the sad thing about break ups, isn't it? The last time you see a person, that's how you remember them forever, and after everything we've gone through, I'd just like one more opportunity to make a better last glance display. Or maybe we could agree on another visual—like the night at the Plaza. Or the day we jumped off the scaffold with the umbrellas. Or when you first told me you loved me. Or the first time I took you to Luke's. Anything but this moment, right now."
"I can't do that."
She shifted her lower jaw, as if moving her facial muscles would hold off the tears that were just waiting to be set free from her eyes. She nodded, trying to be brave, to achieve a more regal and accepting composure.
He reached up to wipe the first of a fresh batch of tears from her face, not caring if he had to sit in front of her all night; he was not going to let one make its way down her cheeks. Confusion swept over her face, and she began to study him. He didn't look like a man about to break her heart.
"Why did you come?"
"Because I promised I would."
AN2: Okay, to be fair, I tried not to leave this in such a cliffhangery place, but I suck at that, evidently. More ASAP, I promise.
