Standard Disclaimer: These characters belong to the WB & AS-P.
Dedication: This is for anyone from NY.
Spoilers/Timeline: No spoilers, set in Season 6, sometime after "Always a Godmother, Never a God".
A/N: Do read and review. I'm revisiting what constitutes the "no lyrics" rule. I'm not so sure that this is considered songfic. It takes its inspiration from a song, but nobody's singing it to someone else, nor is anyone listening to it on the radio. Not all the lyrics are used, and only a few lines of the song are used in any one chapter. This is not songfic. This is song-inspired fic. And I've never been to New York (I've only been to the US once in my life, and not to NY), so please allow me poetic license to 'copter 'round the Statue.

Mermaids Cry Too
Chapter 3: Seagulls Fly, Tears Don't Dry

Wow. I've never circled the Statue of Liberty in a helicopter before. It's so 'Day After Tomorrow', when you look at the hand holding the lamp. Or 'X-Men', where Rogue gets her funky hair.

That thought makes me pause. Mom and I wanted to dye our hair white after watching that scene. We went to Doose's to get hair dye, but wound up in yet another argument with Taylor about why Stars Hollow didn't need white hair dye because it had an aging population, and who wanted white hair anyway?

"We do, Taylor! It's all cool and funky now, didn't you see 'X-Men'? Let me tell you, white hair dye is hot, hot, hot, and it'll be selling like hot cakes once autumn sets in, because that's when the DVD sales start, and soon, all the young kids will want white hair dye, and they'll come here, and when they realise that you don't have white hair dye, they'll have to go online to buy it, where they'll meet a paedophile and get robbed and raped and murdered, and their parents will all be like, 'It's all your fault Taylor', all because you wouldn't sell white hair dye!"

"Don't be silly, Lorelai," Taylor was nonplussed. "As I already told you, Stars Hollow has an aging population, and the chances of children coming into this store are very slim, not to mention children coming in here wanting hair dye, and white hair dye at that."

His perfectly reasonable tone irritated mom so much that she just left, conceding victory to one Mr Taylor Doose.

"Hey Ace, whatcha thinking about?"

I turn to Logan.

"Nothing. I just never saw the Statue of Liberty from this angle before." I smile at him, my sweet Logan. My first casual-turned-serious relationship. My anchor now that my world is adrift.

He smiles at me trying to keep the hair out of my mouth. I take out my digital camera to snap a couple of shots for my weblog, and maybe for the paper…oh.

A wave of melancholy suddenly sweeps over me, and I start to tear. Logan has turned to look at the vista of the Atlantic spread forth before us, and I quickly use my sleeve to blot my eyes before I ruin my mascara and my façade.

. . .
those tears won't dry
. . .

Birds circle around the Statue, just as we do. We've been up in the air for about an hour now, and the pilot tells Logan that we'll have to turn back to the airport in about two minutes. He looks at me, unasked question in his eyes, and I nod my head.

"Well then, take her home, captain" he tells the pilot.

We bank a sharp left to exit the orbit we set for ourselves. I lean into the curve, enjoying the salty tang on my lips as I lick them. All of a sudden, the helicopter lurches, as if it hit a speed bump – at two hundred feet?

"Sorry 'bout that, folks. Gull."

"What?" I thought I misheard.

"Gull. Seagull. We hit one. That's why the bump in the road."

"Oh." Bump in the road. I know something about that.

Taking a deep breath, I willed myself not to think about things, and just…breathe in and breathe out. Live in the here and now, Rory. Here and now, that's all that matters. You'll figure it out later. For now, there's just this… and Logan.

I reach out to take his hand, and he turns to me, and smiles. He uses the other hand to take the camera from me, and proceeds to take a picture of me, wild hair and all. Takes two, in fact. Then squashes our head together to take a self-portrait of us both, which will wind up looking horrendous because our faces will take up the whole screen, and pores and zits can be seen in living colour.

"I know what you're thinking, Ace, and we'll Photoshop them before we let Finn anywhere near these pictures. God only knows what he'll do to a good photo. Probably blow them up and buy a billboard off a highway somewhere to stick them up."

I smile, and turn to him. He turns to me, hand still outstretched with the camera. We lean in for the kiss, and I almost don't notice when the flash goes off.

. . .
seagulls fly
. . .

We eat at the airport, sushi. It's quiet in the pilot's lounge, and I can only assume that Logan gets to be there because he's also a pilot, with a license and everything.

'Wow,' I think. 'That could be a good backup plan in case his family fortune goes bust. Become a pilot and fly people around.' I sneak a look at him in between handrolls. He's picking at his soft-shelled crab, restless. I pick up my chopsticks and offer a colourful roll to him.

"California maki for your thoughts?"

He picks some more at the crab. Sighs.

"Nothing, Ace. Don't wanna spoil the weekend."

"You can talk about it, you know," I tell him.

"Talk about what? What's there to talk about? There's nothing to talk about. I'm just a Huntzberger, that's all there is to it."

"But you're good at writing, what's the problem with going into the family business?" I finally voice out the thing which has been puzzling me since he started funking out about it.

He tilted his head and looked at me. Scratches his nose as he wrinkles it. "It's not just writing, Rory, it's… everything. The executive office. The cute secretary with the short skirt. But don't worry," he says quickly, "she's already happily married with two kids." I stick out my tongue at him. "It's not just the business," he repeats. "It's… the beginning of the end. The admission that I am a Huntzberger."

"But you are a Huntzberger."

"Yes, but the rest, the rest! The rest of the … the… stuff that goes with being a Huntzberger! The family obligations! The dinners, the parties, the luncheons, the gatherings, the subtle power plays! I don't want to do that!" He's drunk a bottle of Kirin sake already, which is pretty strong stuff, even for him. Logan's a happy drunk, most of the time, but I can tell this wasn't going to be one of the times. This was going to be one of those times where he would rant.

'Very rare for him to lose control, so be lucky he trusts you enough to lose it in front of you,' a part of my mind thinks detachedly.

"You're lucky you don't have any obligations to your family. There's no obligation to 'Be a Gilmore,' no stress in knowing that you'll have to pay for all the so-called privileges that you've received, one way or another," he continues.

"That's not true, Logan," I demur, but he presses his point relentlessly.

"You don't. You really don't. I might be in college, but I know I have to finish it by the end of this year, or I get all my bank accounts pulled from under me. I have to finish and get my ass in gear, and start shadowing my dad around work to 'pick up the ropes', he said. 'Pick up the ropes', yeah, right," he snorted. "To hang myself with, probably."

I can see that there's no reasoning with him tonight, and I let him continue on, tuning him out, and only occasionally making sympathetic noises when it seems appropriate.

I try not to think about his comment about my situation in life.

'Live for the here and now, Rory. Here and now. Don't think anymore. Don't think.' I think it to myself even as my mind takes on a will of its own.

Don't think, Rory. Don't think about how you're a candidate to be a college dropout. Don't think about how you left your mom. Don't think about how great it was to be writing for the Yale paper. Don't think about how mom got engaged to Luke without telling you. Don't think. Just… don't think.

Here and now, Rory. Here and now.