Title: The Worst Guilt

Chapter 2: One is the loneliest number

Rating: Pg-13 for now, haven't decided exactly where it will go

Disclaimer: If I actually owned the show, Luke would not have a long lost daughter.

Summary: Tory, not exactly AU, just future fic. Not a triangle fic. The plot is based VERY loosely on a book I read, so I can't take all the credit. Oh, and I'm making the corporate centre of the Huntzberger empire in New York.

A/N1 for plot points: see end of chapter.

A/N2: Thank you so much for the reviews. I don't expect that many every time, although it would be nice, and it's very encouraging. (it makes me want to write more immediately actually). Many were in two camps (1-I hate Logan, 2-I love Logan). And sorry, this is not going to be a Rory/Logan fic. Between finals and finishing up my last story What Lies Within Us, this chapter was a little long in coming. It was written tonight on my coffee/sugar induced high before I go crash for a couple hours before studying.

The moment they found Logan's body should have been the most shocking, clear event that happened. Instead, Tristan found himself standing there as if in a daze, just staring uselessly as Rory cradled Logan in her arms. He wasn't really seeing Logan, he couldn't bring himself to think of that as Logan, he was just focused on all the blood. It flowed out around them, soaking Rory's shirt, staining the dirty ground.

"Wake up Logan," Rory was pleading with him, begging him to come back to her. He could see the tears creeping down her face, not even caring as a smear of blood got on her cheek when she swiped at it with her hand. "Wake up! For God's sake Tristan, wake him up!"

Maybe it was hearing his name that forced him into some sort of action. It still felt as if he was just going through the motions, as if he was observing this from afar. But even as he grabbed his cell phone to call 911, he could tell it was too late. He couldn't see Logan's face, feel for the lack of pulse, but he knew; Logan was gone. He could feel the world slipping away because even as he talked to the emergency operator he knew. Nothing that they could do would make a difference.

As he snapped shut the phone he fell to his knees on the ground beside the couple, not caring that the blood and the dirt were ruining his pants. His limbs felt odd and freakishly sluggish. Rory was sobbing now, her pleas to Logan incoherent, but yet clear in their meaning.

"He's gone Rory," he said the words softly, resting a hand on her shoulder, cringing when she wrenched away from him, refusing to let Logan go.

"No, he's going to be fine," her words were desperate, but even he could see the lack of conviction.

He couldn't bring himself to repeat the words because he didn't want to believe them either. He didn't want to accept it as fact any more than she did. Logan was his best friend, his family, and he was gone. He was numb, oblivious to the blood soaking his pants and the cold night air. "He's going to be fine," he could hear the mantra Rory was repeating firmly, even as they heard the sound of sirens fill the air. "He's going to be fine."

But even as they sat there, he could see the fight leave her, and she seemed to collapse on herself, barely supporting Logan's body with her arms. He wanted to say something to make it all better, but there were nothing he could do or say in this moment that would change the reality that lay before them. He wanted to comfort her, but at that moment he felt as devastated and confused as she was.

She raised her eyes to his, even as she let Logan shift slightly in her grasp. "He was just going to the office," her voice not more than a whimper, "He was just going into work, like he does every day, there was nothing different." She searched his face, looking for answers he would never be able to give her.

"I know," was all he could say helplessly as he looked at the broken woman before him.

She pressed her lips softly to Logan's forehead and brushed back his blonde locks, "I don't understand," her words were soft, not meant for him.

There was nothing to understand; nothing that could make sense of this moment. Nothing in their twenty four years on earth could prepare them for this. No action could change it; there were no words to explain it. All Tristan could think was why? as he looked at the body of his best friend.

They sat there in silence, both contemplating the question that had no answer, as they waited for the ambulance.

Tristan and Rory sat in Logan's study, not saying anything, just staring at each other. They were the only two in the room, the man who had served at the Huntzberger family's lawyer had just left. Logan hadn't been dead more than four days, but in this world they weren't allowed to grieve, not when there were millions at stake and a multinational corporation.

In the end it had all been decidedly simple. Nearly all of Logan's assets that weren't already held jointly were left to Rory as his wife, save for a large sum left to Tristan and a few smaller bequests for family members; it came as a shock to nobody. Hearing that, Rory had wept more than she had that morning at Logan's funeral. She could have his money, his possessions, everything he had ever owned, but she couldn't have him.

The only thing that had come as a surprise was the very reason Tristan had been requested to be at the reading of the will. Logan's company, the very one that had been founded by his father with the understanding that it be a family company, had been left to two people not born a Huntzberger. He had split his stock 50/50 between Tristan and Rory, giving them both controlling interests, leaving explicit instructions that Tristan was to step in as CEO in the event anything happened to him. There was nobody else he trusted enough to do so, and Rory was busy with her own career.

Even now with the will reading complete, and the lawyer gone, Tristan couldn't bring himself to rise from the chair he sat in. He had never expected this outcome, never expected to be put in charge. There was always the express understanding he would be second to Logan. They were young, he had never thought something might happen to change the situation. He hadn't wanted this, had he?

He had never begrudged Logan the good fortune that seemed to just fall his way. He had never coveted the money, the job or the power.

He had merely coveted his wife.

He'd wanted Rory. That was all. But not at this cost. He would never have even imagined it at this cost.

Now he was expected to step right into Logan's shoes. To be at the helm of his company, live the life his best friend was supposed to live. The guilt had started eating him alive from the minute the lawyer had made the announcement.

Had he somehow wished for this? No, he couldn't have. He hadn't.

Had he?

"Tristan?" he heard Rory's voice cutting into his self loathing, and he looked up in surprise, having forgotten for probably the first time in their history that she was even in the room with him.

"You'll do an amazing job." Her words were filled with tears, but sincere none the less. At least she hadn't offered her congratulations.

He didn't want to be the head of the fucking company. All he wanted was his best friend back, the man who was the closest thing to family that he had. But nobody seemed to understand that, except maybe Rory. But she was so wrapped up in her own grief that it seemed selfish to even think of his own.

He could remember bringing her home after the hospital, after all had been done that they could do that night. She had refused to go in the house by herself, the home that had been hers and Logan's. So he took her to his apartment, where she had collapsed on his bed into a deep slumber. He hadn't even tried to feign sleep on the couch, knowing it would evade him all night, so instead he had sat in the chair beside the bed, watching over her in case she came to and needed something in the middle of the night.

When Lorelai's flight had arrived the next morning, he had been infinitely grateful.

"Thank you," he finally said not knowing how else to respond.

How had it come to this? Logan had been in his mid-twenties, the picture of health. Nobody could fathom a death a death like this occurring. He was shocked that Logan had been prepared for this eventuality, having prepared his will, but he supposed when there was that much at stake one had to think ahead. Even when the next day came after Logan's death, they had both been prepared to deal with the details; the problem was that they barely knew what those details were. They were young, they never contemplated their own mortality and had never prepared. Death was a complicated enough issue as it was; when one was a Huntzberger the lawyers got involved too.

"I should go make sure everything is ready for everyone coming over," After the funeral that morning, the other mourners were coming over to the house for a reception of sorts. He watched as she absent-mindedly smoothed her black dress as she stood, her breath hitching. But she didn't leave, just stood there with a lost look on her face.

"It's taken care of," Tristan made his voice gentle. "Your mom and grandmother, Luke, the catering company, it's all under control. You don't have to do anything."

She wore the hollow look she had been wearing for most of the past couple days. It tore at him more than her weeping had ever done. "Nobody will be getting here for a couple hours," he added, "Go have a nap Rory, you need to rest." He himself hadn't slept more than a few fitful hours since that night.

"I can't," she replied firmly. "I need to…..if I stop, even for a moment, I will….." she trailed off desperately and he knew. She had to stay busy because if she stopped the reality of it all would come flooding back. But she looked pale, almost deathly pale, and looked younger than her 24 years. Certainly too young to be faced with this; widowhood.

He wanted to walk over to her, comfort her, but he couldn't make himself do it. It shouldn't have been a problem, they had hugged repeatedly over the years, a constant of their friendship. And, even with his feelings, it had never seemed inappropriate. But now every thought he had of her, every instinct to help her even in friendship, seemed sinister and wrong, like he was stabbing Logan in the back. He couldn't even bring himself to even put a hand on her shoulder.

"I don't know what to do," Rory's voice was hoarse, and he knew she wasn't just talking about facing the guests of the next couple hours.

And the problem was, he didn't either.

The next month was the worst of Rory's life, but that was to be expected.

She had taken a leave of absence from work. There was no point in going back immediately following the funeral. She couldn't concentrate on anything, let alone financial reports. She didn't care if her boss wouldn't let her come back, she couldn't be there at this point.

"You look like shit," her mothers words were blunt as she entered the living room where Rory sat, pretending to read as she just stared into the fireplace. She was staying with Rory for the time being, afraid to leave her alone. Not because she was afraid she would harm herself, but because she was afraid her daughter would get bogged down in the grief with nobody in New York there for her. Luke couldn't stay permanently, but he came down often, and she knew every time he wished his wife would come home with him.

In a way, that was what Rory wanted to do, wallow in her grief; she had been decidedly numb since the day of the funeral. Although her grief and fears were guiding her every action, they seemed like somebody else's emotions, not a part of her. She wanted to stay there, in the house that still smelled of him.

She had initially assumed that Logan's presence would quickly fade from the house, especially with her mother moving in. And maybe it had in some ways. Logan would certainly never have read Bridget Jones' Diary, which her mother had left lying on the coffee table. But despite the few tangible differences that came with her mother's presence, the house was inherently the same, and she couldn't shake the reminders of him. She didn't want to.

Half their bathroom counter still held his toiletry items, the closet still held his clothes. His alarm clock still rang at its pre-programmed time every morning. The book he was reading prior to his death still lay on the bedside table, the bookmark noting where he had left off. The scent of his aftershave, which she had always teased him for over-applying, still seemed to linger in the air. Half the time now she showered with his Zest soap rather than her normal body wash, just to remind her of him. All these things she knew she should give up, and clean out, but she didn't feel equipped to deal with wiping him out of her life just yet. And nobody entered the bedroom but herself, so nobody noticed. The rest of the house was theirs, but it was large and rather impersonal, decorated by an interior designer. The bedroom had been theirs.

Tristan, the only person to whom Logan had meant nearly as much to as he had to her, seemed to have drifted away. He came around occasionally, politeness and business issues demanded it, but he wasn't there in the same way he had been before. She wanted some of the normalcy back, but it seemed she couldn't even have that with him anymore.

He was hurting too; she had to remind herself of it every time he avoided her gaze and talked of nothing but pleasantries. But she missed her friend who she had been able to talk to, to tease, to care about. She'd lost Logan in the worst way possible, and now it seemed she'd even lost her closest friend. Even with her mother hovering over her, who she loved more than anything in the world, she just felt so lonely. Nobody had ever thought to tell her how sad she'd be, but really, who would even know? It was indescribable until you experienced it. And, her mother with all her good intentions, couldn't be expected to understand.

She wanted Tristan to come. She wanted him to come, and finally talk to her. Her mother was amazing, but she wasn't what she needed right now. Her mother hadn't even liked Logan. Oh, she'd hid it well enough after they'd announced their engagement, but Rory always knew. She knew her mother. Tristan was the only one who had known Logan as well as she had. He was her last link to her husband, and she hated that he was depriving her of it when she was content to wallow in everything else holding her to Logan.

"I have a flight booked next Thursday," Lorelai tried to keep her tone businesslike, and Rory looked up in surprise.

"You're leaving?" she asked quietly. She had known her mother wouldn't stay forever, but it had been nice having her here, having the company. It had been nice to have someone to take care of everything when she couldn't.

"I have to get back to the inn," Lorelai tried to keep the note of apology out of her voice, even though the sentiment was there. "And Luke…."

Rory just nodded, trying to force up and expression of at least an understanding smile. "You don't have to explain mom, you have a life you have to get back to."

"You're my life, kiddo," Lorelai's words were serious, as she stroked her daughter's hair as if she were a child. "If I could change any of this, I would. If I could do anything, I would……"she trailed off, frustrated by her helplessness. "You going to be okay?"

Rory fought the urge to laugh hysterically at the question.

The next month, Tristan was certain, was the closest thing to hell one could experience on earth.

With every official document he signed, with every executive decision he made, it seemed Logan's memory was being pushed further and further away. He hadn't moved into Logan's office, despite it being the biggest and best, and apparently now his. It was one road that he couldn't bring himself to cross. Every time Logan's assistant briefed him on some important piece of business he should be aware of, he wanted to scream.

At the rate everyone was going, soon Logan would be a distant memory, barely a presence in anyone's minds. His assistant kept pressuring him to take up residence in Logan's office as everything had been filed away in there, and it would be expected when he met with clients or held meetings. But even as he understood the logic for it, he just couldn't do it. He couldn't take everything that had once been Logan's more than he already was.

He threw himself into work, hoping it would take away some of the pain, but it didn't help. After all, his job had been Logan's.

He couldn't even bring himself to depend on Rory, and he knew she didn't understand his avoidance of her. He'd thought that his grief over Logan would overtake the feelings he had for her, but that had been shot to hell. He still felt that pain of longing every time he saw her, that little tug every time she walked into a room. Except now it was wrapped in even more guilt than it had been before because Logan was dead, and that made it all the worse.

He should be comforting her, not lusting after her, and his feelings, even though they were no different than they had been a few weeks ago, made him feel like a perverted monster. He didn't physically avoid her, he couldn't-not with all the legalities of the business between them, but he avoided the conversations he knew she wanted to have.

Throwing himself into work had its side benefits. He couldn't be the type of friend to her that she deserved, but he could make sure the company that she owned half of was running profitably. It may be weak, but he couldn't be her close friend and confidante again, at least not yet.

He looked up at the knock on the door. His secretary Glenda poked her head in. "You have a visitor," she informed him, then added, "Mrs. Huntzberger."

A stream of unrepeatable curses ran through his head, but he didn't utter any of them. Rory had rarely come to the main offices before, even when Logan was alive, and not at all since his death, but the staff all knew who she was. "Send her in Glenda," he replied, summoning a tired smile.

"Rory," he stood and greeted her as she came in the door. She looked horrible, more haggard than he had ever seen her. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to you," she replied pointedly, her unspoken message passing between them: you've been avoiding me.

He didn't know how to respond to that, so he simply sat down behind his large and imposing desk as she flopped down in one of the visitor's chairs.

"I miss you," the words were blunt and shocked the hell out of him.

He didn't know how to respond, but somehow he felt that saying the wrong thing (and whatever he could think of would certainly be the wrong thing) would be worse than saying nothing, so he kept silence, simply gaping at her.

"You were our friend," her voice was almost accusing, "Mine and Logan's. Outside of my husband, and my mother who lives really far away, you became my closest friend in the world. And I don't even know who you are anymore."

She stopped, and then doggedly continued, "Why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not," he replied, both of them knowing it was a blatant lie. But it's not like he would ever tell her the truth.

He could see a few errant tears escape her eyes before she hastily wiped them away, "You were supposed to be my friend too, at least I thought you were."

At that he felt almost as bad as he had the night Logan died, "Rory, don't….."

But she just continued on, "With all this, you were the one I want to talk to, you were the only one who I thought could make any sense out of this madness. I have my mother, and I love her, but she didn't know Logan, you did. She doesn't understand, not the way I thought you would. It's just…..I'm so angry and sad all at once, and so utterly confused, and all I can think of is why aren't you?"

"Don't you ever say that," there was no heat in his anger, but it was there all the same.

"Well why don't you fucking show it?" as much as Rory was no longer the innocent she had been in high school, the screeching profanity was out of character. And he knew that she meant, why didn't he show it with her? They were the only two people on earth, outside of Logan's sister, who really cared that he was dead. There were others who deigned to notice the Huntzberger heir had passed, as evidenced by his funeral, but none who really grieved him.

He didn't respond to her outburst, just watched as she got herself back under control.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come," her half hearted apology was mumbled, and she unsteadily got to her feet.

Unable to help himself he leaned across the desk and rested his hand on hers before she could walk away, "Rory, don't." It was the most comfort he had offered her in this whole nightmare.

She didn't leave, but she didn't sit down. She didn't fully comprehend what she really wanted from him, but wasn't sure knowing would make this all any easier. She just half stood there, her hand resting underneath his larger one, and it all came pouring out. "I just…..I don't know what to do anymore…and I'm so angry, and so alone, and I don't know what to do about it."

He had nothing to offer her as placation, but she continued on, "I just don't know why this is happening. What did I ever do? What did Logan ever do?" And then she uttered the selfish thoughts that had been keeping her up late at night. "It isn't fair. It isn't fair that this is happening to me, and not somebody else, it isn't fair that anyone should have to go through this. But I don't understand why it's me. What did I do?"

"Nothing," he let the word out softly as she began to sob, and he got out from behind his desk and walked around to her, letting his hand rest on her shoulder as she got it all out. "I'm so sorry," was all he could say.

"That doesn't fix it," she sobbed.

"I know," as he half-heartedly patted her back, not sure what else to do.

"How do we fix this?" she asked, wanting him to have some sort of answer.

He never answered the question, and afterwards he wished he had, because then he might have said the wrong thing, like he was renowned for, because then maybe she wouldn't have thrown herself into his arms like she did just then. It was nothing, a plea for comfort, but the physical contact threw him into a tailspin like nothing else could.

As for Rory, the hug was just that, for comfort, for the both of them. But it didn't help that his arms were strong and secure around her, and she missed being held, missed the physical contact that had been part of her everyday life.

She wouldn't have understood why he suddenly shoved her away, but she was too wrapped up in her emotions to feel the firmness in the gesture.

"I miss you too, in all this," she reiterated the sentiment again, wanting him to understand.

And Tristan felt something come to him in a moment of clarity; whether it was reality or not, truthful or not, it felt that way to him, like some accepted truth he couldn't avoid. If he gave in to her, if he played for her the role she wanted, he would end up fully stepping into his best friend's life. Taking everything he ever had, including his wife, and he couldn't do it. He just couldn't.

He felt like the most insensitive bastard in the world when he uttered the words, "I think you should go."

For the first time since college, Tristan Dugrey got pissed-out-of-his-mind drunk. What made it even more pathetic was that he did it alone in his apartment, just him and a bottle of vodka. By the end of the night, it was two bottles of vodka.

He hadn't meant to hurt her, that hadn't been his underlying intention. It's not as if he had stood there and thought how can I make this situation even worse for her? But he had accomplished that feat all the same. He would never forget the look on her face when he had suggested she go, no matter how gentle he had made his tone. She had rushed from his office even when he called after her.

The first shot to numb the pain was easy, the second and third even easier. By the time he had gotten to the bottom of the bottle he had forgotten why he had hated the taste of vodka in college. But it didn't make him feel better; nothing short of jumping off a very tall building was going to make him feel better.

So, in his alcohol laden stupor he contemplated what the best course of action was at this point, both for his sake and for hers.

And he called a travel agent.

A/N: Ok, assume Logan's mom is dead too, just to simplify matters, I don't really need extraneous characters. And Logan's sister lives in Europe now and couldn't make it back in time (and she's well off, has her own company, hated her dad too: why Logan didn't leave her part of the Huntzberger company in the will). There are no other major Huntzberger relatives.

Sorry if some of this seemed abbreviated, I didn't want to wallow in their grieving.