AN: I bet you weren't expecting this after all time. And many of you are probably wishing it was RLH or WT. But I've got to strike when the inspiration hits. Especially these days when I'm overwhelmed with career stuff. But things are settling down a little so I'm hopeful that I'll be able to update a little more regularly. Don't expect anything even close to speedy updates though. It's still going to be slow going for a while. Just not THIS slow going. Anyhoo, hope this can at least hold you over until I can get the next chapter of RLH comes out.

"Oooh, look at this…" Rory chirped, her voice full of excitement. She pulled Mitchum by the hand towards a booth full of bric-a-brac. He couldn't see anything even remotely interesting. Most of the items were rusting and broken.

Honestly, Mitchum couldn't understand the appeal of a flea market at all. Why would anyone want to buy someone else's old junk? But Rory loved them. Half her wardrobe used to belong to someone else. Mitchum wasn't in the habit of doing things just because someone else wanted him to, but he could tell things between him and his girlfriend were still strained, so he figured it couldn't hurt to appease her a bit.

It had been a couple of weeks since the wine glass incident and on the surface, things seemed to have gone back to normal. Rory had stopped hanging out with Logan and his friends, and she wasn't spending any time with him at the office either.

She was spending several nights a week at Mitchum's place. She'd tease him about his taste in music, and they'd argue over politics, then they'd make up. They had not watched a lot of The O'Reilly Factor. And yet something was different. Rory lacked a certain…presence, when they were together. He could feel her guard up. He could even swear he saw her flinch a couple of times when he raised his hand to do something.

She was frightened of him, he could tell. And so, here he was, outside in December, looking at used clothing, crappy, handcrafted jewelry, and broken furniture. It was insanity. What did this woman do to him?

"What are we looking at?" he asked as he brought his mind back to the present and let his eyes wander over the contents of the booth.

"This!" she informed him.

He narrowed his eyes in confusion at her pick. "Are you planning on getting a bird?" he asked as he contemplated the wrought iron bird cage she was cooing over. It was whitewashed, but the paint was peeling. The door appeared to be completely rusted shut. It didn't look like a safe place for a living creature.

Rory turned to him and rolled her eyes. "Of course not. I work 60-hour weeks and spend half my nights at your place, when would I have time to take care of a bird?"

"Then why all the interest in a bird cage?"

"I can turn it into a planter," she replied as though it should be obvious. "I saw it on Pintrest. I'll put it out on the fire escape; it gets southern exposure."

"Or you could just…buy a planter." She glared at him like he'd just suggested she buy an entire vineyard instead of one measly little planter. "What?" he asked. He would never get this girl. They had nothing in common. He had bought his own vineyard, after all. In fact, he had two. And it wasn't like she was poor. Sure, her salary was…meager. He'd know, since he signed her checks. But she had rich grandparents and a quarter-million-dollar trust fund. But she still balked at the slightest extravagance. They had nothing in common.

So why was he so obsessed with her? He didn't like it. Not at all. He wasn't supposed to be the obsessed one. He wasn't supposed to be the one going out of his way to please her. He wasn't supposed to be losing his cool and throwing wine glasses. The carpet cleaner had had a hell of a time getting that stain out of the rug.

"Money isn't the answer to everything," she told him. It was a common refrain from her.

"Planters are cheap. You could probably buy a new one for less than the cost of that cage," he argued.

Rory continued to glare at him for a moment before her scowl gave way to a grin and she shook her head with a chuckle.

"Did I miss the joke?"

"Did I ever tell you you're cute when you're clueless?" she asked.

He should be insulted. He wasn't clueless, he was practical. She was the one being ridiculous. But he wasn't insulted. God help him, he found her back handed compliment…endearing. Especially when she widened her grin, cocked her head, and leaned in to give him a kiss.

Yep, Mitchum Huntzberger was completely out of control. And for as crazy as Rory made him, he was helpless to change it.

He shouldn't be here. He knew it was creepy, and stalkerish, and completely inappropriate. He knew he was crossing so many lines, both professionally, and as a respectful and civilized human being. Showing up at a woman's home uninvited after she'd been ignoring you for weeks was not only ethically wrong, it could easily be considered a misdemeanor.

But this went beyond that. He was worried. He was sure the decision to end their friendship wasn't hers. And yes, he knew how that sounded…like every obsessed, ex-boyfriend who had ever wound up behind bars for stalking. But he was willing to risk it if it meant he could help her get out of a bad situation.

So here he was, despite his better sense, pacing up and down the sidewalk in front of her building, wondering if he should ring the buzzer. If he announced himself, she could send him away. And he couldn't approach her at the office. If she made a scene, it would look really bad for him. Plus, what if their interactions really were having a negative impact on her at work? He should have asked Stephanie to come talk to her.

Just as he was about to pull out his phone and call the perky blonde, a pizza delivery guy approached the building and headed up the steps to the entrance. Logan didn't think about it—his feet carried him up to the building and he slipped in the door behind the guy from Luigi's.

"Thanks," he mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. The pizza guy just shrugged and walked down the hall to one of the first-floor apartments. Logan breathed a sigh of relief and started up the stairway.

He made it to apartment 4C and knocked before he lost his nerve. It was uncomfortably quiet for a few moments, before he heard the clicking of locks. The door swung open to reveal a short, annoyed looking blonde woman. She raised her eyebrows and cocked her head to look him up and down but didn't say a word.

"Is Rory here?" he asked, taking a couple of steps back. Paris Gellar was the only person in the universe who could make Logan cower, other than his father. As if he hadn't had enough reasons to avoid the newsroom in college; her presence kept him far away.

"She's out," Paris replied, immediately starting to shut the door. Logan took a deep breath and reached his hand out to hold it open. He wouldn't let himself be intimidated by a five foot two med student. Even if she did know Krav Maga—or so he'd been told. Besides, Rory saw something good in Paris, so there had to be a morsel of humanity in her.

"With him?" Logan asked pointedly.

Paris' eyebrows rose even higher and she pulled the door back open again. "You know about him?" she asked, sounding slightly impressed—or so he assumed; he'd never heard Paris sound impressed before. "And you're still here?"

"I'm worried about her."

"Well, family's always gotta have each other's back…" Paris replied with thinly veiled mirth.

"Huh?" he narrowed his eyes in confusion.

Paris' grin quickly faded to be replaced by a grimace. She quickly shook it away. "Never mind." She looked at him through narrowed eyes as though she was trying to decide something.

Logan didn't have the time or energy to contemplate the weirdness of Paris Gellar.

"She's been acting strange lately," he pushed on. "Pushing people away."

"Because she's not falling at your feet? Get a clue Huntzberger. Not every woman is snowballed by your chiseled jaw and charming smirk. She has good reasons for putting a halt to your little powwows. Not the least of which is that you and your friends are about as mature and dependable as Johnny Knoxville."

Logan rolled his eyes. "And yet she enjoyed hanging out with us."

"Apparently not," Paris dismissed.

"Okay, fine," Logan acquiesced with a shrug. He didn't believe that for a second, but it didn't really matter. "She just didn't like us. I guess she just decided to go back to hanging out with her old friends instead. Who are they again?"

"She's got friends, Huntzberger," Paris growled.

"Like who?"

"Like me, asshat."

"Right. And how much time do you two spend together?"

"We live together."

"And you spend how much time together?"

"I'm in one of the best med schools in the country," Paris replied defensively. "I'm busy working to make something of my life. Maybe you should try it some time."

Logan gritted his teeth at yet another dig. "Exactly, you're busy. Busy and safe. You don't take time away from him. And let's face it—you have a tendency to get wrapped up in your own life and accomplishments and not notice what's going on around you—like the names of your reporters, or the fact that while you were holed up in your bunker, the board was making plans to Howell-Raines you…"

"Please, keep talking. I feel totally compelled to listen to your completely ill-informed concerns now."

"You know I'm right," Logan continued. Paris may have acted insulted, but he knew no-nonsense was what she responded to. The only reason Rory's mystery man hadn't put a stop to her relationship with Paris was because Paris wasn't a threat—and letting her keep that one relationship helped keep her from realizing just how alone and isolated she'd really become. "She's closed herself off to everyone but him."

"She has other friends too. Chase—"

"Chase barely sees her anymore either. She eats lunch at her cubicle most days. Always some excuse about some story she's working on."

"She has her family."

"When was the last time she went home?"

Paris was losing steam. "She doesn't have her mandatory Friday night dinners anymore," she replied half-heartedly. "And they do live in another state."

"Hartford is two hours away. There are people who make that commute every day. It's hardly too far for Thanksgiving. Did she go home for Thanksgiving?" he asked. Rory had been avoiding him already by then, but still, he knew the answer.

Paris didn't reply. He doubted she wanted to admit Rory spent the holiday with her secret boyfriend rather than her actual family. A family she, by all accounts, actually liked.

"Listen, you really need to back off. For your own good," she said instead.

"What does that mean?" He doubted Paris cared about his own good in the slightest.

"It means this is going to end badly for you."

"Is he dangerous?"

"That's not what I meant," she replied with little patience.

"Then what did you mean?"

"I meant what I said. This is not going to go in your favor. Even if she broke up with him, you two are never going to happen. Trust me."

"I don't care about that." Paris gave him a dubious look. "I don't. I mean—I won't deny that I have more than platonic feelings for her, but regardless of what happens with us, my gut tells me she's in trouble. And if I inherited one thing from my father, it's that gut instinct to know when there's a story."

"I'd wager you inherited a lot more than that," Paris replied cryptically.

"Just talk to her. Please," Logan implored.

Paris looked at him, almost pityingly, and shut the door.

Rory balanced a box containing the rusting birdcage, three shirts, two skirts, and a couple of old picture frames in one hand as she rummaged through her purse with her other hand, searching for her keys. She finally managed to pull them out and open the apartment door.

Kicking the door shut behind her, she turned to set her things down on the entry table when her eye caught some movement in her peripheral vision. Rory jumped, her box of flea market finds crashing to the floor.

"It's a good thing you didn't go into medicine. With your hand eye coordination, you'd never make it past your first suturing lab."

"Paris!" Rory breathed a sigh of relief, hand clutched to her chest. "I wasn't expecting you. I thought you'd be at the library—finals and all."

"I decided to study at home," she replied from her place at the island that separated the small kitchen area from the minuscule living room.

"Oh," Rory bent down to gather up her fallen things. "You never do that. I thought there were too many distractions here."

"Well, sometimes distractions can follow you anywhere."

"Umm, okay," Rory replied, not really knowing what her friend meant. "Well, I'll go to my room and get out of your hair," Rory nodded towards the short hallway to her right. She had hoped to watch a little TV, but Paris would throw a conniption if there was any noise while she was studying. At least there was always her copy of Still Alice waiting to be read.

"Actually," Paris replied, pushing her barstool back from the counter. "I could use a break."

"Really?" Rory questioned skeptically. Paris didn't believe in breaks.

"Yeah, we should, you know—talk or something."

"Did someone die? Or did you parents get extradited from whatever country they were hiding out in?" The last time Paris wanted to have a chat, her parents were being brought up on charges of tax evasion and had fled the US.

"No, they're still safe and sound in Moldova."

"Ooookay," Rory said hesitantly. "Well, I already had dinner with Mitch, but how about some ice cream?" She made her way into the kitchen and opened the freezer.

"I've decided to give up dairy. Humans are the only animals that consume another specie's breast excretions. It's gross, if you think about it."

Rory's hand froze midway out of the freezer, fingers wrapped around a pint of Phish Food. She pushed the Ben and Jerry's back in a grabbed the Haagen-Dazzs instead. "Sorbet it is," she replied with a sigh. Paris had an unnatural ability to ruin the best things in life. She closed the freezer, grabbed two spoons, and headed to the couch to join her roommate.

"So, what did you want to talk about?"

"You had a visitor earlier."

"Oh, sorry if they interrupted your studying," Rory apologized, assuming Paris was annoyed by the disruption and blamed Rory. Everything annoyed Paris. "Who was it?"

"Oedipus."

Rory looked confused. "A fictional, ancient Greek king came to see me?"

"Geez, Gilmore, if I can't count on you to get my literary references, who the hell can I count on?"

"Sorry," Rory replied huffily.

"It was Logan."

Rory suddenly got the reference. "Eww, Paris. That is wrong on so many levels."

"Hey," Paris held her hands up innocently. "I'm not the one with the magical Huntzberger Siren powers."

"Well I don't know what you want me to do about it. I was perfectly clear with him that we couldn't hang out anymore."

"And why is that exactly?" Paris asked, helping herself to a scoop of mango-y goodness.

"I'm up for a promotion. Hanging out with the boss's son could incur inaccurate conjectures of favoritism."

"And Mitchum didn't like it."

"That has nothing to do with it."

"Doesn't it?"

"No. I wouldn't stop being friends without someone just because my boyfriend didn't like it."

"But he didn't? Like it?"

"Well, no. But I think that's understandable given the circumstances."

"And he told you he didn't like it, you resisted, and then suddenly you were up for a promotion?"

"Oh my god," Rory shoved up from her seat on the couch. "He got to you!" She pointed accusingly at Paris with her spoon. "You, Paris Gellar of all people, let Logan Huntzberger sway you with his golden tongue."

Paris' eyebrows shot up in amusement. "And what would you know of his golden tongue?" she asked with a chuckle. Rory's face flamed red. "Oh my god! You didn't. Tell me you did NOT kiss your boyfriend's son."

Rory looked away, fidgeting nervously. "It just kind of happened…twice."

"Wow, I didn't know you had it in you, Gilmore," the blonde girl replied with a mixture of pride and disgust.

"I didn't mean for it to happen," she argued. "The first time I didn't even know who he was."

"Sure, that makes it better," Paris rolled her eyes.

"It was a mistake. There's nothing going on. Mitchum never found out. He WILL never find out. And I made it very clear to Logan that nothing was going to happen with us."

"And when have you ever known a Huntzberger to take 'no' for an answer?"

"That's not my fault," Rory replied, nervously chewing on her lip.

"If he finds out you've been shtupping his father, he's going to need every penny of that trust fund to pay for the therapy."

"Since when do you care about Logan Huntzberger?" Rory plopped back down on the couch with a sigh.

"Oh, believe me, I don't. And for as amusing as I find this torrid love triangle and would love to see it come to its explosive conclusion—Logan made a valid point."

"And what's that?" Rory rolled her eyes and yanked the pint of sorbet from Paris.

"When was the last time you went home?"

"I don't know," Rory paused. "Umm, in the spring, I guess. For Mom's birthday."

"That was over six months ago."

"And when was the last time you visited your family, Paris?" Rory snipped back.

"My parents are in exile. Also, we never really liked each other to begin with. You and Lorelai on the other hand were sickeningly codependent."

"Relationships change," Rory argued half-heartedly. She knew Paris was right. The loss of her relationship with her mother was the one thing she hated more than anything else. She could stand having no close friends here in New York, if only she had her mother to rely on. But it just wasn't a possibility.

"You're cutting yourself off."

"I've been concentrating on my career and my relationship. Clearly you of all people can appreciate that."

"You've been lying and keeping secrets," Paris corrected.

"You know why I have to."

"I know why you had to. It made sense in the beginning. But it's been over a year, Rory. Your relationship is either strong enough to withstand the storm or it's not. You can't live in a bubble forever."

"He won't go for it."

"And why is that?

"He's just trying to protect me."

"You don't need a man to protect you," Paris scoffed. "You know the consequences. You could choose to face them if you wanted, but you don't. And he doesn't want to protect you, he wants to control you."

"What are you talking about?"

"He's your boss and your boyfriend, Rory. That's a lot of control for one person to have over your life. Especially when you're conveniently isolated from everyone else important to you. And I'm sorry I've been so wrapped up in my own stuff that I didn't see it, but it's true."

"You're being overly dramatic," Rory dismissed, as she shoved another spoonful of sorbet in her mouth, trying to push down the overwhelming feelings bubbling up inside her.

"Maybe," Paris shrugged. "Perhaps you should ask someone else. Oh wait, you can't because no one else even knows you've been in a relationship for the last year and a half.

It was a low blow. Rory's eyes iced over as she stood from the couch. "I'm going to bed."

"Tell Lorelai," Paris said to her retreating back. "It won't affect your career. It won't damage your chances of getting that promotion…It won't make Logan hate you and want to sustain a traumatic brain injury so he can get a case of amnesia." Rory turned and glared. "Just tell her," Paris shrugged. "Go home for Christmas and tell her. Don't you think it's time?"

AN: Whelp, there you have it. Will Rory go home for Christmas? Will she tell Lorelai or will she chicken out. If Lorelai finds out, how will she take it? And how will Mitchum react if he finds out she divulged information about their relationship to her mother? Or that she even wants to spend the holiday with anyone but him?