Come on, Pooh, please? Will you please just answer your goddamn phone? Is that asking too much? I think after a year and a half you owe me at least that. How do you go from accepting someone's marriage proposal to completely ignoring them? You agreed to marry me, Rory. Marry me. Does that promise mean nothing to you? Because as far as I'm concerned agreeing to marry someone is as much of a commitment as actually marrying them. You don't just get to…
"Good morning."
Rory hit the little red trashcan in the corner of her phone screen as Lorelai entered the kitchen, yanking the phone away from her ear.
"What's up?" Lorelai asked suspiciously.
"Nothing," Rory quickly responded.
"Rory," her mother sighed, "It was him again, wasn't it?"
Rory exhaled, her shoulders drooping in defeat. She wasn't sure why she was trying to hide it. It was basically just reflex at this point in her life. But it was pointless to hide even if she'd wanted to. Mitchum had been calling all weekend. She supposed since she wasn't in the office to leave letters for, he figured it was time to take things up a notch. At first he'd been apologetic. His voice had been pleading, and he'd told her over and over how sorry he was, that he just wanted a chance to make it up to her, that he'd do anything to win back her trust. But as the weekend wore on, the calls were becoming more frequent, and much less patient. Being an hour and half train ride away in Stars Hollow had been a relief, but she knew it couldn't last forever, and now it was Monday morning and time had run out.
"It's fine," Rory shook her head. She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince more; her mother or herself. "It'll be fine. He'll get the hint eventually."
"And things will be better when he does?" Lorelai asked pointedly.
"Maybe," she replied with a complete lack of conviction.
"Rory," Lorelai said, taking a seat at the table across from her daughter, "I really don't like this. You can't go back there."
"So what? I'm supposed to quit my job, get black balled from the journalism world and move back here with you to play Little Edie to your Big Edie?"
"Well, I mean, you'd have plenty of time to practice your dance routine."
"I inherited my grace from you; no amount of practice can overcome that."
Lorelai sighed. "Well what about that Logan guy. You said he offered you a job with an online magazine or something."
"I don't know," Rory shrugged her shoulders. "I mean, he mentioned it yeah, but he's just working there as a writer, I highly doubt he has the authority to hire people. And I haven't even heard a word from him since he quit a week ago. He hates me, it was just a moment of sympathy. And even if it were a real offer, I can't let Mitch win."
"This is bigger than winning or losing, Kid." Lorelai rested a comforting hand on her daughter's shoulder. "This is your safety we're talking about."
"This is my life we're talking about."
"Exactly. What if he hurts you worse?"
"No," Rory shook her head, "I mean it's my life. It's my job and my reputation and my relationships. It's what I think about when I'm brushing my teeth or lying in bed or watching TV. I just want my life to go back to normal. I don't want to wake up every day with him having this…this power over me."
"He's your boss. Every day you keep working there you're going to wake up with him having power over you."
"I'm scared," Rory cried out, throwing her hands up in the air. "I'm scared to stay, I'm scared to go. I have no idea what to do. I just…I can't make any big decisions right now, it's just too much."
"Can't you take a leave of absence then or something?"
Could she? She'd need to come up with an acceptable excuse, run it by HR. She'd need approval. Would he intervene and refuse to allow it? And even if it got passed, how long would they give her? One week? Two? What would that even accomplish? And it didn't change the fact that she needed to go to work today. It didn't change the fact that she needed to go to work for the rest of her life. "My train leaves soon, we should get going."
"What if I just don't drive you to the train station?"
"Then I'll call a cab."
"But that'll take a while; you'll miss your train."
"I'll get the next one."
Lorelai huffed in annoyance. "You know, I love that you inherited my eyes and my ability to binge on ice cream and fried food without gaining a pound. But you could have done without my stubbornness. Why can't you be more like your Dad and run away from your problems?"
"Mom," Rory scolded. Her mother and father's relationship was fickle to say the least, she never quite knew what was going on with them. But that had been kind of a low blow—even if it was sort of true.
"Hey," Lorelai held up her hands in defense with a mischievous smirk, "I meant it as a compliment."
"I can't believe you're moving out woop woop."
"Out what?"
"Out woop woop," Finn repeated as though it were the most normal phrase in the world.
"Is that some weird Australian slang?"
"Oh, like your American colloquialisms are so normal? What the bloody hell is a fo'shizzle anyway?"
Logan just shook his head as he bent down to tape a box of electronics closed. "Whatever, I'm not moving out 'woop woop' whatever that means, I'm moving out to Long Island with Honor… temporarily. I'll be 45 minutes away."
"Are you taking your bed? Because I'm not sure they have them out in the Bush. You might need to sleep on a bed made of twigs."
"Honor has plenty of beds." Logan rolled his eyes.
"What about this chair?" Finn asked, plopping his skinny Australian ass down in a plush, charcoal grey chaise. "Are you taking the chair?"
"No."
"But it's so comfy." He shifted around, throwing his legs over the armrest and taking a slug of the beer he held in his hands.
"It's not mine, Finn. It came with the apartment and it's staying with the apartment," Logan informed him as he secured a box with packing tape. He paused for a moment then turned back to his friend. "But feel free to spill as much beer on it as you like."
"Blasphemy," Finn shouted, throwing his free hand over his chest, "That's alcohol abuse." Despite Finn's outrage, beer sloshed over the neck of the bottle and onto the previously pristine fabric of the seat.
Logan looked up at the sound of a grunting noise to see Colin struggling over a medium sized box like the world's puniest weightlifter trying to do a sled push. "Remind me again why we have to do this?" Colin panted as he stopped to take a break halfway down the hallway.
"Because I'm currently unemployed and can't afford to pay someone."
"So I have to do manual labor just because you chose to be poor?"
"I didn't choose to be poor. And I'm not poor, I'm just not…you know what," Logan stopped himself with a shake of his head, "Yeah, yes. You have to do manual labor because I chose to leave my abusive father and my forced destiny to live the life of a destitute vagabond. You had no power of agency over your own actions and could have in no way denied my request for help."
"Well, when you put it that way," Colin huffed.
"Okay, kitchen's done," Stephanie announced, joining the group. "And I won't even point out the fact that the woman in the group got relegated to the kitchen."
"Except that you just did, Love," Finn reminded her.
Logan turned to look at Stephanie who was setting a small box labeled utensils on top of a stack of other boxes. He wondered if she'd spoken to Rory recently. His breath caught in his throat as the question almost came tumbling out of his mouth. He wouldn't ask. He couldn't. For starters, he wasn't sure he was prepared to know. Had Mitchum wormed his way back in yet? He'd read somewhere that it took an average of seven attempts for a woman to leave an abusive partner. She'd tried to leave him at least once, he knew, then his father had weaseled his way back in with a proposal. Had she tried to leave him other times? How many times had his mother tried?
Besides that, he didn't want to put Stephanie in the middle of things. As much as he wanted to hate Rory, he couldn't. And he certainly couldn't wish her any harm. Which meant she needed all the support she could get. He wished he was strong enough to be that support, but he wasn't, not yet; so the least he could do was let Stephanie be her friend without interference.
Logan turned back to the media console and the tangle of wires he was currently bundling up. "Logan?" he heard Stephanie probe.
"Hmm?" he replied noncommittally.
"Was there something you wanted to ask me?" He wasn't facing her, but he could still see the raised eyebrows and knowing look on her face.
"Oh, umm, I was just wondering if you found my air popper. You know, I went to make popcorn the other day and I couldn't find it."
"The air popper?" Stephanie asked, her voice dubious.
"Mmhmm."
"So you can make popcorn?"
"Well I'm not using it to grill a steak." He finally turned to look at her.
"I could use some popcorn," Finn piped in, "because I have a feeling this show is just getting started."
"Logan," Stephanie said, "If you want to know, you can just ask."
He shrugged his shoulders. "Okay. Stephanie, did you see my air popper?"
Stephanie rolled her eyes. "I saw the…'air popper', on Thursday," she informed him with air quotes. "The…'air popper', was planning to go visit its momma popcorn maker for the weekend."
"I don't know what you're taking about," he replied as a strange mixture of anxiety and relief flooded his body. Anxiety at the thought of even having this conversation. Relief at the knowledge that she was still in touch with Stephanie, and her mother. That she had left the city. Then again, it had only been for the weekend, and the weekend was over. Which meant she was back at work. Was he still leaving letters on her desk? The engagement ring? How long before he wore her down?
"Ugh, you're infuriatingly male, you know that?" She threw her hands up in exasperation.
"And you're infuriatingly meddlesome. I don't want to talk about this right now."
"Except that clearly you do, because I've counted at least five instances since I got here where you gave me that inquiring look, opened your mouth like you were about to say something, and then shut it again. And your air popper was front and center in your left bottom cabinet, so it obviously wasn't about that."
"Oh, good."
"Good?" she asked in exasperated bewilderment.
"Yeah, it's good you found my air popper."
"Ugh," Stephanie rubbed her face in exasperation. "What is your problem?"
"My problem is that I. Don't. Want. To. Talk. About. It," Logan reiterated. "Yeah, I admit I thought about asking, but I didn't. Because I don't want to talk about it. I've got too much of my own shit to deal with right now to be worrying about her problems."
"Fine," Steph huffed, "don't talk about it. But I'm going to say something so if you really don't want to hear it, you may want to get your Bose out of that cabinet now and put them on…" Unsurprising to no one, Logan didn't don any headphones or stick his fingers in his ears. "She's struggling, Logan. She's putting on a good front. And she's hanging in there. And she has Paris, and me, and Chase, and her Mom. But she's struggling and I really think it would help if you reached out. Just a little. I think it would help to know you didn't hate her."
"Who said I don't?" Logan shrugged dismissively.
"Anyone with eyes," Colin interjected.
"Fine, maybe I don't hate her," Logan finally exploded. Steph wanted him to talk? Well, she was about to get her way. "But I don't forgive her either. She lied to me. For months. She knew how I felt; about my father, about her. But she lied. And she let me keep falling for her. And that's bad enough, but what's worse is that she chose him. Time and time again, she chose the man who was abusing her over the one who actually cared about her. So what does that say about me? Huh? What does it say about what she thinks about me? That I rank less than a cruel, abusive, power hungry, jack ass who treats her like a dog?"
"Oh, Logan," Stephanie sighed sympathetically, striding across the room and taking a seat on the floor next to him. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "The fact that she was even able to develop as much of a relationship with you as she did is a miracle. I told you, the night you first introduced her to us—cutting someone off from their support system is one of the major ways an abuser maintains control over their victim. She'd been almost completely isolated when you came along. But somehow you got in. Honestly, I think you saved her. And believe me when I tell you that the feminist in me really hates to admit that, because a woman shouldn't need some white knight to come save her. But you not only managed the get her to let you in, you helped give her other friends, like me, and you got her to make up with her mother. So what does it say about you? What does it say about what she thinks of you? Something pretty damn awesome."
Logan took a deep breath in, pushing down the swirling, nauseating, flood of emotions. He'd felt them enough over the last two weeks, he couldn't deal with anymore right now. He couldn't take the time to try to put a name to them or try to figure out what they meant. He hadn't lied when he'd told Stephanie he had too much of his own crap to deal with to worry about her.
"I'm glad I could save her," he breathed out. "But right now, I think I need to save myself."
Steph nodded. "I get that."
"You'll look out for her?"
Stephanie gave him a warm smile. "Of course."
Logan nodded. "We should get back to packing," he said. "The movers will be here in a few hours."
Rory looked down at her notes, the top four pitches were crossed off and she was coming dangerously close to the end of her list.
"How about the glass cliff?"
"What's that?" Jeffery Peterson asked.
"It's this phenomenon where businesses and governments elevate women to top leadership positions when the companies are in trouble. It sets the women up for failure and promotes the misconception that women are inferior leaders."
"Is that a real thing?" Peterson asked dubiously.
"Umm, yes," Rory informed him.
"I don't know." He made an uncertain expression. "It sounds fishy. I'm not so sure. Get me some more info on it and I'll consider it."
"Okay," Rory shook her head in dismay. It was a blow off and she knew it.
"Well, umm, I was also thinking of maybe writing something up on gender pay discrimination. Some legislation was just introduced in the Senate so it seems like a good time to remind people of the issue."
Peterson shook his head. "The whole pay gap issue is overdone," he said. "And the politics team will be taking on the legislative bits."
Rory took her pen and crossed out wage discrimination. It was the last item on her list. She officially had no story ideas left.
"Oh, yeah, I guess." She slumped in her chair. "Are there any stories you've got that you need a writer for?" she queried.
"Hmm," Peterson seemed to contemplate it, leaning back in his chair. "You know, we kind of have a back log already. A bunch of stories were handed in before the holidays and while Features pieces aren't as time sensitive as most of the rest of the news, they do have a bit of a ticking clock on them. We need to get those stories out. Maybe you could help out by doing some fact checking on them."
"Fact checking?" Rory repeated incredulously.
"Yeah, and I think the death beat could use help with some obits. You know, suicides spike during the holidays, plus all the drunk drivers—" Peterson cringed at his words. "Sorry," he apologized.
"Sorry?"
"Yeah," Peterson got up and started to walk around his desk. Coming up next to her and leaning back on the edge of the furniture just inches away from her seat. "I mean, obviously you know about the dangers of drunk drivers. How are you doing, anyway? You seem like you're feeling better."
"Oh, right." Rory had almost forgotten about the car accident story. "Yeah, I'm feeling better."
"Good." He clapped a hand on her shoulder in what she assumed was supposed to be a reassuring gesture. She winced uncomfortably and shifted in her seat. "I'm glad it wasn't worse. I don't know what we'd do here without you."
"Oh, I'm sure you'd find someone else to fact check and write obituaries." She shrugged his hand off her shoulder.
Peterson let out a breath, his shoulders slumping sympathetically. "Listen, Rory," he said, turning towards her from his spot leaning against the desk until his leg was touching hers. She shuddered involuntarily at the contact. At least she was wearing pants instead of a skirt. "You're a great writer, really. But you're still a neophyte. Sometimes you're going to have to suffer through a little grunt work while the big boys take on the heavy load." Rory literally felt like she might vomit at his condescending attitude.
"I see." Her teeth ground together in frustration. She knew what was going on here. Although she wasn't entirely sure Peterson did.
"You know," he added. "I might be able to help."
"Is that so?" she asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"Absolutely." He nodded vigorously. "You're one of our most talented young journalists. With a little mentoring, I really think you could be the next Maureen Dowd." Rory might have been flattered if she weren't so repulsed. "If you wanted, we could get together for a drink one night to discuss your work." Wow, the man had moxie, she'd give him that. Did he have any idea what he was walking into? He had to have some idea. She was quite certain her sudden demotion to fact-checker wasn't a coincidence. Mitchum had clearly told him not to give her any assignments. But then, why was Peterson suddenly putting the moves on her after all this time? Unless he thought her being on Mitchum's shit list made her fair game. Of course, she highly doubted Mitchum would actually be okay with one of his top editors trying to hit on her. Plus, it meant that Peterson knew she wasn't fair game before which was all kinds of ick. How many other people around here knew the dirty secret that Mitchum had convinced her she had to keep for her own good?
She couldn't really think about that just then, Peterson was waiting for an answer. What the hell was she supposed to do? She couldn't have two, powerful, spurned men out to get her. She needed someone here on her side.
"Umm, well," she hesitated, "you see, I'm still on some meds from the accident so I can't really drink right now."
"We could make it coffee," he suggested.
"And I still need a lot of rest. I'm beat by the time I get home from work."
"Of course," he nodded in understanding. "Well," he bent down to squeeze her knee. The touch made her feel physically ill. "When you're feeling better."
"For sure," she managed to say through a forced smile. She had a feeling it was going to be a very long time before she was feeling better.
AN: Oh dear, stubborn Rory. Looks like Mitchum is losing patience that his overtures to win her back aren't working. But Rory is still pushing through. Will she break? Will she bend? Will she kick Mitchum and Peterson in the nuts and go out in a blaze of glory? And what about Logan? Is he just going to fade off into the Long Island night? Or does he have a little something up his sleeve?
As always, I love to hear what you think in the form of a review. And if you do leave a review, keep your eyes on your PMs because I've been trying to be better about responding to them all.
Also, if you're looking for something to read now that your all caught up on this, I highly recommend LoveRocket09's The Family Business for some more insights into the brain of Mitchum Huntzberger. I'm obsessed!