Her hands gripped the coffee cup tighter, trying to absorb the warmth as she approached the house just in time to see a fancy, silver sports car (Porsche if she wasn't mistaken) pull out of the driveway. She breathed a sigh of relief at the knowledge that she wasn't going to be exiled from her own home any longer. For starters, she was freezing. She'd donned a pair of jeans and a sweater from her daughter's room before stealthily slipping out the back door earlier, but she hadn't had access to the coat closet. Late January in New England wasn't exactly prime time for strolling around without any outerwear.

And, of course, she was dying to know what Rory's visitor had wanted.

Lorelai had always had a freakishly strong bond with her daughter. She'd been only 16 when she had her, and she'd raised her on her own. They were friends first, mother and daughter second. That was, until Rory graduated Harvard and moved to the city. Lorelai had tried to write it off as just the normal growing up process. Her daughter was an adult, starting a career in a new city. It was normal to grow apart. And maybe she'd blamed it a little on herself, too. Right around the same time that Rory had moved to Manhattan, Lorelai had reunited with her current fiancé, Luke, following a difficult break-up and a very ill-advised rebound relationship with Rory's father. She'd fully emersed herself in her attempts to rebuild the broken romance. That had made it hurt all the more when she'd found out the truth about Rory. If Lorelai hadn't been so caught up in her own life, maybe she would have been able to spot the signs.

But Lorelai wasn't about to let anything like that happen again. Her daughter was in a vulnerable place and she needed support. And Lorelai was prepared to coax, cajole, and straight up pester the details of her daughter's life out of her—because that was what a supportive parent did—right?

She made her way into the foyer of the home, taking a warming gulp of her coffee, then setting the cup down to vigorously rub heat back into her tingling appendages before turning to enter the living room. Rory was standing, staring towards the front entrance with a dazed expression. The lost look on her daughter's face made her heart hurt.

"Hey, Kid," she greeted, giving a reassuring smile. "You expecting the ice cream man to drive by or something? Because you might have to wait five or six months."

Rory shook herself out of her stupor. "Mom," she replied with surprise in her voice. "You're back."

"Yeah, well Luke cut me off after cup number three, so I figured I'd come back and see if the coast was clear here. Everything go okay?"

"Oh, yeah, everything's fine." She waved her mother's concern away, then turned and immediately started trying to organize the stack of magazines on the coffee table. Lorelai noticed as her daughter froze suddenly, picking something small up in her hands.

"What? Is it the nuclear codes? A secret KGB message from Putin? A perfume sample?"

"Oh, umm, no," Rory turned to face her mother attempting to look relaxed and carefree and failing miserably. "It's just a business card," she shrugged.

"Business card?" Lorelai asked.

"For Hugo. The guy that runs that online magazine Logan's working for. He said he'd put in a good word for me."

"That's great."

"Yeah." Rory slipped the card into the pocket of her jeans. "So, I'm just gonna go work on my resume," she added breezily. She started to head off towards the kitchen and her bedroom beyond.

"Woah, woah, woah," Lorelai stopped her as she was crossing under the doorway.

"What?" Rory feigned innocence.

"Not gonna work, Kid. You're not getting off that easy. The days of keeping your mother out in the cold are over. I want details."

"There's nothing to tell."

Lorelai rolled her eyes, following Rory into the kitchen. "That boy seriously did not come all the way here just to give you a business card." She pulled out a seat at the kitchen table and pointed at it, silently instructing her daughter to sit. Rory did so with a sigh. "So…"

"'So.' What?" Rory repeated, crossing her arms casually over her chest.

The more Rory avoided telling Lorelai what had happened, the more Lorelai was determined to find out. She wasn't sure how she felt about this Logan guy. His name had come up quite a bit as Rory had divulged the details of her relationship with his father, and yet Lorelai always got the distinct feeling that Rory was glossing over those parts of the story. On the one hand, Lorelai found it hard to trust the spoiled rich son of the spoiled, rich megalomaniac who had taken advantage of her daughter and coerced her into an inappropriate and abusive relationship. On the other hand, he and Lorelai seemed to have something in common in their mutual hatred of said megalomaniac. And Logan had walked away from his father and all the privileges associated with him and his company; something else Lorelai could appreciate seeing as she had left a similar life behind to raise Rory her way.

But the thing that really had Lorelai concerned, was the way the mention of Logan's name seemed to lift the dark cloud that had settled behind Rory's eyes in recent days. The last thing her vulnerable daughter needed right now was a new guy to glom on to, a man to come save her; especially one with all the baggage this one had. No, what Rory needed was to get back to the strong, independent, confident woman she used to be; what she needed was to realize that she had the power to save herself.

Also, Lorelai had had enough sense to sneak a peek at the guy before she left the house earlier, and the kid was no dog. Cute boys were a Gilmore girl's kryptonite. Lorelai should know—that's how Rory came to exist in the first place.

"So, what did he come here for?"

"He wanted to ask for my help with an article," Rory shrugged nonchalantly.

Lorelai's eyebrows rose in suspicion. "An article?"

"Yeah."

"An article on what?"

"Just…stuff…" she mumbled, looking down at her hands in her lap. Lorelai stared at her silently, making it clear that she didn't buy it. "Fine," Rory conceded. "It's about Mitch."

Lorelai groaned, her heart dropping. "What about him?" she asked warily.

"He wants to…" she paused hesitantly, "Outhimasasexualpredatorandrevealacultureofsexualharassmentatthecompany," she rushed out avoiding eye contact with her mother.

Lorelai's gut clenched into an uneasy knot of angst. Rory had been through so much already. She'd been abused and taken advantage of. She'd been beaten and beaten down. She'd lost her friends, her job her own sense of self. Mitchum had taken everything from her. Her daughter's life was broken—how could she be expected to start putting the pieces back together and move on if this boy was there trying to make her rehash all the painful details and reveal them for all the world to see? Not to mention the things Mitchum might do to try to keep her quiet.

"He wants you to go on the record?" she asked.

"No. Or, well, yeah, probably but that's not why he was here. He just wanted my advice."

"Rory," Lorelai said, reaching up a hand to rub her at her temple. "I don't like this."

"Like what?"

"You kept this relationship hidden from everyone including me, for over a year because of what would happen if people found out about it. And Mitchum is dangerous. You didn't report him to HR or the cops, or even go to the hospital because you were afraid of what he would do. But you finally escaped and you have a chance at a fresh start now. Do you really want it all out there on some gossip site for all the world to see?"

Rory picked nervously at her nail polish. "No, but…" she shrugged tentatively. "I don't know, I mean, maybe I should do something. We don't know that he's done with me yet. And if he is, that just means that someone else will be next."

"As long as it's not you."

Rory looked up at her with shock in her eyes. "You don't mean that."

"Yes," Lorelai replied certainly, "I do. You're my daughter. Your safety and happiness—that's all that matters to me; not anyone else's."

Rory squared her shoulders defiantly. "Well maybe I won't feel safe, or happy knowing he could be out there hurting someone else with impunity."

"This guy is using you, Rory. He's playing on your emotions to drag you into his vendetta against his dad."

"That's not true."

"What do you think is going to happen when this article comes out? Who do you think is next in line to take over a company called "Huntzberger Publishing Group" if this works to bring Mitchum down? And meanwhile your professional reputation will be ruined."

"You don't know what you're talking about. Logan doesn't care about the business. He doesn't want to take over—he's never wanted that life. All he wants to do is write."

"You're letting your feelings for this guy cloud your judgement."

"What are you talking about?" Rory scoffed.

"Oh please, I may have the smooth, dewy complexion of an infant, but I wasn't born yesterday. You like him."

Her eyes narrowed angrily. "I know you think I'm still a naïve kid, but I'm an adult and I can make my own decisions about what I do and who I trust."

"Yeah, because that worked out so well for you the last time," Lorelai bit back.

"Screw you," Rory hissed, pushing her chair back with the screech of wood against tile and standing up from the table. She turned, stomping off to her bedroom and slamming the door.

Lorelai sighed, slumping down in her seat. That did not go well.

Why did everyone want to put raisins on salad these days? he pondered as he perused the café's lunch menu. Ehh, he was more in the mood for a sandwich anyway. He set the menu down and made eye contact with the waitress to let her know he was ready to order.

"I'll take a chicken salad on rye, mayo on the side," he informed her. "And a cup of tomato soup." She jotted down the request and headed off.

Jackson leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out under the table, and pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket, pulling up the Twitter app. He scrolled through the notifications detailing several dozen mentions, a few replies to his reply to Anderson Cooper's tweet, and a litany of likes and responses to a particularly popular tweet he'd made promoting his latest article about a pharmaceutical company hushing up side effects of their popular drug. He clicked over to his DMs, automatically deleting a bunch of unsolicited messages until the site of a certain name stopped him.

Logan E. Huntzberger LoganHuntz

He blinked at the screen, wondering if this was real. The journalism world was abuzz with the news that Logan Huntzberger had left the family business, though details were still scarce. The official press release had simply stated that Logan had left to pursue projects of his own. The rumor mill had its own ideas, of course, ranging from the theory that Mitchum Huntzberger had found out that Logan wasn't actually his biological child, to the hypothesis that Logan had been caught embezzling from the company, not to mention some idle speculation about a girl.

Jackson was aware his professional profile was rising but he still found himself being shocked that big name journalists and media professionals knew his name, let alone to find them personally reaching out to him in the midst of a low-level scandal.

Once he was convinced his eyes were not deceiving him, he clicked open the message.

We need to meet. In private.

That was it. That was all it said. Jackson let his eyes glance around the café, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Everyone seemed to be minding their own business.

Where? he typed back, resisting the urge to ask what this was about. He had enough sense to know details would not be forthcoming in writing.

He stared at his screen for a few moments, waiting to see if anything happened until, out of the corner of his eye he noticed the waitress approaching with his lunch. He quickly slid the phone back into his pocket.

He tried to concentrate on the food that he'd been so hungry for just ten short minutes ago, but suddenly his stomach was churning with anticipation. He forced down a few spoonsful of soup and a couple bites of his sandwich before giving up and beckoning for his check.

He laid a twenty out on the table with his receipt and got up to go. As he passed through the door to the outside, he dug his hand into his pocket, looking both ways before pulling the phone out again. With shaky fingers he tapped on the Twitter app and opened up his messages.

There's an apartment, 6 E 20th St. 4B, 11AM…tomorrow

There were empty beer bottles, pizza boxes, and Chinese food cartons everywhere. He gathered them up, filling the garbage can. When he got back from his trip to the trash chute, he started putting away the video games and CDs, then moved on to the dirty socks and…Logan's nose scrunched up in repulsion. He looked around, spotting a ruler on the desk in the corner. He grabbed it and used it to scoop up the pair of dirty boxers, walking them over to the rapidly refilling trash can and dropping them, and the now contaminated ruler, inside.

What the hell had he been thinking using Finn's place for a clandestine business meeting? Especially on a day that wasn't immediately after the cleaning service came through.

But it was conveniently located. And it wouldn't look suspicious for Logan to be hanging out there. He'd crashed in the guest room last night. And luckily, Finn had found a willing blond to bring him back to their apartment, so Logan had the place to himself for a few hours to work.

As much as he wanted to focus all his attention on bringing Mitchum Huntzberger to his knees, he had his first assignment from Hugo; a piece on the rise of Facebook and the future of social media. If it went well, there was the possibility of a regular column where Logan would give his take on the social and cultural impacts of new tech and media.

Once he'd deemed the place presentable, he sat down at the desk and pulled out his laptop, ready to immerse himself in some writing.

600 words later, he looked up to a knock on the door. Checking the lower right corner of his computer screen he saw it was 10:58. Show time.

He got up and headed to the door. Peeking through the peep hole, he took note of a tow-headed man about his age in a camel-colored wool overcoat. With a deep breath, he swung the door open.

"You came," he greeted the reporter.

"Well, for about an hour this morning I had convinced myself you were a Twitter troll impersonating Logan Huntzberger to lure me here and kidnap me Misery style. But my curiosity won out anyway, so thank you for not being a psycho."

"Who says I'm not?" Logan replied dryly.

"Good point."

"Come in," Logan stepped aside and motioned into the apartment. Jackson hesitated, clearly not assuaged by Logan's joke. "I'm not," Logan assured him.

"Oh, right," Jackson shook his head and stepped through the threshold. Logan closed the door behind him. "Nice place."

"It's a friend's," Logan acknowledged. "I'm kind of between living situations right now."

Jackson nodded. "I heard something about that." They stood awkwardly in the center of the room for a minute. "Sooo…am I just here for a tour or…?"

"No, sorry," Logan shook his head. "Have a seat. I'll take your jacket." Jackson removed the outerwear and handed it over. Logan hung it on the coat rack, then led him to the dining table where all the research he had gathered so far was stacked up in folders. Jackson pulled out a chair and sat, crossing his legs and leaning back to look up at Logan expectantly. "I have a story for you," Logan admitted, taking a seat as well.

"Does this story have anything to do with why a promising young media mogul walked away from the empire he was set to inherit to start over as a writer at some no name E-zine?"

"It might provide some insight," Logan admitted. "But this story isn't about me. And before I provide you with any details, I need you to know that if you take this on, it could put you in some…precarious situations."

"I didn't imagine you asked for a secret meeting to discuss a feel-good story about puppies and rainbows," Jackson admitted.

"My father is not a good man," Logan reiterated. "But he is powerful. Are you ready to make him your enemy?"

Jackson shrugged. "I've always wanted a nemesis," he replied with an astute grin.

"We'll see how you feel about that a month from now," Logan laughed dryly.

"You really don't like your father," Jackson noted.

"I really don't."

"What did he do?"

"Let's just say he's hurt a lot of people."

Jackson shrugged. "He's a hardnosed businessman."

"No, I mean he's caused physical harm to a lot of people…women in particular."

Jackson sat up, his posture stiffening. "You have evidence?"

"I have evidence of a cover-up. It's not just my father. There's an entire culture of sexual malfeasance at the Huntzberger Group. My father's specific transgressions are a little harder to pin down. I've seen what he's capable of, but I'm not what others might consider a reliable witness given the state of our relationship right now. I can point you in the direction of his latest victim. She's willing to talk on background."

"One source on background is hardly enough to go to print with."

"You think I'd hand you everything, ready to go, all tied up in a bow?"

"No," Jackson admitted.

Logan picked up a folder. "I do have a plethora of information on Jeffery Peterson."

"Yeah, I've heard he's quite the sleaze-ball."

"The industry's worst kept secret," Logan agreed. "But my father has tried. I managed to get my hands on some HR files before I left. His conduct has been reported on more than one occasion without consequence. I've brought it directly to my father's attention myself, and he blew me off. And there are copies of two NDAs in here from former employees that worked under Peterson. I've been in contact with them. One wants to go on record but she's worried about the legal ramifications."

"That's a start. Anything else?"

"A bunch of hostile workplace reports. Some indications of inappropriate behavior from other men in the office that doesn't quite rise to the level of assault but should definitely be unacceptable in the workplace, a failure to comply with New York State mandated sexual harassment training…."

Logan held his breath as Jackson took a folder from the pile and flipped it open, silently perusing the contents. "Does anyone know you have these files?"

"I don't think so," Logan replied. "I didn't have time to make copies of everything, so instead I took a bunch of files that didn't look particularly interesting and shredded them. Then I shredded some random papers as well. They likely think I just destroyed everything out of spite. That being said, my father knows me well enough to know that I won't just let his actions go, not after…" Logan caught himself before saying anything more. This wasn't a story about him and his father. And it certainly wasn't a story about him and Rory. And he'd promised her he'd do what he could to protect her through all of this. She'd suffer some fall out, he didn't doubt, but the last thing he needed was to add additional salacious rumors to the aftermath.

"Not after what? Logan, what exactly happened between you and your father?"

"That's not important."

"Yes, it is. If I'm going to take this on, I deserve to know if I'm stepping into the middle of something personal."

"You are. But that doesn't change the facts." Logan motioned to the folders full of evidence. "Are you in?"

Jackson sighed, his shoulders slumping in surrender. It was too good of a story to pass up, Logan knew it. He wouldn't turn this down. 'I'm in," he acquiesced.

"Great. Then let's get started."

AN: Happy snow day! I love curling up with a hot cup of coffee in my "Team Logan" mug, donning my favorite "In Omnia Paratus" sweatshirt, and writing while pretty flakes float down from the sky.I hope you enjoyed the chapter. What do you think of Lorelai's reaction to the article? And how about Jackson? Does he seem like a solid ally? And will he stick to the story Logan's handing him or do you think he'll dig further? What do you think Mitchum is up to at this point? And when in Honor going to pop? The birth of a baby tends to bring family together but in this case, that might not be such a good thing.