AN: Sorry I've been quiet, I worked 8 days straight so not much time for writing. Also, my laptop is on the fritz and I had send it in for repairs but apparently the repair center is in Texas so big delays getting it there. By the way, if any of you readers are in Texas, I hope you made it through the storm and outages okay! Anyway, that meant I had to write at my desktop which bothers my old lady back if I sit there too long. BUT, in good news, my body has decided it likes waking up at 5:30 in the morning these days for no apparent reason so I've been getting a little writing in before work. That means I was able to finish this super long chapter for you today. This is by far my longest chapter of FA so far and may actually be my longest chapter of anything I've written. So I hope you enjoy.

Cold air poured into the vehicle. Logan shut the vents, rubbing his glove-clad hands together for warmth while he waited for the car to heat up. His eyes glanced around the half-full parking lot. It was late, and dark; a few old streetlamps provided the bare minimum amount of light.

It was a strange mixture of emotions that imbued his being in the aftermath of his day. There was, of course, the glow of happiness and pride and love at the thought of his new niece; the adorably dour-faced Penny Lane. But, while his family may have gained one new member that day, it had lost two. Those losses were necessary like dead leaves that needed to be cut back so he could grow. There was a certain sense of freedom in the severance of all familial ties with the people who had brought him into this world. For so long he had tried to live up to the expectations and responsibilities of the life he had been born into, partly because that's all he knew, but also, because he'd had the innate need of any child to seek their parent's approval. But no matter how hard he'd tried, neither Mitchum nor Shira had ever been appeased. And now he was finally able to accept that they never would be. Because he'd never been wanted. Shira hadn't wanted him at all and Mitchum had wanted only an heir; an identity that Logan rejected wholly because being Mitchum's heir meant becoming Mitchum and that was a fate he would never allow himself to succumb too.

So yes, it was a strange mixture of emotions that he felt—joy, and freedom, and grief. But at that moment, in that car, what he felt most of all, was a disquieting sense of foreboding. Because now that the distractions of Shira, and Honor, and Penny Lane were gone, now that he was sitting quietly alone in his car, he couldn't help but wonder—how had Mitchum known?

He supposed there were a million ways he could have found out. Maybe Honor or Josh had called him. Maybe he knew someone at the hospital. Or someone from Josh's firm. There were so many answers that were completely benign. But Mitchum Huntzberger was a cancer, so when it came to him, the answers were rarely the benign ones.

He thought back over their brief encounter inside the hospital.

"And you're going to stop me?" Mitchum had asked. Had he been speaking only of seeing Penny? Logan hadn't been when he'd answered.

And then there had been that other thing Mitchum had said. Something about watching where he was going and who he was seeing. Just thinking of those words made him shiver—and it wasn't the cold, February air; the heat in the car was finally starting to kick in.

Logan let his eyes glance around the parking lot once more, taking note of the vehicles parked in his vicinity before shifting the car into reverse, and slowly backing out of his space.

He pulled up to the stop sign at the exit of the parking lot, taking another opportunity to scan his environment. The lot behind him was completely still, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone.

Well then, I guess I should be careful about where I go and…who I talk to. The words came back to him again, echoing in his head. It wasn't just a sarcastic quip, it was a veiled threat. Logan was certain.

He turned onto the road; his eyes flitting to the rearview mirror more often than was necessary under normal circumstances. Nothing happened at first, and he started to relax, but then, a quarter of a mile down the road he caught the glimpse of a headlight. It was probably nothing. Just another visitor leaving the hospital. Or someone who lived down the street heading home.

He hit his blinker, turning right and slowing his pace as much as he could without seeming conspicuous. A few seconds later, a car turned onto the lane. It was too dark to make out the details, all he could see were headlights and the vague outline of a nondescript sedan. It still didn't mean much. He continued on, trying to decide the best course of action. He needed to figure out if this car was following him without giving away that he was on to being followed. A couple blocks later her made a left, then another right. The headlights reappeared each time. Logan's heart sped up.

He spotted his destination—a convenience store a block up the road. He hit his signal and turned into the parking lot, pulling into a spot on the side nearest the street. He opened his center console, pretending to shuffle through it for something, his eyes glancing upwards repeatedly. A hundred feet or so down the way he'd come, a car came to a stop on the side of the road and turned off the engine.

It was still hard to see from where he was, but the lighting from the store helped. He could tell the car was dark—maybe blue. And he was pretty sure it was a Honda.

Logan headed into the store. He meandered slowly up and down the aisles, stopping to pick up a paper and idly perusing the contents to bide time. Finally, he grabbed a Coke from the cooler and a bag of pretzels off the shelf. He paid for his snack and made his way back outside. The car was still there and he could make out the faint silhouette of someone inside. From this vantage point he was also able to see the license plate; most of it was in shadow but he was able to make out a G and a 7.

Logan got in his car and pulled back out again. He headed back the way he'd come, passing the car to get a better look. He'd been right—a dark blue Honda Civic. New York plates. G74 45 something something. He'd missed the last 2 digits. It didn't matter, he was sure he had enough information to run the search.

The car seemed to stay where it was as he drove down the road, but by the time Logan had made it to the second stop sign there was activity in his rearview once again. Any doubts he had were gone. Mitchum had a tail on him.

Rory sat cross legged on the bed in her childhood room, a slim piece of cardboard in her hands. She stared at the card as her fingers gripped the edges, feeling the weight of the thick stock paper digging into her skin. She'd been contemplating making this call all week, but something kept stopping her.

Her head told her it's what she needed to do. She needed to work, and she wasn't exactly being inundated with job offers. She'd sent out nearly three dozen resumes in the last two and a half weeks and only two publications had even bothered to take the time to reject her.

Rory had done her research on Hugo's site, Skribe, and it seemed like it had potential. The writing was solid. It definitely skewed a little left of center and was a bit more analysis than original fact reporting, but it was still full of solid, reliable information and news. And Rory noted that the balance had been shifting as the start-up grew. It took resources and credentials to get the kind of access needed to break stories. It would take Skribe time to get there.

So, from a strictly rational perspective, she knew what the right decision was.

But despite all the reasons to make the call, something kept stopping her. Or not something so much as someone. Logan. She didn't know where she stood with him these days. She thought when he'd shown up on her doorstep nearly two weeks ago that maybe it meant something; something more than just a desire to punish his father. She thought when he once again offered to put in a good word for her with Hugo that maybe it was more than just pity. She thought maybe, despite how badly she'd hurt him, maybe he still cared about her; even if she knew that affection had its limits.

But twelve days had gone by since then. 12 days without a word. And she knew he had a lot going on. His whole life had been turned around. His lack of contact very likely wasn't about her at all. But what if it was? What if he still hated her? Or maybe even worse, what if it really wasn't about her—because he just didn't care anymore?

And regardless of how he felt, there were her emotions to consider as well. She had feelings for him. Romantic feelings. She knew she shouldn't. She knew it was creepy and wrong and completely inappropriate. But she couldn't help it. And if there was one thing the last six months of her life had taught her, it was that workplace romance, in any form, was a bad idea. Working side by side with a man she wanted but could never be with would be torture. Could she do it? Work with him? See him all the time? Knowing that her lies and deceit and poor judgement had ruined any chance she had of ever being more than his colleague? Of ever regaining his trust and friendship?

To call or not to call, that was the question.

But before she could come up with an answer, someone decided to call her. She was so startled by the sound of the strumming guitar riff that served as her ring tone that she reflexively grabbed for the phone by her side, bringing it fumblingly up to her ear and pressing the "accept" button without thinking.

"Hello?" She regretted her actions almost instantly.

"Pooh?" a glum voice on the other end of the line replied.

Fuck. "Why are you calling me, Mitch?" she asked, trying to keep her voice stern despite the obvious distress in his voice. "I thought I was clear; we're done. You're not my boss, you're not my boyfriend. There's no reason for you to be calling me anymore."

"I know, I'm sorry," he said. "I just…" he paused, his voice choking up. "I had no one else to call."

She didn't reply to that. She didn't know how. Not when there were two separate sides of her at war with one another. The side that had fallen in love with a smart, thoughtful, kind, funny man. And the part that knew that love was a lie.

"Honor had her baby," he informed her.

"Oh, wow. Congratulations," she said, a small smile creeping its way onto her face despite herself.

"They won't let me see her."

"What?"

"They won't let me see her," he repeated. "I went to the hospital and…" She could almost see him; the slump of his shoulders, the despondent shake of his head. "It was awful. They were awful. And I mean, I get it. I've been a shitty Dad..."

"Mitch," she replied sympathetically, but she said no more. A few months ago, she would have argued with him; told him he wasn't a shitty Dad, it was just complicated. But now she knew better. So what words of consolation could she offer him when the truth was just what he said it was?

"I'm a grandpa and I can't even meet my own granddaughter. I'll probably never meet her. I'll never get to see her grow up."

"I'm sorry," she breathed out. And she was, despite it all. Despite her hurt and her anger, despite her fear, despite all the bad, she still felt sorry for him. Or for the 'him' he was to her.

"Can I see you?"

She felt her heart contract painfully. A part of her still ached to be able to comfort him; to tell him it would all be okay, and to help make it okay. But she couldn't, not anymore. The man she was talking to now, the one she had loved, he wasn't real. And now that she knew that, there was no going back.

She summoned all of her resolve. "That's not a good idea."

"Please," he begged. "Please, Rory, I need you."

She swallowed down the tightness in her chest. "I'm sorry, Mitchum," she told him. "I truly am. But I can't be that person for you anymore."

"I don't know what to do."

She sniffled. "All, I can say is that, if you truly want to fix things with your family, then you need to do the work and prove to them you've changed."

"I miss you."

She missed the person she thought he was, but she couldn't say that so instead, she just said, "Goodbye Mitchum," and then she hung up the phone.

She dropped the cell back on the bed beside her, bringing her hands up to swipe away the tears that were forming. It was strange how even when a part of her knew he was trying to manipulate her, he could still get in her head like that; he could still make her hurt for him. But it wasn't real. Nothing she'd ever felt for him had been real because she suspected that nothing he'd felt had ever been real. She'd seen the man he truly was, and that man wasn't capable of genuine human emotion.

So she needed to move on. She needed to think about the people who were real. The people who cared about her and not just themselves. And she needed to take her own advice; if she wanted to fix things, she needed to prove that she'd changed. And she needed to start by keeping her promises.

With a deep, steadying breath, she picked her phone back up again and dialed.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Logan," she greeted.

"Now's not a good time, Rory," he said, shortly.

"Oh," she tried not to be hurt by his clipped tone. He was probably busy. He was probably helping out with his sister and the baby. "You on Uncle duty?" she asked, trying to sound cheery.

"What?" he asked, his voice sounding shocked. "How…?"

"About that…" she said, "that's actually why I'm calling, remember…"

"Now's not a good time," he repeated, cutting her off. "I'll call you back later." Before she could respond the line went silent and she knew there was no one to respond to. She felt the tears building up behind her eyes again, these ones more acute than the dull melancholy she'd felt after Mitchum's call. He did still hate her. He couldn't even stand to be on the phone with her for thirty seconds.

Well fine then, if that's the way he felt, then why should she make her life decisions around him? Besides, she could handle his hate far more than his indifference. She needed a job, and it wasn't like he was going to be her boss. It was time to make that call to Hugo.

Rory popped a tater tot in her mouth, trying to eat away the crippling anxiety she felt. She had an interview with Hugo next week and she'd already been through her closet eight times trying to determine the perfect outfit to wear, she'd triple checked her portfolio to make sure nothing was missing, and she'd read four internet articles about how to ace a job interview. And then there was the fact that she was trying not to think about how Logan still hadn't called her back. Not that she expected him to. It was clear that despite the words "I'll call you back later," he was really just blowing her off. He didn't want to talk to her.

The doorbell rang and she groaned. She'd eaten herself almost into a food coma and the thought of standing up was not in any way appealing, especially since she imagined it was Kirk trying to sell whatever his latest business venture was. She had an image of him trying to hock Encyclopedias…since Wikipedia was so 2007. But someone had to answer the door and Lorelai was working at the Inn; there was a mortgage to be paid after all, and Rory certainly wasn't any help in that area seeing as how she was unemployed, broke, and still paying Paris rent since her friend refused to let her out of her lease contract early. Paris would do a lot of things for you as a friend-like take care of you when you'd been beaten to a bloody pulp by your boyfriend-but bending the rules at her expense wasn't one of them. Besides, she could hardly blame Paris; there was no way she could carry all the rent by herself as a poor med student.

Rory swung the door open and a smile immediately bloomed on her face at the site that awaited her. "What are you doing here?" she asked happily.

"Well, I would love to tell you I just really wanted to see your smiling face, and that is a bonus, but I'm also here on business," the blonde in her doorway answered. Rory had spoken to Stephanie on the phone a few times, but this was the first she'd seen her in person since she'd quit The Voice and moved back in with her Mom.

"Business?"

"Yeah," Stephanie motioned towards the interior of the house. "We should probably do this inside." She glanced behind her and Rory thought she looked nervous. What was going on?

"Of course," she replied. "Come in." Rory guided her into the home and headed for the couch but when she turned around Stephanie was just standing near the entrance to the room awkwardly.

"Maybe somewhere with windows that don't face the street," she suggested.

"Is everything okay?"

"Umm, yeah, maybe we should just…" Stephanie nodded towards the kitchen.

Rory narrowed her eyes suspiciously but nodded and led the way, motioning for Stephanie to have a seat at the table. "Can I get you something to drink?" she asked, heading to the refrigerator.

"Water's good."

Rory grabbed two bottles and took a seat opposite her friend. "So…what's going on?" she asked.

"Logan sent me," Steph admitted.

"Logan sent you?" Rory asked incredulously. "Logan hasn't spoken to me in two weeks and yesterday he hung up on me before I could even say 'hello.'"

"Yeah, that's kind of what I'm here about."

"You're here about the fact that Logan wants nothing to do with me—but he's the one who sent you?" Something wasn't adding up.

"Logan doesn't not want anything to do with you…I think," she cocked her head to the side in confusion. "Double negatives screw me up. The point is, Logan isn't avoiding you. Well, yesterday he was but he has a good reason for that. But mostly he's just been busy with work and helping Honor get ready for the baby and you know-the other thing…And yeah, maybe he's still processing a little too, but that's not what this is about."

"That was a quality rant," Rory acknowledged. "And Gilmores know quality when it comes to rants." If Stephanie was ranting, then she really was nervous. Rory was starting to feel a little panicked.

The blonde sighed, her eyes flitting to the window for a moment before meeting Rory's. "Mitchum is having Logan followed."

"Excuse me?" Rory gaped, her eyes blinking disbelievingly.

"Mitchum is having Logan followed," she repeated.

"That...but…is he sure?" She knew Mitchum was desperate, especially after that call yesterday, but would he really stoop so low as to spy on his own son?

"No one told him about Penny…"

"Penny?"

"Honor's baby. She had her Tuesday. Penelope Lane."

"Penny Lane?" Rory repeated with a wistful smile.

"Yep," Steph nodded. "Mitchum showed up at the hospital a few hours after she was born. But no one ever called him. It got Logan's feelers up. So, when he left the hospital, he kept his eyes peeled. The guy managed to keep a low profile but Logan spotted him. He was able to get the make and model of the car and enough of the plate to run a search. The car was registered to a shell company located in the Caymans. He's still trying to trace it further, but I think we all know where that search will lead."

"Oh god."

Stephanie opened up her purse, digging through it for a moment. She pulled out a small flip phone and slid it across the table. "He's afraid the phone lines aren't secure either. That's why he had to hang up on you."

"Oh." So he wasn't blowing her off. And she assumed the device sitting in front of her was an indication that he wanted to speak to her. She felt the tremble of tears rumble through her. Tears of relief. But also, of fear. Mitchum was having Logan watched. Was he watching her? Was he listening in to her phone calls? What depths of depravity was this man she thought she loved capable of?

"Call him," Stephanie said, nodding her head at the phone. "The number is in there."

Stephanie stood up to go but Rory grabbed her hand, stopping her. "Stay!"

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"I really don't want to be alone right now."

"Oh, god, of course. I'm sorry, I didn't even think. Of course I'll stay. But…I could still," she nodded her head towards the other room. "If you want privacy."

Rory thought about it for a moment before shaking her head. Stephanie may not have been her friend for very long, but she knew all her deepest, darkest secrets already. There was nothing she needed to hide from her, and she could use a little moral support. "You can stay."

Steph reached out to grab her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. "Alright then, I'll stay."

Logan paced anxiously, Penny Lane bouncing gently in his arms as he made his way around the room. He figured as long as he was pacing, he might as well take the baby with him. It seemed to be the only thing that quieted the infant who had hardly stopped crying since she'd gotten home yesterday afternoon.

Logan could sympathize. He hadn't found much of anything that could adequately soothe his nerves the past two days either. The definitive knowledge that he was being followed was bad enough. He'd lain awake for hours Tuesday night, alone in the house, going over every place he'd been and every person he'd talked to since he'd walked away from HPG. How much did Mitchum know? What information had he gleaned? Who else was he following? Was it just the tail or were the phones tapped too?

Every question led to a knew one. It was dizzying.

And then, Rory had called. He'd been worried about her already; she was the next most likely person to be under Mitchum's reconnaissance. But when she had started speaking, had called him Uncle and started to explain how she knew...it wasn't necessary; he knew how she knew. Mitchum had told her. Which meant he'd made contact. And that scared the crap out of him…for more than one reason. He took a small measure of solace in the knowledge that Rory had at least called to tell him. And she couldn't have wasted much time in doing so given that Penny had been less than a day old at the time. Rory had promised to tell Logan if Mitchum tried reaching out, and apparently, she was keeping that promise. That was good. What was less good was knowing that Mitchum had yet to release her from his disgusting, devious, power hungry grip. Knowing the man was still trying to get back in her good graces scared the crap out of him because he knew he was capable of doing anything to get what he wanted. So, hanging up on Rory had killed him. But what choice did he have? If Mitchum was listening in, he'd know Rory was finking on him; that he and Rory had made some sort of agreement that revolved around her telling him about any interactions they had. And he'd probably figure out they were working together on something more serious as well. It was too dangerous not to hang up on her.

He'd tried to think of a way to safely get in touch with her but Mitchum could have her lines tapped just as easily as he could have Logan's tapped. Which meant that he couldn't just have Stephanie or Paris call her. Someone needed to go in person. And it certainly couldn't be him.

So here he was, a full 24 hours later, pacing with a baby and waiting for his burner phone to ring. He hoped she wasn't pissed at him for how short he'd been with her.

Despite the fact that he'd been straining his ears waiting for it, when the phone finally rang, he was so startled he jumped, disturbing Penny who let out a loud wail. "Shhh," he tried to hush the crying baby as he answered the call.

"I take it that's Penny Lane in my ears?" he heard Rory say.

"And in my eyes," he confirmed, looking down at his niece. Her cries were slowing down again as he resumed his gentle bouncing motion.

"Congratulations, Uncle Logan."

"Thanks."

They were both quiet for a moment, neither one knowing exactly what to say. "I'm sorry about yesterday," he finally managed to come up with.

"No. I mean, Stephanie explained. There's nothing to be sorry about. I just can't believe…"

Logan let out a little scoff. "There's nothing I wouldn't believe about Mitchum Huntzberger-except maybe that he adopted an orphaned refugee and donated to the ASPCA."

"Are you okay?" she asked. "I mean, do you think he knows you know?"

"I don't think so," Logan admitted. "He was extra gloaty at the hospital for someone who thought anyone was on to him. You haven't noticed anything strange, have you? The same car hanging around? A weird feeling? Anything?"

"No," Rory admitted. "But I'll certainly try to pay more attention now."

"Just be careful," he told her.

"I will." A pause. "Logan?"

"Yeah?"

"He called me yesterday."

"I figured. What'd he say?"

"He…he was upset. Or…he sounded upset. He said Honor had had the baby and you wouldn't let him see her. He said, he understood, he was a crappy Dad and he deserved it, but that he would probably never get to meet his granddaughter, see her grow up. And he asked to see me. I said 'no,'" she hastily added the last part.

Logan scoffed.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing it's just…it makes sense now. I thought it was weird how little of a fight he put up when he got to the hospital. He didn't even really try to see Penny. I thought maybe he was just there to throw his weight around, try to intimidate me, but now I get it, he wasn't really there for me at all. Pissing me off was just an added bonus."

"What do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious? He wanted to be turned away. He wanted to be able to call you up and play the victim card. Try to make you feel sorry for him so you'd go back to him."

He heard Rory sigh. "I knew he was trying to manipulate me, but I figured he was just using the situation to his advantage. I never thought he'd planned it." Like he'd told her already, there wasn't anything he'd put past Mitchum, though to be honest, if that was the best he had when it came to trying to get Rory back, he'd rest a little easier on that front at least. Rory was no fool. She wouldn't be swayed back by something as obvious as a fake show of vulnerability.

"We just have to be careful until I'm able to figure out how deep his spy mission goes. I've only met with Jackson once, at Finn's place. And I spent the night there the night before and stayed for a while after, so our arrivals and departures were staggered. I doubt his mole was able to put us together. And we haven't spoken on the phone. I have a plan to get in touch with him. Has he reached out to you yet?"

"No," Rory answered. "I haven't heard a thing. I was actually starting to wonder."

"I'm sure he's just getting his ducks in a row, making a plan. That works out in our favor. If Mitchum found out about him, we'd be screwed. I'm talking to him tonight and we'll get a plan together. I'll call you back on the burner tomorrow but we shouldn't use the same phones for too long. I'm guessing your local, small town grocery store doesn't sell burners?"

"I'm gonna go with 'no,'" Rory replied.

"Alright, we'll figure it out."

"Logan?"

"Yeah?

"I have an interview...at Skribe next week. Wednesday."

Logan smiled. "Excellent. I'll make sure to work from the office that day. It'll be the perfect cover for us to meet in person without setting off any alarm bells. I'll still call you tomorrow. But we should be careful not to talk too much. If you need to get me a message you can tell Steph and she'll make sure I get it."

There was another pause. "I'm scared, Logan," she said, her voice soft and shaky. It hit him right in the gut. He wanted so badly to tell her it would all be alright; that he wouldn't let anything bad happen to her. But he couldn't. He couldn't lie to her.

"I know," he said instead. "I'm scared too."

"Just…be safe, please," she implored.

He closed his eyes, holding the baby just a little tighter. "Same goes for you, Gilmore. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Jackson Andrews was not a fan of being summoned. The first time had been one thing. There'd been intrigue and mystery and excitement over the realization that Logan Huntzberger even knew who he was. Of course he was going to show up alone…at a specified time…to a random address…DMed to him by a complete stranger. What other option had he had?

But this time…? This time he was feeling pretty annoyed about it. Another DM. Another random address. Another date and time. And he was just expected to be there. No questions asked. And what did Jackson do? He showed up—like the good, little errand boy he was expected to be. But he wasn't just some pretty face to slap on this story to give it legitimacy. This was his investigation now. Logan came to him looking for a reporter, and that's what he was going to get.

And Jackson was going to tell him just that—if he ever showed up. Logan was the one who'd requested the damn meeting and he was already 15 minutes late.

With a sigh, Jackson sat back in his chair and glanced out the window, searching the pedestrians on the street for any sign of his source. He continued with his people watching for a couple of minutes before he felt a presence nearby. He turned his attention to the tall, tan, godlike specimen with the piercing blue eyes who was standing there. Jackson felt his mouth go dry. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"Can I help you?" he managed to croak.

"Actually, I'm here to help you." Dear lord, he had an Australian accent.

"I'm waiting for someone." He cursed the words the moment they left his mouth. It wasn't every day insanely gorgeous men approached Jackson unbidden. What if this magnificent being actually took Jackson's cue and left?

"Well then, Mate," the Adonis said, holding his arms out and tilting his head to the side. "Your wait is over." He pulled out the chair across from Jackson and helped himself to it, sitting back casually and crossing his legs.

Screw work; if Logan walked in now, Jackson was going to kill him.

"Umm, I'm Jackson," he introduced, shaking himself out of his daze. He reached one hand across the table to shake and brought the other one up to his face to inconspicuously wipe away the drool that was starting to form at the corner of his mouth as his previously paralyzed salivary glands started making up for lost time.

"I know." He did?

"You do?"

The vision across from him raised his eyebrows. "Your tow-headed compatriot sent me."

"Huh?"

"Your…friend that you're meeting for coffee. I'm here on his behalf."

Jackson's whole body deflated. He should have known better. In what world would he imagine a tall, hot, exotic man in a 3000-dollar Givenchy peacoat would be hitting on him.

"You're here for Lo—"

"Shh," the hot messenger boy interrupted him. "No names. There are ears everywhere." Tall dark and handsome looked around the room. He turned his attention back to Jackson, leaning across the table. "Young Skywalker sent me with a message about Project Vader."

"Project Vader?" Jackson questioned with a skeptical raise of his eyebrows.

"You have a problem with my code names?"

Jackson shrugged. "I mean, I guess it fits, it's just a little uninspired is all."

"Alright smarty-pants, let's hear your evil father suggestions."

Jackson contemplated it for a minute. "Project Hamlet?" he suggested.

"Claudius was his uncle, not his father."

He shrugged. "Semantics."

The dreamboat sitting across from him shook his head. "It's the details that really make or break an idea. You're a reporter, you know that."

"Fine," Jackson relented, trying to think of another suggestion. "Project Cats in the Cradle?"

"The song or the game preteen girls play with a piece of string."

Jackson gave him a strange look. "The song."

Mystery man seemed to consider this. "His son grew up just like him; definitely not the case here. Also, on the evil scale, failing to play ball with your 10-year-old is a far cry from domestic abuse."

Jackson rolled his eyes. "You're very serious about your code names."

"Says the man who complained about the code names."

With a sigh, Jackson reached for one last suggestion. "Project Lanister?"

"That would make our associate Jamie?" the man asked pointedly. Apparently he was not flattered by the comparison of his friend to an incestual, power hungry murderer.

Jackson shrugged. "Maybe. I don't really know him all that well."

"Well, I can promise you it's not his sister he's in love with."

Interesting, Jackson thought. "Tyrion then?" he continued to play the game.

The man bobbed his head in contemplation. "Better," he replied. "But the visuals don't really work for me."

"Fine," he relented. "We'll go with Project Vader. Who does that make me?"

The male model across from his fluttered his super long eye lashes. "Help us Obi-wan Kenobi, you're our only hope," he crooned, reaching across the table to grab Jackson's hands. Jackson felt his stomach drop and his heart flutter. He pushed the feeling away.

"That's a little condescending to Leia, don't you think?"

"Hey, I've got nothing against a sexy Rebel Commander who can pull off a gold bikini." Damn it, of course he was straight. Straight and sexist. Straight and sexist and insanely hot.

"And you are?"

"Come on, isn't it obvious?" he asked, gesturing to himself. It was, but Jackson wanted to hear him say it, so instead of answering, he just shrugged. "Good looking, roguish but loyal chap who gets pulled into someone else's saga and manages to come out the hero? I'm Han Solo."

"You're the hero of this story?"

"Well not yet of course, but we're just at the beginning of The Empire Strikes Back. I've got time to destroy the Death Star's shield generator and save the day."

"Sure, after you spend an entire year encased in Carbonite. Meanwhile, I'm already dead."

Solo sat back in his seat again, his eyes lazily grazing up and down Jackson in a way that no set of straight eyes should. "That would be a shame."

Jackson bit his lip as a shiver ran through him. He hated when straight men flirted. It was rude. Time to get to control of this meeting back.

"So, who is he in love with?" he added, not so surreptitiously.

"Excuse me?" Solo asked with a nervous raise of his eyebrows.

"You said 'it's not his sister he's in love with.' Which implies it's someone else." Jackson had always known it had to be someone. One of the girls hurt by Mitchum or Peterson—he just wasn't sure which one. It might not even be any of the women he knew about; it was quite possible Logan was keeping her name quiet to protect her.

"It implies no such thing," the Australian protested far too vigorously.

"Please," Jackson reclined back in his chair, finally feeling like he had just a smidge of upper hand for the first time all day. "You really expect me to believe there's no girl? Logan admitted this was personal for him. Nothing is more personal than love."

A pair of perfectly bowed lips pulled up at the corners, blue eyes narrowed wantonly, as Solo crossed his arms on the table and leaned in provocatively. "Love, huh? Speaking from experience, are you?" Dear God, the man was straight, wasn't he? Gay men certainly didn't go around waxing poetic over Leia and the gold bikini. Of course, sexuality was a spectrum…No, Jackson shook his head attempting to regain his senses. It didn't even matter. This was business.

"So, Solo, what did our pal Luke have to say that he couldn't tell me himself?" Business. He had to focus on business.

Solo stealthily looked around the café before leaning back in once again. Jackson ignored the tingle he felt at the man's proximity. "He's being followed," he whispered.

"What?" Jackson blinked.

"He's being followed," Solo repeated.

"I'm sorry, are you seriously trying to tell me that Mit…" he stopped himself at the pointed look on the face across from him. "Vader," he corrected with a sigh, "put a tail on his son?"

"Luke is sure of it. He hasn't been able to determine if the phones are safe yet, so he wanted me to give you this…" he pulled something out of his coat pocket and slid it across the table. A burner phone. "It's preprogrammed with the contact info you can use to get in touch with him. Call him, tonight at 7; from somewhere secure. He has a plan. And don't reach out to any contacts yet. We're not sure if anyone else is being watched but Skywalker has a strong reason to suspect that at the very least, Vader also has eyes on…" he lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper, "Rory Gilmore." Apparently not everyone had code names yet.

Jackson shook his head with a sigh. Could this be for real? It was like something out of a bad spy movie.

"You're serious about this?" he voiced his skepticism.

Solo gave him a sexy smirk but Jackson was too annoyed to properly enjoy it. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Can't handle a little danger?"

"Oh, I can handle it," Jackson assured him, reaching for every last bit of sass he had. If Solo wanted to play that game, he'd play right back. "I think you'll find, there's almost nothing I can't handle."