One Year Later

It was, by all accounts, a beautiful day. Rory glanced out the window as she idly pushed a piece of French toast around her syrup covered plate. The sun was out, and people were scurrying by; some in suits, but many in short sleeves and sandals in honor of one of the first warm days of spring. Rory wished they could have taken a seat out on the patio, but she was far too recognizable these days.

After the article had been published, it was strange how much, and also how little, had changed. The story was everywhere. Her name was being mentioned on the nightly news. Pictures of Mitchum were on the front of newspapers as well as tabloid magazines that had outlandish claims to add to the already unbelievable facts. But despite the stir her story was creating, she was mostly just a faceless victim to people. No one recognized her walking down the street or gave her suspicious stares in cafes. Sometimes she could hear people talking about her while they were sitting right next to her on the subway, and they had no clue who she was. At work it was a different story. She was fortunate that Hugo had her back; he made it clear that gossip and bullying would not be tolerated. But still, she knew they knew, and she knew they had their opinions about her. She could feel the stares every time she went into the office—some pitying, some dubious. A few women, like Deirdre, had expressed a heartfelt appreciation for the stand she had taken, and that was what kept her going, especially in the early days. And as more and more women came forward to talk about their own experiences with Mitchum, or Peterson, or a number of other high-profile men who were now finding their past misdeeds under the spotlight, Rory found it less and less difficult to hold her head up high. It wasn't always easy, and some days she wondered if it was worth the complete upending of her life. But then, finally, things started to settle down. The story faded from the headlines. And while Rory wasn't on the fast lane to becoming a world-renowned journalist, she was at least still steadily employed at Skribe. She and Hugo had mutually agreed she should start publishing as Lorelai Leigh, instead of Rory Gilmore. Not that her identity was a secret, but at least it kept the focus on the writing, instead of on her.

She'd gotten back into a steady rhythm. Life had gone on. And then, the trial had started. The story was back in the news in a big way. And now, suddenly, she wasn't just a faceless name anymore. When she'd gotten up on that stand and testified, the quiet life she had settled back into over the past year was blown to pieces. Now it was her image on the nightly news; unflattering flash photography of her walking out of the courthouse flanked by her attorney and her mother; courtroom sketches of her with tears running down her face as she described the feel of Mitchum's blows. She'd even found her image turned into fodder for political cartoon activists.

So now…now she had to brunch inside where there were fewer prying eyes to judge her. But at least it would be over soon; whatever the outcome.

"Hey! Earth to Rory." She looked up at the sound of her name to see her friends staring at her.

"Sorry," she mumbled. She knew it wasn't easy for them to get off on a weekday like this. Paris was almost done with her third year of med school and as such, was starting the process of entering the match for an internship; and she was determined to get into Johns Hopkins. Taking time off clinics was almost impossible as it was, and she knew what a risk her friend was taking when it came to her grades and recommendations. Stephanie's schedule was more flexible but she still had responsibilities with the non-profit she worked for. And Chase was only just getting settled into his new job; while HPG hadn't been able to fire him for fear of a wrongful termination suit on top of everything else, it had quickly become clear that they were not going to make it easy for him there—despite the new management and rebranding efforts. He'd pushed through until he had a new job secured, then put in his notice.

So, the fact that they were all here with her to support her on this day was immensely appreciated. If only her face were capable of showing that appreciation.

"Don't apologize," Steph assured her. "You don't owe us anything."

"Speak for yourself," Paris grunted. "There was a Whipple on the surgery board for today, but am I scrubbed in?"

"Sorry," Rory mumbled again.

Stephanie sent Paris a glare and the acerbic woman grunted and rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she relented, completely unconvincingly, "it's fine."

"So the DA really thinks they'll be back with a verdict today?"

Rory shrugged. "She said it could be any time now. I just…" she felt her chest tightening up with anxiety just thinking about it. Her palms felt clammy. "I don't know what I want. A part of me just wants to get it over with, either way so I can get on with my life. And part of me doesn't want to know. Will it even change anything? If he goes to jail it doesn't change what he did to me, to Cassandra, and all those other women. But if he doesn't? I'm not sure I'm ready for that…for…" She dropped her head to her hands, scrubbing her face wearily. "Can we talk about something else? I just need to be distracted."

"Mimosas are distracting," Chase offered up, lifting his glass and downing the remaining liquid before beckoning the waiter over for another.

Rory smiled a little and took a sip of her drink. "That they are."

"I can't drink." Paris informed them. "There's a patient on life support and if his family decides to pull the plug, I might get to watch them harvest his organs."

"Eww." Stephanie scrunched up her face. Paris may have made a bigger sacrifice being her today workwise, but honestly, just asking Stephanie to be in the same room with Paris without telling her off was a pretty big ask in and of itself. There was quiet again for a few minutes, no one knowing what to say to keep their minds off the waiting.

"Oh!" Paris replied suddenly, sitting up in her chair. "Remember that weird chick, Rebecca, from Krav Maga?"

"She wasn't weird," Rory defended. She remembered the girl. She'd disappeared after a few sessions. Rory had thought about her in passing since then; she hoped she hadn't wound up going back to her ex.

"She was totally weird," Paris bluntly dissented, stabbing her fork into a strawberry and popping it into her mouth.

"She was nice."

Paris rolled her eyes. "Yeah well, guess what nice and totally not weird and creepy chick got a part in the new Harvey Weinstein flick?"

"What? You're kidding, how did you…" Rory's exclamation of disbelief was cut off by the ringing of her phone. She looked down at the device sitting next to her plate, the DAs number flashing across the screen. "Well," she said, biting her lip and looking up at her friends apprehensively. "I guess this is it…"

Logan opened the door and swung his legs out onto the sidewalk. Jackson and Finn emerging from the back seat of the vehicle a moment later. His eyes swept his surroundings, landing on Rory and her friends standing in a group on the steps of the courthouse. He paused for a moment, taking in her demeanor; shoulders slumped, head down, hands fidgeting in front of her. His heart ached at the sight of her.

"Come on, this way," Jackson said, nodding in their direction and walking hand in hand with Finn. Logan followed behind.

"Hello, Loves." Finn separated from his boyfriend and started handing out hugs like they were candy.

"Doesn't that ever bother you?" Logan asked Jackson.

Jackson shrugged. "He is who he is. Besides…"

"Move your hands or lose them. Who do you think you are, Hugh Jackman?" Paris turned to Jackson. "Put a leash on this thing, will you?"

"…I can always count on her to put him in his place," Jackson side whispered to Logan. He turned back to Paris. "He's not a dog," he informed her.

"Doesn't stop him from humping the leg of everything that walks by. And don't think just because you're a fancy-shmancy Pulitzer Prize nominee now, that that will keep him from running off after the next bitch that catches his eye."

Jackson sighed. "It's good to see you again too, Paris."

Logan walked around the bickering group and up a few steps to where Rory was standing. "Hey," he greeted with an apprehensive smile.

"Hey," she replied softly, continuing to look at the ground.

"How ya doing?" he asked.

"Okay."

"Cherry," he insisted, his voice warm but unyielding. He knew she wasn't okay.

She finally looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm scared."

He took a step closer and wrapped his arms around her. She tensed for a moment, then relaxed into his embrace. "People will see," she mumbled half-heartedly.

"I think we're passed that." He knew it was a balancing act. She had to listen to enough judgmental whispers these days without adding fuel to the fire. Plus, she wasn't used to being open about her relationships, so public displays of affection were difficult for her. But he wasn't going to stand there and let her cry without doing something about it. And it wasn't like their relationship was a secret. It was the very first thing they'd decided when they'd agreed to give it a go; they wouldn't be a secret—not after everything she'd been through. He wouldn't re-traumatize her that way, no matter how uncomfortable it was to know complete strangers were using their relationship as water cooler fodder.

He held her in his arms for a few moments, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing against his chest. "What if they don't…"

"They will."

"But what if they don't."

He shrugged. "Then they don't. He still loses. No matter what happens to him in that court room, we walk out of there and go on with our lives. After today, he doesn't matter anymore; it's his worst nightmare—not mattering."

He felt her nod against his chest, then pull back. "Did you get to finish your episode?" she asked, changing the topic.

"Almost," he told her. "There were a few things Jon was having trouble fact checking, so we just need to get those confirmed before we send it off to Laura for editing."

"Ooh," Steph interrupted. "A new episode? Do we get to find out where Adam disappeared to during the party? What about the cousin? Was he involved?"

Logan rolled his eyes but chuckled. He was getting used to this. When Finn had suggested the idea of Logan and Jackson collaborating on an investigative podcast, Logan had no idea if it would work. He'd listened to a few podcasts before, but they'd mostly been comedy shows. The idea of telling a story in audio only, over a series of weekly installments, felt a bit like going back in time to the days of fireside chats and War of the Worlds. Plus, even though he and Jackson were getting along better since the stress of the article was behind them, he was worried that another investigation would take their friendship back in time as well. But he didn't have much to lose, and it turned out, he and Jackson worked well together when he wasn't so personally involved. And the first few episodes of their podcast were turning out to be a surprising hit. People were gripped by the unsolved murder of a small-town grocery clerk from Wyoming. So, getting harassed for the yet-to-be-revealed details, was becoming increasingly common, even among his friends—especially from the relentless Stephanie.

"I've told you before—no spoilers," he admonished.

Stephanie bounced excitedly on her toes. "Come on. You have to know who did it. You can tell me. I promise, I won't say a word."

The truth was, even if Logan wanted to tell her who did it, he couldn't. He still wasn't sure himself. In the end, it was going to have to be up to the listener to make up their own mind. Still, he loved to torture her. "Sorry," he shrugged. "You're just going to have to wait and see like everyone else.

"No fair," she pouted. "I bet Rory and Finn know."

"Finn is the producer, so yeah, he gets to know. But Rory's still in the dark, just like everyone else."

Stephanie looked to her friend. "Come on, you can't really not know."

"Sorry," Rory admitted. "I told him not to tell me. I'm not as good as he is at saying 'no' to you."

"No fair."

The momentary lightless in the air dissipated as the DA walked out of the courthouse. Everyone turned to look at her. "They're ready. The judge is calling us in."

Logan saw Rory bite her lip apprehensively. He reached for her hand, entwining his fingers with hers and giving it a squeeze. "You got this," he told her.

She took a shuddering breath and nodded as they were led into the courthouse and down to the courtroom. Rory took a seat and Logan slid in next to her. Mitchum was seated at the attorney's table. He turned to look at them, but Logan saw no emotion in the man's eyes. He could feel Rory shudder next to him. The spectator seating filled rapidly and once the room was packed and the doors closed, the bailiff banged his gavel.

"Please stand for the honorable Judge Davis." They stood and the judge entered the courtroom. Rory's hand tightened around his. Next, the jury was called in and they were allowed to sit again. Logan untangled his hand from hers and placed it reassuringly on her knee. What he'd told her outside was true. As far as he was concerned, he couldn't care less what the jury said. Whatever the verdict, he would walk out of the courtroom not giving a damn about Mitchum Huntzberger. But Rory still cared, and he cared about her. He could feel the tension rolling off her in waves, and it made his own muscles clench in trepidation. She needed this verdict. She needed the closure it would bring her. And more than anything, he wanted that for her.

"The jury has reached a verdict?" The judge enquired.

The foreman stood up. "We have, Your Honor." The Bailiff walked over to the jury stand, taking a piece of paper from the foreman and handing it off to the judge. He unfolded the note, nodding his head stoically.

"What say you?" he asked.

"In the case of the State against Mitchum Huntzberger, on the first count of Stalking in the 3rd degree, we, the jury, find the defendant…" There was a collective pause that seemed to go on forever. "Guilty." He felt the tiniest bit of tension release from Rory. It wasn't much, but it was just the start. "On the first charge of assault in the third degree, we, the jury, find the defendant…guilty." There were a few hushed whispers following this decree. The next two charges of third-degree assault went the same, and the clamor got a little louder as the tension built leading up to the final charge.

"And on the last count?" the judge enquired. The small amount of relief that Rory's body had exhibited with the reading of each verdict, was suddenly gone. Logan's hand was still on her thigh and Rory placed her palm over his, her fingernails clawing into his flesh. Each count of third-degree assault was only a misdemeanor, with a maximum of a single year in prison. It was something, but it wasn't nearly enough. The next count was the big one. It wasn't even Rory's count; her injuries hadn't been substantial enough—at least not her physical ones. And that was all the law seemed to consider important. The worst of the horrors he'd committed—the psychological ones, those the court system wasn't designed to hold him accountable for. But thanks to Rory's willingness to come forward, other women had too. And one of them, Cassandra, had been injured enough to go after a felony count of second-degree assault. If he was convicted of this, that could add an extra seven years onto his sentence. All told, that would be nearly a decade behind bars.

"On the count of assault in the second degree, we, the jury, find the defendant…guilty." There was a collective sigh of relief all across the courtroom. He turned to face Rory and he watched as her breath caught in her throat. A tear slipped from her eye and he went to wipe it away but before he could, she threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly. He held her as the tears of relief shook her whole body. They'd won. There was a time when it had seemed impossible. Hell, for pretty much his entire life it seemed impossible that Mitchum Huntzberger was anything but invincible. Yet here they were, watching the impossible happen.

"You did it," he whispered into her ear. "You did this. You made it happen."

She sniffled back a sob. "I couldn't have done it without you," she admitted. He knew she believed that, but she was so much stronger than she gave herself credit for.

"No," he assured her, brushing her hand along her cheek. "This was all you…and Cassandra and Bethany, and Jennifer…You didn't need me."

She tilted her head up to look at him. "But I've got you?" she asked.

A low rumble rose up from his chest at the earnest question. "You've got me, Cherry," he promised, placing a kiss on her forehead. "You've got me."

The End