When Rory's eyes fluttered open several hours later, the room was still. Colin and Finn were both still sleeping, slouched down in the rather uncomfortable chairs, Finn's feet still propped up on the end of the bed; Colin's arms wrapped around himself. Logan looked the same—still, unmoving. Rory picked up the boys' jackets off the floor and draped them over each of them, grateful for their devotion to Logan and their willingness to stay here with him—they were, in a way, the closest family he had, and she couldn't be gladder that she didn't have to be here with him alone.

She paused again at the head of the bed, looking down at Logan's face, and reached out to touch it for the first time since arriving. She smoothed a lock of hair off his forehead, lightly touching the wounds that criss-crossed his forehead, wishing there was healing power in her fingertips, wishing he would react to her touch the way he had so many times before, turning his head to catch her fingertips in his lips. Bending down, she brushed a soft kiss across his lips before turning to leave the room, lingering in the doorway, looking at all three of them in various stages of sleep, a scene she had seen several times before, after a long night of partying. If she squinted her eyes just so, she could almost pretend that this was one of those nights, and not the unending nightmare that it actually was.

Taking the elevator down to the lobby, she left the hospital for the first time since arriving, blinking furiously as the bright sunshine hit her eyes. "Ugh," she muttered, running her tongue over her teeth, feeling the fuzziness and almost tasting her own bad breath. There was a drugstore across the street, so she ducked inside, picking up a toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, deodorant, and a few other necessities, and as she paid and exited, she realized exactly how many hours it had been since she'd had real coffee—something other than the brown sludge in the cafeteria.

Taking her cell phone out of her purse, she flipped it open and dialled the number that was becoming increasingly more familiar. "Jess?" she said when he picked up the line. "Where are the good coffee shops?"

As she entered Gotham City, the coffee shop that Jess had recommended, she took a deep breath and breathed in the heavenly aroma. "Espresso," she ordered when it was her turn. "And three...no, make that four—house blends, please." She needed the shot of caffeine, and the rest of the coffees were for her and the boys. She couldn't let them survive on cafeteria sludge, either.

Rory downed the espresso in one gulp, feeling the rush of caffeine flow through her. She smiled to herself as she remembered all the nights she had seen Logan down tequila shots like she had just done to the espresso. She sighed deeply. She didn't want to be gone from him for this long. If—when—he woke up, she wanted to be there. She got a few muffins to go, too... they could only survive so long on the paper-like pound cake from the cafeteria, and these muffins looked amazing—big and moist, with chunks of real fruit on top. Rory shook her head and laughed at herself. She knew she had to be stressed, if she was thinking that fruit muffins looked good. She suppressed the urge to get the peach-strawberry muffin, and went for the cappuccino-chip one instead; she had a reputation to maintain.

When she returned to the hospital, she stopped in the hall bathroom to splash some water on her face and change into the t-shirt she had bought in the pharmacy. Unfortunately, it was a stereotypical touristy, "I heart New York" t-shirt, but it would do for the time being. She also had matching sweatpants, but anything was better than her dress. Luckily, she had put on her sneakers instead of her dress shoes when she ran out of the house, and she hadn't had to worry about being in heels for this long. She looked in the mirror over the sink, seeing the dark circles under her eyes for the first time. "Logan..." she whispered. "Why'd you have to go and be this stupid and do this to all of us? I hate this."

Rory took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She prepared herself to go back. At least the tension wasn't quite as high as it had been when she first got there. They were able to joke around a little. That felt normal. Anything that felt normal was good. When she got back to Logan's room, Colin and Finn were arguing half-heartedly. Again, good. "I got coffee... the real stuff," she told them.

They looked up at her appreciatively. "Rory, love, you're a lifesaver," Finn declared.

"So what tales has our boy been regaling you with?" she kidded lightly, keeping the tone from earlier—it was much safer than dealing with the cold harsh reality.

An hour later, the empty coffee cups were littering the windowsills in the room, and Rory felt like she, Colin, and Finn had officially set up camp in Logan's hospital room. Their shoes had all been kicked off and tossed into a corner, their jackets and extra clothes had been slung over the backs of chairs and on bed railings, and they had each staked a claim on a specific chair, arranging them in the perfect setup for maximum comfort, foot-propping, and conversation. It was getting more (dare she say it?) comfortable, and maybe it was just the lack of sleep filtering her vision, but it seemed much less cold and sterile than it had the night before. It crossed Rory's mind briefly that she should be thankful that they were in a private room, in one of the best hospitals, and she was never more grateful for Logan's name recognition--no doctor or nurse would dare bind a Huntzberger to visiting hours.

"Finn, do you have any eights?" Rory asked, seriously examining the cards in her hand.

"Go fish," he crowed, leaning back in his chair in satisfaction as she made a face at him and drew a card from the stack resting on Logan's calves.

"Rory, darling, give me your eight," Colin demanded in a faux, very bad, Australian accent, holding out a hand and snapping his fingers at her. Finn clutched a hand to his heart, gasping over the atrocious attempt.

She handed the card over with a sigh and a dramatic flourish, throwing down the rest of her cards. "That's it. You've finished me. How are you two so good at Go Fish, anyway?"

"It was your suggestion, love," Finn reminded her.

"Yeah, because I thought that by playing a game that doesn't involve gambling, I'd have a shot."

"Rory, Rory, Rory," Finn chided. "You will never beat us at any card game. Ever. It's just a fact of life that you would do well to accept now."

"But... it's Go Fish!" she protested.

"Cards, love," he responded.

"It's true," Colin affirmed. "It's impossible to beat either of us. Doesn't matter what we're playing. Logan's the only one who's consistently beaten either of us at anything."

"Then it's your fault!" Rory chided, reaching out to squeeze Logan's hand. "Your card-playing luck should be rubbing off on me! What is this—are you betraying me for these two?"

"Don't listen to her, mate!" Finn shot back. "As soon as you let a girl in on your winning streak, we'll never hear the end of it!"

"Oh, and who's the one who puts up with your dirty socks and the toilet seat that you always leave up? If that doesn't give me the right to cash in on your luck, I don't know what does!"

"Oh. No." Finn and Colin said in unison. "First rule of poker night. No domestic disputes."

"But—" Rory sputtered "—this isn't poker night! This is Go Fish!"

"What did I say about cards?" Finn asked her, as though talking to a child. "They're all the same. The universal rules apply."

"I still say this is no fair," Rory mock-pouted. "I've gotta get something out of this deal... I mean, here I am, sitting here with three boys, forced to play cards and amuse myself in distinctly un-girly ways, and I get no payoff. I don't even get to steal my boyfriend's good luck!"

"What can I say, doll, it's a tough life." Finn reached over and patted her on the knee, and she smacked his hand away, glaring playfully at him.

"That's it. You boys aren't nice anymore."

"Anymore?" Colin raised an eyebrow at Finn. "Were we ever?"

"And," Rory continued, speaking over them, "I don't have to take it. I'm just going to sit by myself and read a book." She flounced around in her chair, facing the other direction with her legs hanging over the arm, and sat like that with her arms crossed over her chest just long enough to make the most of the comic timing before she spun back around. "Do either of you have a book?"

The boys looked at each other and all three of them burst out laughing.

Rory shook her head, and wiped away the tears that had come to her eyes—this time from laughter. "You're terrible."

"But that's why you love us," Finn reminded her.

"I never said that," Rory protested, but her words fell on deaf ears. She let a moment go by, enjoying the silence. "When did Honor say she would be here?"

Colin rubbed his forehead and leaned forward. "She was on her honeymoon in Greece, so she said they'd get here as soon as they could get a flight."

Rory nodded and stretched her arms above her head. Glancing at the clock, she realized that it was almost two. "Guys, why don't you go out for a while? I'll stay here. Go get some more coffee. Go... shave, or something. I didn't want to tell you before, but you look like hell—terrible," she quickly corrected herself. They looked like hell because they had been through hell, and she didn't want to remind them all of that. Still, they still could use a shave and clean clothes. "There's a drugstore across the street and the coffee shop is two blocks over, on 68th and 2nd."

"What's the name of this place?" Finn asked, even though it had been printed on the coffee cups that were still lying on the radiator.

"Gotham City," she told them, slightly bemused.

"Quick, Finn, to the Batmobile!" Colin cried, striking a superhero pose.

"Away!" Finn added, mimicking Colin's stance.

"Just go!" Rory threw a wadded up napkin at the two of them. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Boys." She took Logan's hand and squeezed it. "Do you see what I have to put up with when you're not around?" she asked him, maneuvering her chair closer to the side of his bed, laying her head down beside him.

She thought about trying to lie down beside him, the way she had always seen on TV, but she was too afraid of disturbing any of the tubes or wires, or, worse yet, jarring or hurting him in some way, so instead, she settled for resting her head beside his on the pillow. It wasn't the most comfortable position she'd ever been in, but she needed to be close, to feel warmth radiating from his skin, to hear the soft whisper of his breath. She needed him to reassure her that he would be fine, and if he couldn't do it with his words, she would listen hard to hear what he couldn't say.

In, out. In, out. The regularity soothed her, and by focusing on his breathing, she was almost able to ignore the constant beeping in the background. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, gently searching out his pulse, and when she found it, she relaxed even further, feeling like she was sinking into the cold hospital pillow. In... beat, beat, beat... out... beat, beat, beat. In... beat, beat, beat... out... beat, beat, beat. There it was—the essence of being alive, and she savored the sound of his breath and the feel of his pulse as much in that moment as she ever had the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands.

Rory had always loved Logan's zest for life—from the beginning, it drew her, attracted her, compelled her to join him. She knew that so often, his bravado and charisma hid deep, secret hurts that she was only beginning to see, but despite that, she knew that he truly loved the thrill and the adrenaline. Even though she was beginning to see how much it could frighten her, she loved the wicked twinkle in his eye when he was planning some outrageous stunt, the tone his voice took when he was cajoling her to join him, the way he looked utterly and completely alive when he was taking a risk and embarking on something new. Whether it was jumping off a scaffold in formal wear, trying a disgusting-looking exotic delicacy, or helping her unpack in their apartment, Logan was most in his element when he was pushing himself and everyone around him to be less afraid, to do something new and different.

Right now, she was terrified, and yet, even in her fear, even in his unconsciousness, he was reassuring her—telling her with his breath, and his heartbeat, and his pulse; soothing her with the way his nerves jumped and his fingers twitched in response to her touch. Even now, he was taking on a new challenge, and his heartbeat did more to breathe courage and life into Rory than his smile or his eyes ever had.

"When this is over," she whispered into his neck, "there's going to be hell to pay for putting me through this." Tears filled her eyes for what seemed like the millionth time in the past twenty-four hours, spilling onto his skin and his sheets. "When this is over," she repeated over and over with a catch in her voice, a mantra that she had to cling to in order to keep from drowning.