AN: Look at that, a speedy update. And a long one too. Don't get too used to it. I had more time off than usual this week. Thanks for all the reviews last chapter. Please keep 'em coming
"It just seems like a quaint archaism," Paris ranted. Rory was only half paying attention as she flipped through the pages of the latest edition of the Yale Daily News. "I mean, if you're a good journalist, why make you jump through hoops and write all these tryout articles?" Paris dumped the bagel in her hand back onto the refreshment table. "Stale bagel."
"It's a time-honored tradition," Rory answered absent-mindedly as she continued to search the pages of the paper. "All our forebears had to do it."
"If our forebears had fought it, we wouldn't be dealing with it now," Paris continued. She finally noticed Rory wasn't giving her full attention. "What are you looking for?"
"My article. I did a review of the chamber-music recital."
"Must be in there somewhere," Paris replied flippantly. "And that's the other thing-they print everything." Paris turned back to the baked goods to find herself a better bagel.
"Hm, that's weird." Rory said to herself. She had been through all the pages twice and her article was nowhere to be found.
"They'd print my mattress tag if it was in the right margins," Paris continued.
"It's not here."
"Impossible."
"No, I've looked pretty thoroughly."
"Must be a mistake."
"No, it's really not here."
"Just means parakeets will be crapping on something else in the morning," Paris dismissed as she threw another bagel back in the box. "They're all stale."
Rory noticed her editor had finally arrived. "Hi, Doyle." She strode across the room towards him.
"Hi, Rory. Coffee mint?" He held out a tin in offering.
"No, thanks."
"I'm addicted to these things. So is Bob Woodward. So I hear-not that I'm copying him. What's up?"
Doyle started walking and Rory got in step next to him. "Well, I was wondering if there was a problem with my review."
"Oh, the review? Which was yours, the quartet?"
"Yeah, chamber music at Sprague Hall."
"Right, right," Doyle hedged.
"Did I get it in late?" Rory continued to prod.
"No, you got it in right on time." Doyle turned to face her. "You're good about that."
"But you didn't print it."
"No, we didn't," Doyle admitted. He started to walk away again.
"So, space issue?" Rory didn't give up that easily.
"No, we had the space," he admitted. "We always have the space, but…it was a bit of a yawn."
"A yawn?" Rory's eyes went wide with panic.
"Yeah."
"Well, you know, chamber-music recitals are very low-key, kind of yawny affairs." She started rambling. It was a chamber music recital. Not a rock concert. She could only review what was there. "Pretty music but no stage diving or anything."
"I meant the writing," Doyle admitted, almost sympathetically.
"The writing was kind of a yawn?" Don't freak out Rory, Do NOT freak out!
"But don't sweat it. You'll do better next time," he placated.
"Right, sure." Rory was crestfallen.
"My mother liked it."
A glimmer of hope. "Liked what?" she asked excitedly.
"The recital. She's old." Doyle's attention was already all the way across the room. "Excuse me."
"Sure. Sure," she replied to his retreating back.
Paris rushed across the room as soon as Doyle was gone. "Your article didn't get in?"
"No, it didn't."
Paris grabbed the paper out of Rory's hands and frantically flicked through the pages. "Mine did," she said with a sigh of relief as soon as she saw her byline. "Good, good. I'm going to get a bagel." Paris disappeared again leaving Rory alone to stew in her inadequacy.
"Hi, Doyle," Rory greeted as she walked into the newsroom a few days later. "Got something for you."
"Your new review?" Doyle asked, getting up from the desk he had been at, talking to another staffer.
"My new review," Rory confirmed happily. She had worked her butt off on this one, there was no way he would reject it.
"Remember The New Zoo Revue?" Doyle asked, walking across the newsroom. Why was he always walking away when she was trying to talk to him. Couldn't the man stand in one spot for thirty seconds? And he was always so distracted. Seriously? The New Zoo Revue?
"Henrietta Hippo?" she asked. Out of the corner of her eye, Rory noticed a familiar face sitting at his desk. She ignored him. He'd been decent about leaving her alone since their conversation at her study tree almost two weeks ago. But he was still somehow always there—at the paper, in the dining hall, even in the library. She'd see him at least once every other day. Sometimes he would wave or say 'hi," other times, like today, it was as though he didn't even see her. She shook her head of thoughts of Logan and followed after Doyle.
"Freddie the Frog," he added. "And there was the third one? What was the third one?"
"I'm drawing a blank." Rory brought her attention back to the present.
"Oh, I hate that. Whenever there's three of something, you always forget the third one. It's like a statistical thing." Maybe this wasn't the best time for Doyle to read her article. He was clearly distracted. Not that she was in a much better headspace.
"Do you want me to come back?"
"No, let's look at it now." Doyle finally sat down.
"So I drank a lot of coffee before writing this, so hopefully it won't be a yawn." Rory placed the pages down in front of him. Her eyes briefly trailed off to look at Logan, but she immediately forced them back.
"Good." Doyle uncapped his red pen and started reading. Immediately he began crossing things out.
"Doyle!"
"Just a sec," he held up a finger without looking up from the pages. He continued marking up her work.
"You're crossing everything out." Rory said, panic in her voice.
"Not everything."
"Well, the only thing you haven't crossed out is what you haven't read yet."
"Hold on, hold on, okay?" Doyle paused for a moment, finishing his reading. "Well, it's better than your last one," he admitted, looking up at Rory. "You're showing progress."
"Oh," she replied dejectedly.
"Really," Doyle assured her.
"Okay, is this some kind of hazing?" Rory asked. He couldn't be serious.
"Hazing?"
"I put a lot of time into this."
"Oh, I know. It's definitely not for lack of trying."
"Is it something personal? Did I do something to offend you?" Doyle hated Logan. Maybe he'd found out about her previous relationship with him and was taking it out on her. Rory again glanced over at where the blond man in question was sitting at his desk filling out a crossword puzzle.
"No, Rory, this is how it works. It's not personal. It's just not very good."
"I rewrote it four times, and I researched it so thoroughly." She'd even asked her grandfather for his take. He had been a member of the Whiffenpoofs himself back in his Yale days. He would be able to tell her if there was a problem in her review of them.
"Don't worry about the facts. You seem to have gotten those right." Doyle turned the pages back to their right order and held them out to one of the staffers. "Stan, file this for me."
"So, it's not good?" Rory asked for confirmation. She didn't know what else she could do to make it better.
"I just couldn't tell what you really thought." Doyle elaborated.
"But I tried so hard."
"Oh, I know."
"So I should try less hard?" She was so confused.
"I could help…" a voice interrupted their conversation.
Rory and Doyle both looked up at their interrupter; Rory with a look of pure venom, and Doyle with one of confusion.
"You want to help Gilmore on her assignment?" Doyle asked Logan.
"Sure."
"Why?"
"Just a little civic duty," Logan smirked at Rory. He'd been trying to give her some space lately. He'd seen a crack in her façade that day at the tree, but he knew better then to push too hard too fast. If she felt cornered, she'd clam right back up again. Still, it had been almost two weeks, he figured it was time for another offensive move.
"So, you want to spend your Friday night at the ballet for an assignment that won't even have your byline?" Doyle asked again. Logan never volunteered to write anything; which was a shame because he was actually an excellent writer. Maybe he had the Clap again and couldn't go out partying.
"Well, the company wouldn't suck," he confirmed, giving Rory a somewhat lascivious look. "And I've always wanted a protégé." Logan's thoughts were in a very dirty place. Oh the things he really wanted to teach her.
Doyle shrugged, turning to Rory. "It's not the worst idea. Logan does know how to make a point."
"I think I can figure it out on my own." Rory glared at him. How did he always do this—corner her into a date she couldn't refuse; with her grandparents that first day they'd met, now with Doyle here at the paper. He was a master manipulator.
"No, no; this'll be good," Doyle said, loving the idea more and more. Logan's sharp writing style and cutting wit were exactly what Rory needed a little more of. "I like it. Sold. Have fun at the ballet you two."
Doyle got up and walked away but stopped short, turning back to Rory and Logan. "Charlie the Owl. That's the third one." And then he was gone.
"That's not a good look," Logan admitted as Rory continued to glare at him.
"I have no words."
"It's just one assignment."
"Oh no, wait. I found some….Jerk, ass, arrogant, inconsiderate, mindless, lowlife, buttface miscreant."
"Buttface miscreant?"
"Why are you doing this?"
"I'm sorry, 'buttface miscreant'?"
"This is my life, Logan. My future career. Doyle decides whether or not I get on the paper and you made me look incompetent." She couldn't believe he would interfere with her work at the paper, he knew how important it was to her.
"By offering to help you?" Logan asked incredulously.
"He's going to think I can't do this on my own."
"Or, he's going to think you're a mature adult who can take constructive criticism and grow as a writer."
"Oh don't be all logical with me. We both know you're only doing this to get me to go out with you."
"Listen, I'm not going to lie and say that's not a big part of it. The biggest, if I'm being honest. I've made my intentions to get you back crystal clear. But I also really think I can help you here, Ace." Rory was a great writer, but when he'd heard Doyle's critiques, he knew they were true. Rory was nice—too nice. Not a great quality for a reviewer. She needed to be pushed out of her comfort zone and if there was one person who was an expert at pushing Rory Gilmore out of her comfort zone, it was him.
"You, the guy who only writes when his Black AmEx is being held hostage, think you can help me."
"You're an amazing writer, Rory. Better than me, I won't lie. But I've grown up in this business. I know what editors want. And your editor wants you to stop being so polite."
"I am not polite!" Rory huffed indignantly.
"Umm yeah you are."
"I just called you a buttfaced miscreant."
"Exactly. Your vocab is great; you're a walking thesaurus. But that was still one lame ass insult."
Her icy blue eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. "Fine, next time I'll be meaner."
"Hey, I know you've got it in you. And I can bring it out," Logan admitted proudly.
"I'm sorry, do you think your ability to piss me off is a good thing?" He was insufferable. And damn he was cute. She hated that he still made her feel like this.
"It's called passion. I wouldn't piss you off so much if you didn't still care." Damn him for being right. She couldn't even argue with him on that point. Even now he could make her angry and hot at the same time.
"I still don't get how this helps me with my article."
"I can help you channel that passion into your writing. You're not afraid to tell me what you really think of me. Don't be afraid to tell Yale what you really think of chamber music, or the Whiffenpoofs, or Giselle."
"Who's Giselle."
Logan laughed. "It's a ballet. Possibly the most famous after Swan Lake. You might want to study up before the performance, Ace."
"Oh."
"So you'll let me help you?" he asked hopefully.
"I don't really have much of a choice—" Rory answered timidly, her eyes looking everywhere but at Logan. "Doyle said…"
"If you want me to get lost and let you do this on your own, just say the word. I'll back out and take all the blame with Doyle." It was a risky play, letting Rory back out, but he was sincere in his desire to help her. The paper was important to Rory, he didn't want to mess with that. He couldn't.
"Fine," Rory replied, crossing her arms over her chest nervously and continuing to avoid his gaze. "You can help," she mumbled.
"Great," Logan said, with a huge grin and a sigh of relief. "I'll pick you up for dinner at 6."
Rory's eyes stopped darting and heatedly focused in on Logan's.
Logan chuckled. "Should've stopped while I was ahead, huh?"
"Ya think?"
"I'll meet you at the theater at 8," he amended.
"Better."
"Well, I guess I better get back to my puzzle," Logan excused himself, backing away from Rory's desk. "22-Down is a real stumper."
Rory sighed as he turned and walked away. Damn him. She was going to forgive him; it was only a matter of time. She didn't want to forgive him, but she just couldn't help it. She felt her resolve crumbling a little more with every smirk. And that was scary as hell, because Logan Huntzberger could break her heart just as easily as he could finish that crossword puzzle.
The curtain was down and audience members were starting to pack up their things and move, but Rory just sat there, staring at the stage. "Wow. Just…wow."
"Yeah, definitely the best ballet I've ever been to," Logan replied seriously, gently squeezing her knee. Rory didn't swat him away or threaten him with bodily harm. An excellent sign.
"What ballet were you watching?" she asked incredulously. "They were terrible."
"Awful," Logan agreed. "But quite entertaining. And your color commentary was gold."
"This isn't funny, Logan, I have to review this."
"Yeah, well make sure you include that 'nutcracker' zinger. Doyle'll love that."
"Logan," she admonished. "Be serious."
"I am, Ace. This could not have gone better for you. Doyle wants you to write what you really think about something. Your thoughts on this ballet are crystal clear. You basically wrote your article line by line as we watched the show."
"I can't write those things," Rory insisted, as she finally stood up from her seat. "I could destroy that dancer's career."
Logan stood up too, grabbing Rory's coat from off the chair behind her and holding it up to help her into it. "Not your problem, Ace. You've got to look out for your career. You need to write an article that Doyle will print. And it's your responsibility to be brutally honest. If you water this down, what will that do for your journalistic integrity."
"But…" Rory started, turning away from Logan to slip her arms into the coat sleeves.
"No 'buts,' Rory. Journalism isn't about being nice, it's about the truth. And the truth is that this ballet sucked."
Rory turned back to face him, working the buttons of the coat. "How many times do you think I can use the word 'blows' in an article before it becomes redundant?" she asked with a sigh.
"That's my girl," Logan said with a smirk. He reached out to fix a strand of hair that was stuck in her coat. She didn't object. Inside his head, Logan did a little victory dance. "So, your place or mine?"
This finally did get her attention. She glared at him. "Excuse me?"
"To work on the article," he clarified.
"How about the library," Rory suggested. The last thing she needed was to be alone with Logan. She was feeling a little too comfortable around him tonight.
"No…" Logan said hesitantly as though he was actually contemplating the idea. "That won't work. We can't really talk. And no food's allowed. You didn't let me take you out for dinner, so I'm kind of hungry. I was thinking we could order a pizza."
Rory's stomach grumbled uncomfortably. She tried to ignore it. "Eat a Power Bar or something," she suggested, making her way out of the aisle and towards the exit.
"Everything minus the anchovies," Logan tried to tempt her as he followed her out of the theater. "Extra sausage."
"I can't write in this dress." She made her next excuse, motioning to her ensemble, even though it was covered by her coat. She'd never be able to relax and get into a good headspace to write, all dolled up in a fancy dress.
"So your place it is. You can get changed into something more comfortable."
"My roommates will be there."
"So?"
"I share a room with Paris," she reminded him.
"Oh yeah. I guess it's my place then."
"You share a room with Colin and Finn." Not that she wanted to be alone with Logan, but those two would just make everything worse.
"I share a suite with Colin and Finn, I have my own room. Besides, Finn is in Australia for a family thing for a few days, and Colin is out with Steph. He won't be home until late, if at all."
"How convenient." Rory rolled her eyes.
"So…" Logan asked.
"I have to go change first," she reminded him.
"Go home, change…I'll order the pizza."
"Fine," she relented. "But make it a meat-lovers. You know how I feel about vegetables."
"It's a deal, Ace." He held the door to the theater open for her. "I'll see you in thirty."
Rory dropped a half-eaten slice of pizza on the coffee table. "I'm soooooo full," she groaned, clutching her stomach.
"Well maybe you shouldn't have attempted that fourth slice, Ace," Logan laughed.
"You only had two. I couldn't let all that extra pizza go to waste," she argued, leaning back into the couch. "I should go home," she added with a sigh. They had finished the final draft of the article ten minutes ago. Logan had assured her it was good. Great, actually.
So really, there was no reason for her to still be there. But then, why was she having so much trouble getting her lazy butt off the couch?
"You know, it's not safe to exercise right after eating," Logan replied. "You could get a cramp."
"I'm walking 100 Kropogs to my dorm, Logan, not swimming in the ocean."
"True" Logan agreed. "Then again, any amount of exercise is significant to a Gilmore. Maybe we should just play it safe. I've got Best in Show."
Damn. She loved that movie and he knew it. "The dogs all look like the actors that play their owners. How did they do that?" she asked.
"I believe it's called a casting director."
Rory sighed. She wanted to just keep doing the banter thing and ignore the pink elephant in the room, but she couldn't. "I don't know, Logan."
"What don't you know?" he asked. He had a sneaking suspicion she wasn't still talking about the movie. "Casting director is a pretty established cred in the movie industry."
"I don't know if I can do this again." She motioned back and forth between the two of them.
Logan sighed. "So you're just going to stay mad at me forever?" he asked, shifting his weight on the sofa to face her.
"You hurt me, Logan."
"I know, I'm sorry."
"You can't just show up with brownies and cute remarks and my favorite movies and expect me to forget that." She sat up straighter, her words getting faster as her rant went on. "You can't just expect me to forget all about how you convinced me you were ready to settle down and commit just to tell me a week later that you were leaving to sail around the world. I believed you, Logan. I believed you when you said all that stuff about wanting to be a boyfriend, even though there were plenty of people waiting in line to tell me how stupid I was to do so. Well, it turns out they were right. I was an idiot to believe you then, why should I trust you now?"
She was right. He couldn't just expect her to forget and take him back. If he wanted her back, he needed to prove to her that things were going to be different.
"I screwed up. I know that. I've never had to factor someone into my life decisions before, Rory. I did what I wanted, when I wanted. I lived in the moment and worried about tomorrow tomorrow. So when I said those things to you, about being ready to commit; I meant them. In that moment, I meant them. Sure, I knew I was leaving, but that was the future. It was like two different parts of my brain; like there were two different 'me's—the me in that moment, and the me getting on that yacht three months later. I didn't even think to reconcile the two until I realized you were considering going to Yale.
"And that's different now?" Rory asked skeptically. "You're suddenly Mr. Plan-For-the-Future?"
"I'm still me, Rory. I'm still the spontaneous, fun-loving guy who pushes you out of your comfort zone and gets you to let loose. But yeah, I'm different too. I was miserable on that boat. I couldn't be the completely 'live in the moment,' carefree guy I used to be, because I had something I cared about—you. You changed me, Ace. Or at least, helped me grow-up. I can't promise that we're going to be together forever or that I'm never going to hurt you again. But I can promise that I'm not planning on going anywhere and that I'm not gonna make big life decisions without you."
Rory looked at him for a moment, leaving them in awkward silence. "Okay," she finally relented, relaxing back into the sofa.
"O-kay…you'll take me back?" Logan asked hesitantly. Too afraid to get his hopes up.
"Okay, we can watch Best in Show," she replied
He let out the breath he had been holding. He knew that was too easy. "Sooooo…" he dragged out. "That means…?"
"That means I need some time to think about it, Logan."
"Okay, good enough." It had to be good enough for now. If she was even considering giving him a second chance, it was a check in the 'win' column. At least she was spending time with him again. He sat back on the couch, grabbing the remote and turning on the DVD player.
An hour later Logan heard the door open and turned to see Colin walking in. "Shh!" He held his finger up to his lips, then pointed at Rory who had fallen asleep on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder.
Colin looked at the scene with raised eyebrows but stayed quiet.
Logan gently untangled himself and stood up. He should wake her up and let her go home, but it was awfully late for her to be walking across campus by herself, and she looked so comfortable. "Just a sec," he whispered to Colin. Logan scooped Rory up in his arms and headed towards the bedroom.
"Logan?" she asked sleepily, stirring slightly.
"Shh, go back to sleep, Ace, it's late."
"I should go home," she mumbled.
"You'll sleep in my room. I'll take the couch," he told her. "No funny business, I promise."
"Okay," she was too tired to argue. Logan laid her down on the bed, throwing a blanket over her and tucking her in. He fought the desire to lean down and give her a chaste kiss on the forehead.
He walked back into the common room where Colin was still standing.
"You got something you want to tell me, Buddy?" he asked.
"It's nothing," Logan told him.
"That was an awfully cozy looking 'nothing'," Colin replied. "How'd you even get her to come back here after the ballet, let alone fall asleep on your shoulder?"
"She came back to work on the article. Then we talked."
"And made up?" Colin asked with a sly grin.
"Not exactly," Logan replied. "But we made some progress, I think."
"Well, don't fuck it up, Huntz."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"No problem," Colin chuckled, walking off to his room.
The scent of him surrounded her. She was so warm and cozy. She felt an arm drape over her side, pulling her into a warm firm body. She relaxed into the embrace. His lips gently pressed against her shoulder at the nape of her neck, sending tingles down her body. She never wanted to move.
But gradually, reality made its way back in. Her eyes fluttered slowly open. There was no arm, no body, no sweet, caressing kisses. She was alone in Logan Huntzberger's bed. "No funny business" she vaguely remembered him saying in her half-asleep state. He'd kept his promise, and she was disappointed. She hated herself for being disappointed. She had decided to forgive him, sure, but she hadn't decided to take him back. She wasn't sure she could handle that. But here was her Id, screaming at her in all caps. She wanted to ignore it, make it go away. She wanted to protect her heart. Her Super-ego was fighting with everything it had, but it was only a matter of time before the Id won out. She grabbed one of the pillows from under her head, bringing it in front of her and hugging it tight. She buried her face in it, inhaling the scent of him, and fell back asleep.