AN: I wanted to thank you all for your wonderful reviews! Some where heartwarming, others plain scary (Yes I'm talking to you Lexx ;) ) So thank you guys! You make me a very happy camper :)!

I also wanted to reply to one in particular, because I did not get the chance to do so personally:

Janey, not always is a relationship perfectly balanced. Not always are we reasonable and not always are our emotions accordingly displayed. Sometimes someone is the doormat and someone else is a jerk. I value your opinion. It was, however, not my intent to make the chapter misogynistic and I don't think it was. Unfairness on other hand was definitely on the menu. Thank you for your honest review.

And there you have it :) Enjoy. Lexx, call back the army, I have met my deadline with looooots of room to spare lol.

Disclaimer: Again, don't own Gilmore Girls, only my disorganized head.

Chapter 20

Issues & Tissues

"Mr Huntzberger," Rory uttered astonishment dancing on her features as she tightly clutched the doorknob.

"Hello, Rory." The tall blond man smiled at her unsurely, "I've come here to talk to my son."

"Uhm…he is not home right now." She was surprised to see his face fall a bit, "But you can wait….if you want. I can call him…Or you can call him…"

"Thank you, Rory. I'm just going to wait."

She nodded opening the door wider and letting him in.

"Can I get you something? Something to drink?"

"Something to read?" he locked eyes with her and she stared back. Logan was mad at her as it was. Would she make it worse by giving Mitchum that part of Logan? Not too long ago he was even apprehensive to let her read. Mitchum saw her uneasiness and sighed.

"The YDN will do too."

She went into Logan's study and glanced at the Daily News laying on the desk before pulling open one of the drawers and taking out a file.

She walked back into the living room finding Mitchum in front of the bookcase.

"He always liked to read. I got him a bike…a real one for his fifth birthday. He had begged me ever since the third day after he had gotten a 'baby-bike' as he would call it. Yet, it was the Very Hungry Caterpillar he got from his aunt that had him quiet all day."

Rory smiled.

"I'm sure he liked the bike…"

"Oh yes, he did. We were in the hospital the following day. He had biked off the stairs. I have held my heart more than once at his self-destruction bordering sense of adventure."

"Here…" she handed him the plain folder and he looked at her not comprehending at first, but a slight twitch of the corner of his mouth made clear he understood.

"Thank you, Rory," he said, taking it from her, thanking her for more than the articles alone.

"You're welcome and could you not tell him?" She blushed, "That I gave this to you? He is mad at me as it is."

"Mad at you?" he echoed.

"Yeah…I'm sorry, I have to go. My 4 pm class starts in 10 minutes and Logan said he was going to be home before dinner…so, do you mind if I--."

"No, no. Go. I don't want to keep you. And I have reading material." He lifted the articles with a smirk.

"Okay, well…Goodbye," she said grabbing her red coat, while wrapping a scarf around her neck.

"Mhm…" was all that reached her back while his eyes rapidly ran over the lines.

"I'm sure it will be fine, Colin. This time we at least have parachutes. I guess that is a whole step up…or a softer one down." He laughed sticking the key in the lock and turning it, surprised to find the door unlocked. Rory was supposed to be at her French class.

"Rory?" he called hanging up his coat and walking into the living room. He stopped dead in his tracks when the person sitting on his couch in his apartment turned out to be not his girlfriend, not a burglar, not a ruthless axe killer, but his father.

"I'll call you back, Colin," he said clasping his phone shut, "What do you want?"

"Hello to you too," he said folding the paper he had been reading and placing it on the coffee table.

"How did you get in?"

"Rory let me wait for you. Very generous of her. And I wanted to talk to you."

"Talk to me?" he scoffed, "You should have saved yourself the trouble and left a message on the answering machine."

"I wanted to talk to you in person," he answered.

"I have nothing to say to you," he turned around and strode into the kitchen pulling open the fridge.

"Logan! Get back in here! Stop throwing tantrums like a six year old. I understand that you are mad, but this is no way to solve issues."

The muffled sound of things breaking echoed through the apartment as Logan sent the refrigerator door flying in its place with just a little more swing than usual.

"You understand?!" he yelled, "What do you understand!? And what do you know about solving issues!" The can of worms was opened.

"Logan—"

"No! Whenever a real issue arises, one that has nothing to do with your beloved company you stick your head in the sand. The last time there was an issue you chose to lock yourself up in that room! You chose to not look at me for three months!"

"I'm sorry, Logan, but I was hurting!"

"And I wasn't?! She was my mother, you selfish son of a bitch!"

"Logan…" Mitchum tried to soothe his rising anger, but realized soon enough that he hadn't come fully prepared. He didn't think that Logan would open old wounds, but at the look of it his was still gaping.

"Talk you say? You don't want to talk. You don't want to hear what I have to say."

"That's where you're wrong…"

"Fine! I hate you!" he spat, his heart racing as if it tried to escape his body, "You are a coward! A selfish coward! From the moment you heard that she was going to die you put your head in the sand like no ostrich could! What husband leaves for Sydney for two months when his wife is dying? She didn't fit your fucking plan of a happy family so you cast her aside!"

Now it was his turn to get mad.

"Now you listen to me! I don't want you talking like that about your mother ever again! I loved her! She was my world! Do you have any idea how it feels to sit there and watch that person slowly disappear?!"

"I do! I have! I have literally watched her die! And where were you?! Oh yes a fucking board meeting! I told Lena and I held her when she cried!" And there was no one to hold me, "It was Abigail, Rose and me who arranged the funeral! Where were you?! I've never seen you since! Have you ever wondered why Lena runs away from home?! Or how many times she has called me in tears?! You are never there! Even when you are you're not! Because if it doesn't fit your vision it's not to be addressed! You are willing to step over bodies to get what you want and you don't care who those bodies are. You even married that damn bitch not even a year after mom died so that your picture would be complete again!"

"That's enough! Don't bring Shira into this. She has wanted nothing but the best for you and your sister!" his father shouted, but Logan wouldn't hear it.

"Too bad at that point I didn't seem to fit it anymore. And you have never accepted it! You have never asked me what I want! And you resent me for the fact that I don't fit the image of your perfect son!"

"I said that's enough!" Mitchum now bellowed rising from his seat towering well above his son.

"Call me all you want but don't accuse me of resenting you! You are my son! And all I have done everything to assure your future! And it hurts to see Logan. It hurts to see how self-destructive you are when it comes to your…talent!" It took all strength in the world to not say the word destiny, "Your future! Your happiness!"

"You have done everything to assure your own future!" Logan yelled back, "The future of your beloved company! Your happiness! I don't want it! I don't want to belong to you! I don't want to become you!"

"You can't deny who you are, Logan. You are a Huntzberger whether you like it or not! You are my future! You as my son! I might not have been the best father but I'm your father nonetheless!"

"Get out!" Logan's voice broke. Mitchum sighed. Maybe it was too late. Maybe he couldn't mend the relationship with his son. Maybe the broken pieces were too small to be glued together. Maybe he had pushed him so out of his orbit that there was no return. Lots of maybes. For the first time in years he looked at his son, who was on the verge of tears and saw him as the little boy he had once comforted after he had scraped his knee, the little boy that had trouble with fractions and angrily flung away his book when his patience ran out, yelling that he didn't need math anyway. He didn't know what to say anymore. How to make up for it.

"Logan…" he reached out to grasp his shoulder, but the boy evaded him as if he came running at him with a burning poker.

"I said get out." He repeated through clenched teeth, willing the angry tears away. He did not cry; particularly not in the presence of his father and; especially not about his father.

"Very well," Mitchum nodded moving his lead filled feet towards the door, but stopped turning around, "I don't resent you, Logan. I never have. I never will." With that he shut the door and closed his eyes. Had he just lost his son entirely?

Logan was afraid to move. The door closing echoed in his mind. He was alone and yet afraid to move, because the smallest stir would result in him breaking down. At a loss of how to carry himself he kicked the coffee table, sending it into perdition. Drawing in a deep but shaky breath he turned and leaned against the pool table. The wine bottle holding Rory's rose caught his eye and he angrily gripped it flinging it through the room to join the coffee table.

Rory undid her coat and shook the snowflakes of the red fabric before hanging it on the coat rack. The apartment was pitch-black and so silent you could hear a pin drop. She wondered where Logan was; how the conversation with his father had gone. She had called him after her class but got his voicemail instead and now she wondered where he was, slightly worried. Somehow she had a feeling that conversation hadn't gone by while it was raining roses and she hoped he was with Finn and Colin. That was part of the reason why she jumped back at the sight of him sitting on the couch in the dark.

"You scared me," she breathed willing her heart rate down, "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

She turned on one of the lamps but he had yet to say a word.

"Logan?"

He then looked at her with red-rimmed eyes and she realized he had been crying.

"Baby?" she hurried to him placing a hand on his cheek, "Say something. What happened?"

His hands reached up for her hips and he drew her in between his legs, leaning his forehead against her stomach. Awkwardly she slung her arms around him, running a hand through his hair. She had never seen him like this: this quiet, this sad. It scared her and she wasn't sure what

to do. In the corner of her eye she noticed the coffee table sadly lying in the corner like a beetle on his back, unable to get up. Shattered glass was scattered around it.

"Logan, please." She tried to make him look at her but he resisted and damp fingertips told her that new tears were running down his cheeks. She sighed sitting down on his knee and pulling up his head with both her hands. When she finally met his soggy eyes, her thumb brushed away a tear threatening to fall and she gave him a small smile, before gathering him in her arms in a long and silent hug.

He wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep, since he had been staring at the ceiling long after Rory's breathing had slowed down and she was in a deep sleep, hugging his arm, but it was a ray of sunlight that woke him up. He squinted and turned his head, only to find the other side of the bed empty. Slinging his legs over the edge he noticed the faint sound of running water and followed it into the bathroom. Without a second thought he pulled the faded Yale-t-shirt over his head kicking off his sweats at the same time and entered the dark green tile walk-in shower. She was facing him with her back, her fingers cleansing her hair. He smirked snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her close.

"Morning," he said kissing her shoulder, the first words he had uttered since she had walked in the room the previous night. He had been unable to speak, unable to voice how he felt, unable to explain. He still didn't want to talk about it, but at least the chocking lump in his throat was gone.

"Hey," she leaned into his embrace before turning around. He had scared her the previous night. He looked better, much better. The bedroom look in his eyes made her knees weak as it did every time and she couldn't resist kissing him. Logan was more than eager to participate in this, bruising her lips with his need, certain body parts rising at the feel of her bare slippery skin.

"Well good morning to you too," Rory grinned.

He leaned his forehead against hers and met her eyes silently asking permission. She had no idea how much he needed her. How much he needed someone to hold. Someone he didn't always had to be strong for like his sister; someone close unlike Rose. Someone that could drain away his pain with one kiss, one touch.

"Logan…" she looked at him pleadingly expecting an explanation for his dire state the previous night; one he couldn't give.

"Please, Ace," he drew out kissing the spot where her shoulder met her neck.

"Tell me what happened."

He sighed.

"The usual, Ace…what did you expect? Some kind of miracle?"

"No, but he came to talk to you. That's a first, isn't it?"

She watched him shrug, his expression darken.

"Are you still mad?" she asked.

"Mad? At you? Why would I be mad?"

Rory shrugged,

"For the way I talked to your dad, for letting him in…I don't know, Logan, you have been giving me the cold shoulder ever since New York."

"I'm not. And I don't. I'm sorry if I'm a little dejected about my father being a complete asshole! Or about you butting in and thinking that you can fix everything."

Rory looked at her feet. He still was mad and that made her mad.

"You know standing up for your sorry ass was not something I intended to do that night. It wasn't a thought-out mission. He came up to me and I told him how I felt. Not to impress you or him, but because I love you, so if you are going to be like this…screw you. I have apologized enough." She walked past him out of the shower grabbing a towel on the way and willing her tears away.

"Rory…" Logan called after her, "Hey!"

To emphasize her point she slammed the door shut. He closed his eyes, jaw clenched. Why did he feel like he was losing control? Control of emotion and of reason. He fought the urge to go knock on Finn's door, pick up Colin and hit Vegas. Not too long ago a few days at the Bellagio was all it took to make the world a brighter place, but lots of things had changed. The biggest one being the woman in the other room. The woman who was the cause and the cure of the shitty state he was in. He was angry with her for it and at the same time he loved her for it. A contradicting emotion that made him act like an asshole and truthfully he was unsure how to escape this limbo. With a sigh he turned off the shower and grabbed a towel from the rack. He knocked on the bedroom door, knowing it was unlocked, yet hoping she would ask him in. She didn't. He gently opened the door pleadingly calling her name once more. She was frantically looking for something in the closet, throwing heaps of clothes on the bed.

"Rory…" he drawled with a sigh. She kept buzzing around the room, now going through the dresser, opening one drawer than another, completely ignoring him standing in the doorway.

"Rory, stop!" he raised his voice desperately.

"I can't find my Bangles t-shirt," she stated angrily and continued her rampage without looking at him.

"Rory, please, would you stop and look at me?" He grabbed her by her shoulders pulling her away from the dresser, his grip unyielding when she tried to struggle her way out.

"Let go of me!" she flew out at him crossly her eyes spitting fire, but despite the hostility he saw something else in them as well: doubt. Doubt he chose to ignore.

"I can't do that," he told her honestly. A few months ago, yes, he would have let her go, but not now. He wondered if ever. She jerked in his grasp and he pushed her against the wall, tightening his grip.

"Would you stop with the running already?!" he yelled in frustration.

Rory seized to fight him, his grasp starting to sting painfully. She looked at him, the plea in his eyes, aggravation and regret on his face. She wanted so bad to tell him that he was doing all the running, all the avoiding, that she didn't know what to do anymore to help him, and that him grasping on to her started to hurt, that she didn't know how long she could take this anymore, that despite her best efforts to pull him out of the deep hole he was in he was only sinking deeper and dragging her with him.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I've been a jerk to you and I'm sorry." There were too many sorry's in their relationship. Too many apologies and too much tiptoeing and she wanted to tell him, to force him to see, but she couldn't. One look into his mesmerizing hazel eyes, eyes that seemed to only be so gentle towards her, prohibited her brain to do anything that might mean the end of them. Because if there was one thing that had drifted to the surface over the past few days, it was that he didn't deal well with confrontation, despite his own adamant conviction otherwise.

"These past few days…they have been so intense for me. I know that's a lame excuse, but I am sorry. I'm sorry, Ace. It's not you I'm mad at. It's him. Showing up like that and pretending to be the caring father after all these years. It just… I don't want to talk about it anymore or think about it. I'm sorry," he continued.

She kept staring at him wanting to believe him, needing to believe him.

"Say something," he urged.

"You're-" This was her last chance to spill it all. She closed her eyes, she couldn't, "You're hurting me." Maybe she would never be able to, maybe – although the thought ached- this would drive them apart. He loosened his grip letting his hands slide down her bare arms till they reached hers. He laced their fingers together and pulled her closer as he lowered his head, placing kisses on the red marks his hands had left on her flesh.

"Forgive me?" He asked looking up to her.

Rory sighed and shook her head.

"There is nothing to forgive." Her fingers found their way into his unruly wet locks. He smirked lightly.

"Did you notice that we are wearing matching outfits?" he then asked as his hands slowly started traveling up her thighs. She snickered hooking a finger in the towel around his waist, his hands firmly on her butt.

"Or lack there of…" she offered when the towel pooled around his feet.

"Or lack there of," he echoed hoisting her up against the wall. Unthinkingly she hooked her legs around his waist and met his waiting lips. It was not a satisfying end to this fight, and she still hadn't gotten an answer as to what had happened the previous night, but at the moment she needed him as much as he needed her. She needed his rough but loving touch, his breath mingling with hers. She needed to hold on to him. She needed a release… TBC

AN: And that was that :) The next chapter might take longer than a few days lol, but I'll do my best!! Please review! Pretty Please with a cherry on top!