Somebody Else's Page

by abc79-de

Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers. Story title from a Modest Mouse song, called Missed the Boat. COMPLETE.

15. We Didn't Read the Invite

Story: Somebody Else's Page

Chapter: We Didn't Read the Invite

Description: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers.

Disclaimer: I write fan fiction. I own none of these characters. None of this happened on the show, which is the whole point of fan fiction. You get the idea.

AN: *waves* still here. Still working on my remaining fics. Slowly, but working. They shall be finished. This is not the final chapter of this fic. There will be one more. (Don't want anyone to freak out more than necessary). Thanks, as always, for the many kind words and the intermittent prompts to remind me that I need to buckle down. Reminders are helpful and some days it spurs me on.

It was no secret that she'd been hoping a certain blonde would stop by unannounced. For all the frustration Rory had experienced when Logan popped by her dorm unannounced and uninvited in the beginning of their association, the last three days had made her repent for her prior misgivings. She hadn't seen him since they parted ways at the airport, fresh from a romantic whirlwind around Europe. He'd been so set on cutting all family ties as far as working relationships went, much to his sister's horror. She had no way to guess what had happened after he'd left the airport with his father, whom he hadn't expected to confront so soon.

When she opened her door not five minutes after arriving back from her internship in Waterbury, it still wasn't Logan that was on the other side, but it was a blonde Huntzberger. However in this case, two out of three wasn't going to cut it.

Rory gaped at Honor. "Weren't you supposed to be in Spain?"

Honor stepped in, past her confused greeter, and turned dramatically in the middle of the room to face Rory once more. "This is awful. Horrible. It's a huge crisis."

Fear gripped her at Honor's distress. For the first time it occurred to her that Logan hadn't contacted her due to an inability on his part. Visions of accidents and ill health filled her mind. "Is Logan okay?"

"He most certainly is not okay! He's gone off the deep end this time. I've spent years—most of my life, really—saving his butt and bailing him out and trying, pleading mostly, to get him to see reason. He's stubborn. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how stubborn he is. He can't help it, it runs in the family. But he's always so set on being contrary in addition."

Rory grasped at her chest, though she felt a little foolish for falling for Honor's dramatics, that Logan had warned her about time and again. "He's not hurt, then?"

Honor realized the frenzy she'd caused Rory. "God, no! Sorry. I mean, not that I've laid eyes on him personally. I was actually hoping he'd be here?"

Rory looked around the space, as if double-checking. "No. I haven't seen him since… I haven't seen him in days."

Honor blew out a breath and sat down heavily. "Crap. I was afraid of that."

"What's going on?"

Honor toyed with the clasp on her purse. "He and Dad had this major talk. They went round about London and Boston and other options Logan wanted to pursue."

"He seemed pretty set on going off on his own," Rory agreed quietly.

"He talked to you a lot about it?"

"He talked a lot. I wasn't sure how much it was just him blowing off steam, though," Rory confided. She cleared her throat a little, as Honor sat waiting for her to continue. "He seemed set on turning down both your father's offers, but he also said he wanted to make things work, with us. Though I haven't heard from him in days, since we left the airport."

Honor seemed distressed. "He does this. He goes MIA. He doesn't think about the fact that people worry about him. It has no bearing on how he actually feels about you."

Rory crossed her arms and nodded, trying to act as if it didn't bother her. "Well, it's good to know. He should know that I'm not the kind of person that can be on the other end of radio silence like that. I get that he's going through a lot, and if he wants to do it on his own, that's his decision, I guess."

Honor stood up with determination. "I am going to find him and get his head on straight."

Rory shook her head. "No, please. I appreciate you offering to help—but you can't. You said it yourself, he's stubborn. And honestly, I don't want to make him change. He has enough change to deal with, leaving me out of the picture. Maybe we made sense for a while. Honestly, I'm not even sure we ever really made sense."

Honor appeared beyond perplexed. "No. Rory, he wants to be with you. Trust me."

Rory arched a brow, keeping her arms tightly crossed over her chest. "He told you that, did he?"

"Yes. He's fallen in love with you. I don't know if he's told you that, and he'll probably be furious for me being the one to tell you, but I feel you should have all the information, regardless."

"He's might believe that, but he was probably confusing intense lust with love."

Honor scoffed. "My brother knows all about lust. He has no idea what love is, especially unconditional love. He might be confused about a lot, but he would NEVER confuse those two things."

Though it was intended to make Rory feel better, Honor's assurance fell flat. Rory might have been soothed by the sight of Logan himself, but currently she felt a near-total disconnect. "I don't know. I guess I'll have to see how we both feel, when he comes out his lockdown."

Honor was not having it. "You can't let him just hole up and do … well, whatever it is his mind comes up with to distract himself. I don't know what he's planning, but I promise you it will end in disaster and he will regret it. We can stop him."

"He needs time. I'm going to give it to him," Rory said once again, as clearly as she could.

Honor was visibly displeased. "Oh my God. You're stubborn like him."

Rory shrugged. "Maybe. But I do know what I want to do with my life, which makes my time kind of valuable at the moment. I have homework to finish so I can be in class on time in the morning and put in a full day at the Daily News after that. I appreciate you stopping by, but he doesn't want us to butt in. If he wants me, he knows where to find me."

Honor realized she was being kicked out, if politely. "If you change your mind, call me. Please."

Rory gave a waning smile. "He'll figure it all out, whatever it is he wants."

"I just hope he does it before he makes a huge mistake, letting his best options slip away," Honor said before she left Rory to her work.

-X-

Logan was fresh off a red-eye flight, riding slumped down in the back of a cab. He hadn't been home in days, he hadn't had time to have a thought that wasn't about how he wanted to make his living in nearly as long. He was happy to be home, for as long as it was going to remain his home, to get a full night's sleep and start fresh in the morning. He paid the driver, grabbed his own bag, and stepped out onto the curb. He had started for the manned front entry, but he saw a familiar shape just down the way—the sleek lines of a foreign-engineered car. The one car his father drove himself, as opposed to letting a driver do the work for him.

He walked over and rapped on the window. It lowered with a soft whine of electric power. "Did Mom kick you out again?"

Mitchum gave a soft chuckle, despite the fact that his son was only half joking. "No, but she did encourage me to make this trip. She's worried about you. It seems she and your sister are sure you've gone off the deep end. I figured you were probably in Vegas, blowing off steam like usual."

"I was in Portland, actually," Logan corrected.

"Well, that would qualify as something new," Mitchum said after he cleared his throat.

"I had a job interview," Logan said dryly, not finding his father's sense of humor anything other than lacking.

"What kind of job was this?"

"A real one, with a good salary."

"You don't want to talk about it? I am still your father."

"And you care more about my welfare than about my deciding not to be your lackey?"

"Of course."

"Since when?"

"Since the day you were born," he said sternly, in his most convincing fatherly manner.

"I haven't changed my mind," he said, but he thought better of his statement and added, "I haven't made a commitment yet, either."

Mitchum leaned on the open window frame. "What about Rory?"

Logan groaned. "Why do you care?"

"Logan, we both want the same thing here: for your mother and Honor to go back to caring more about beauty treatments and shopping than your personal life."

"Rory and I will figure things out."

"She's open to transferring her life to the west coast?"

Logan's mouth drew into a grim line. "I can't ask her to uproot her life for me."

"Why not? You love her," his dad said.

"Times are different now, Dad. Women aren't as eager to give up their whole lives just to be with some guy."

"But you aren't just some guy."

"I don't need the speech about how I'm destined to do great things."

"Goddamn it, Logan. You don't have to work for me anymore if that's what you really want, but for once in your life will you just listen to me without mentally blocking every last thing I say or prepping an argument without hearing me out?"

Logan let out a low guttural noise. "Sorry. Go on."

"It doesn't matter who you are or what you do, when it comes to who you spend your life with—all that matters, really, if you want it last is that you both believe that the other person is the key to making your world run."

"Do you also have a gauge to know how on earth you figure that out?"

Mitchum smirked. "You'll just know."

"That doesn't seem like good advice."

"It's the best advice I could ever give you about life. You have to trust it's going to work out. Because there is plenty that will get in the way of even a so-called perfect match. People make mistakes, and no matter what your intentions, things go wrong. You need to trust that whomever you are in the ring with is on the same page and has that kind of trust in you to do the right thing in the end."

"That's not horrible advice," Logan conceded.

"I have been married a long time. And I've made more than my fair share of mistakes."

"I know. You and Mom are loud when you fight."

"It's called passion, and it's how you know what you have it worth fighting for. We fight, for and with each other."

Logan nodded mutely. He couldn't argue with facts. He'd spent his whole life witnessing their behavior. It had never made much sense to him, but he was starting to realize that being in love had little to do with logic or reasoning. But it definitely inspired the urge to act insane in order to preserve it in any way possible. "I need to go."

Mitchum could see the wheels turning in his son's head. "If things in Portland don't work out, let me know. I do have contacts, outside of my field. And you probably don't want to get a job because of who you know, but that's just how the world works."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks," he said as he dug into his pocket for his phone. His father drove off, and he needed a cab, in the worst possible way.

-X-

Over the last couple of years, she'd woken up at all hours of the night with Paris standing over her. They'd been living together all of college, and even once in high school she'd fallen asleep during one early morning prep meeting, leaving herself open to a rude awakening at the hands of an irritated Paris. Paris was grumpy even at her best, but waking up was something she considered the responsibility of the sleeping individual and was loathe to have to perform the task for others. The only exception to that rule was when it served her, which it nearly never did.

There was no level of sensitivity to the act, and this time it involved her door crashing open, some stomping, and a quick shove to the shoulder. Rory opened her eyes halfway, but she felt it counted given the fact it was from a deep sleep. Her hair was stuck to her cheek, probably thanks to some sleepy-time drool that her mother always insisted she produced. "Now is not the time to discuss your and Doyle's sexual issues, Paris. Go away," she groaned.

"You have a visitor. Should you need ideas for possible topics of conversations, might I suggest you outline suitable visiting hours with him? I mean, he's broken every single rule of civilized society when it comes to this room. Does he not understand what people do here at Yale? His father probably donates enough that he didn't have to worry about such mundane things like going to class or reading books, but some of us would like to use this place as a stepping stone to even more prestigious paths, and we need more than four hours of sleep in which to accomplish that feat!"

Rory sat up, waving a hand at Paris. "Go back to bed. I'll tell him he's been bad. If it makes you feel better, I think he's probably just going to dump me officially, so no worries. He won't be stopping by anymore."

Paris' face downgraded from enraged to slightly miffed. "Oh. God. Sorry. I mean, he's annoying, but I get that you liked him."

Rory shrugged, pausing in the conspiratorial confines with her chosen roommate. "Yeah. I did. I do. A lot. But, like you said. We have bigger and better things ahead."

Paris lingered, appearing torn. "Do you need a hug? I could go get Doyle. He's actually good at it. At least, I would imagine if you enjoyed hugging, you'd like his hugs. Hugs make me feel claustrophobic."

Rory grimaced. "No. I mean, I appreciate the offer, but I'm not much of a hugger, either. My mom is, and I try to humor her, but she doesn't really give a person a chance to deny the hug."

"People don't respect personal space enough in this country."

"Well, I'm sure if anyone can change that, Paris, it's you. I should go get this over with."

"Good luck. Doyle and I are right in the other room, if you need anything. I've been taking Krav Maga."

Rory started for the door. "That should help discourage people from breaching your personal space."

"Damn straight."

Rory watched as Paris eyed down Logan as she passed to her bedroom, and Rory reached out instinctively and grabbed his jacket, pulling him toward her room. He walked along without resistance, letting her lead him. "I'm sorry to come by so late like this."

"Shh, just, get in here. It's probably safer."

"Safer?" he repeated.

"Just, you know. Paris. What time is it, exactly?"

"A little after one. I know you have class tomorrow, and Paris already read me the riot act. I guess kids don't pull all-nighters anymore."

"We do. But we're in our post-mid-terms slumber season, second only to our post-finals hibernation."

He smiled at her stab at late-night humor. "Right. Right. If you want to go back to sleep, I can leave. Or, just stay."

"You came to sleep with me in my tiny bed?" she asked, disbelief radiating from her words and her body language.

"My mattress at home is too soft. My back likes the mix of cramped space and dorm mattress."

"Why are you really here?" she asked quietly.

"I know I owe you an explanation. I hated leaving you in the airport like that, especially for my father."

"Where have you been? Honor came by, completely losing it."

He reached out and put his hands on her upper arms, sliding them down to her elbows to feel her under his touch. Her arms were bare, thanks to her thin strapped camisole she'd elected to sleep in, paired with Yale sweatpants. It was alluring in a way that one might not think sweatpants could achieve, but she could make a trash bag as sexy as lingerie. He wondered how she didn't realize just how badly he always wanted to share her tiny, standard-issue, lumpy mattress with her. "I'm sorry. I had to get a handle on some things, after I talked to my dad, it hit me how I'd cut all my ties. I got a call to take a meeting and before I had time to tell anyone, I was on a plane. I should have called you, no matter what."

"I'm not suggesting you owed me anything. But people were worried about you," she said, crossing her arms to put something between them. She reminded herself that he was most likely about to finish off his bouts of severing all ties with this visit.

"There's only one person I'm concerned about upsetting," he assured her.

She turned her head in toward her shoulder, as if ready to nurse her wounds. "I hope you called Honor."

"I'm not talking about my sister. Rory, hey, look at me, please?"

She did as he asked, lifting her chin and her eyes to focus on him and his earnest, if slightly frazzled, face. He gave her a small smile then and squeezed her arms once more quickly with his hands.

"I just talked to my dad. He ambushed me outside my apartment, because that's what he's good at."

"He wanted to change your mind again?" she asked, not bored of the conversation, but definitely starting to sense a trend in the father and son's interactions.

"Why he was there isn't important. It was something he said, and the minute I heard it, I had to get to you as fast as I could."

"What did he say?"

"He said that for two people to work, long-term, they had to have trust and passion."

She continued to look at him, her heart beating faster at his exuberance in his father's wisdom. "I can't disagree."

He smiled again, this time wider. "That's us."

She blinked at him. "I'm sorry. Aren't you here to break up with me?"

"What? God, no. Why on earth would you think that?"

She tossed her hands up, releasing her arms from his grip. "I didn't hear from you for days, Logan!"

He grew repentant again. "I should have called you."

"Yes, you should have, if you really believe that what we have is based on trust and passion," she pointed out.

"I trust you, more than I've ever trusted anyone."

"Then why didn't you call me to tell me you were—where were you, anyway?"

"Portland."

"Oregon!?"

"Yes. I had an interview. It came together at the last minute."

She was stuck on the location. "You're moving to Portland?"

"I don't know. It doesn't matter. I'm talking about us."

"Logan, all of it matters. I can't date someone that's living in Oregon."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't move to Portland, and how else would that work?"

"I don't know. I'm just sure it will," he said in such a resolute tone that she thought twice about arguing. He had that ability, that lure, about him. It was why she was standing in her dark room in the middle of the night considering what it would be like to have a very-long distance relationship.

"It's crazy," she said, stating the obvious.

"I don't want to lose you. I told you that in Europe. I will find a job. It might be in Portland, it might be in Chicago or New York or Tokyo."

"Couldn't you aim more specifically for New York? It's just a train ride away."

"For you, I can keep my focus limited. I took off to the west coast because I thought that if I was going to turn down my dad, I had to have something to show, that I didn't need him because of some other job. But that was wrong. I can turn him down and still take time to look. I can be choosy, for you. But what I need to know is, where do you want to be after you get out of here?"

Her mind was a blank, as it always was when she pictured the future. "I have no idea."

He gaped at her. "You have a plan for everything. Minute details and paralyzing lists and efficiency considerations."

"Yeah, I do, but that plan stops the minute I graduate. I've worked really hard, really, incredibly hard, to get here and set myself up for my future. I want the rest of it to be a surprise. I want it to take me anywhere and everywhere. That's pretty much all I've ever wanted."

"You mean you want to be able to travel as much as you can?" he asked.

She shook her head gently. "I want to move around, live everywhere I can. I plan to put in for as many foreign desk and correspondent jobs as I can get my resume out to."

He appeared momentarily stymied. "For how long?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. It's what I want—I don't want to put a time limit on it. I've never thought about settling down in one place."

"Or with one person," he added stoically.

"Logan," she said, reaching out for him. "You want to travel, too."

"Yeah, but not forever, and not continuously. I want a home base to go back to and recharge. I want that kind of stability."

Her eyes grew shiny with moisture. "I thought you didn't want to settle down—you didn't care about tying yourself to one place or one person."

He shook his head, as if he were struggling against the idea. "I didn't want that before, to be with one person, not until now. I love you."

Now tears spilled down her cheeks. "I love you, too."

"But not enough," he added with remorse.

"You might know suddenly what that is—that kind of love, but I… don't know. When this semester started, all I had to worry about was school, stepping up as editor, and not completely screwing up my first internship. And, of course, keeping Paris mollified. My relationships in the past always ended up so messy and complicated. I was happy to get to focus on my work. Then suddenly you were there and I found myself in Europe, wishing I didn't have to rush back to Yale."

"I can't apologize for that. Meeting you wasn't in my agenda, either. You know that. It doesn't change how I feel about you, though."

She swallowed, a difficulty due to her dry throat and a mouth rendered momentarily useless. "I love you, but what you're talking about, it's... it's…" she reeled. "It's my whole future."

"Do you see me in your future at all?"

He stared at her, and she could feel the weight of her world hanging in the air. "Do we have to decide this now?"

He closed his eyes, as if resigning himself to a certain path. "You aren't ready."

"I need time, maybe," she said, panic taking hold of her deep in her chest. He was going to leave, she knew that. She wanted more than anything for him to just stay, but asking him for one night wasn't going to be enough.

He shook his head, his eyes still closed. "No. We… I thought, maybe we could want the same things. If being with me isn't something you know you have to have, then it's not—I don't want that."

"You'll go to Portland?" she asked, tears now escaping from each eye at increasing speeds. He reached out and brushed a few off one cheek for her.

"Maybe."

"What about me?"

"You'll do great things," he assured her. "I wouldn't use me as a reference—I'm not in the newspaper business anymore."

"We can't just end things like this."

"It's not the worst thing in the world, us not being together. The world is full of disaster and war and famine. It's from Casablanca, the line about the troubles of two people, isn't it?"

She was crying in earnest now, but she nodded anyway. They'd watched it together, even though they'd both seen it enough times to know the words, line for line. It was far more impressive, somehow, on his big screen in his bedroom, lying in the crook of his arm with his chest for her pillow as Bogey delivered his melancholy lines about once again losing his long-lost love. She'd always thought Ingrid Bergman was making a smart choice, a safe choice—it wasn't until now that she realized the kind of regret that went into walking away from that kind of love.

He kissed her forehead then, and she knew it was goodbye. He'd be gone and the trail would go cold. Honor wouldn't barge over any longer, assuming Rory would be harboring him or knowledge of his whereabouts. He wouldn't sleep over in her tiny bed or wake up again on her couch in the main room. They wouldn't watch any more movies in bed or see any more of the world together. It hit her like a train without brakes, it's only warning the loud whistle blowing as it barreled down on her.

Moments later, after her front door closed softly behind him, it knocked her down completely.

-X-

There were no lights on in the whole apartment, save for the glow of the television. The show was in black-and-white, a sign of its production date, given the state-of-the-art HD widescreen set mounted on the wall. The recycle bin was overflowing with bottles, and there were enough extra empties on counter tops and tables to fill two more. Honor tidied a few on her way through before the futility of the act set in. She stood beside the couch, staring at the slumped silhouette in the middle.

"Shit," she swore under her breath, shoving aside the piles of stuff that had accumulated next to him and sat down. "Logan? Can you hear me?"

"I'm drunk, not deaf," he muttered.

"Have you eaten?" she asked, trying to be diplomatic in her concern.

"Not hungry," he argued.

"Logan," she said again, growing frustrated at his lack of emotion. "Logan, look at me."

He took a sip of something amber from a glass without ice, not wincing at the burn it most likely inflicted on his raw throat. She was past the point of niceties with him and grabbed the remote control and with a single button plunged them into darkness.

"Hey!" he yelped, followed by a deep groan when she turned on a lamp on the side table. His eyes closed in pain at the luminosity the single bulb emitted, after having grown so used to the dim light. "What are you trying to do, kill me?"

"No, it seems you're doing a bang-up job of that yourself. What happened, Logan?"

"Forget it, not this time. I'm not ready to talk about it, in fact, I'll never be ready to talk about it. All I want to do is sit here until I feel better."

"Then what?"

"Then, I'll find a job and move and become whoever the guy that does that job is."

"No."

He looked over at her with his eyes shielded, toward the light, with utter disbelief. "What?"

"I said, no. You're going to tell me what happened, even though I can kind of guess, and you're not going to become some slave to a job that you decided based on a coin flip after a drinking binge."

He sat, looking sheepish, staring at the black screen. "I can't."

She nodded stoically. "Is it Rory?"

He shrugged a half shoulder. "It doesn't matter now. Nothing much matters at the moment."

"First of all, no more drinking. Your liver can't take it and neither can your brain cells. Second of all, if you two had a fight, you can…," she began, but he cut her off. His words were quiet and devastating.

"It's over. It's not a fight—she doesn't want to be with me."

Honor showed a second of panic, but she grew resolved a moment later. "No. She loves you."

"You talked to her?"

"When we couldn't find you, last week. She was upset, justifiably, that you'd gone MIA and hadn't bothered to so much as text her. She was worried that you were breaking up with her."

"She mentioned that. Before she told me we had no future together."

"But you do!" Honor exclaimed.

He shook his head. "Apparently we don't."

"She made you happy," she announced, as if he'd not noticed. "You have to fight for her."

"I told her how I felt. I laid it out for her, and she doesn't want what I want. It's over."

Honor slumped back at the pronouncement. "Got any tequila?"

"Freezer," he instructed, flipping the television back on.

"Well, at least I'm not letting you drink alone," she said as she set off to retrieve her own pick of poison.

-X-

Lorelai entered the suite, catching her breath. She'd hurried after the phone call from Paris, feeling like a terrible parent for not realizing her kid was in dire straits. "Any change?"

Paris cringed. "It's getting worse. Last night she rearranged my room, the common area, and folded all the laundry that people left in dryers down in the laundry room. She ironed all my pants. And all my shoes are shiny."

"Yeah. I've been there. It gets scary. Has she started the creepy, upbeat insistence that you do everything you've been putting off since you hit puberty?"

"She made appointments for us to go get waxed. She didn't say what body parts she's planned this assault on. I am not letting anyone near me with hot wax."

Lorelai cringed. "I'll take care of this."

"What can you do?" Paris asked. "I've tried everything I can think of."

"You have to force feed her ice cream until she cracks. Any idea of what exactly happened?"

"No. She was dreading him breaking up with her before he showed up, but she was pretty resigned to it, you know? But he was in there long enough, that I kind of figured they'd worked things out, if you get my drift."

Lorelai made a face and waved her hand, as if to speed past that. "I get it, thanks."

"But he left a while later, and then she started crying. Which I thought was healthy—I expected her to ask people for their notes from class for a couple of days, sit around in sweats, and not shower."

"If only," Lorelai nodded in agreement.

"But she only cried for like, five minutes, then she went to the bathroom, washed her face, and came back and went to bed. When she woke up, it was like this. She hasn't stopped. I'm pretty sure she hasn't slept since, either."

"You did the right thing. She needs to mourn, whatever they had."

"I'll deny it if you repeat this to her, or anyone else for that matter—but they made sense, even though they shouldn't have. She was good for him, in a weird way. And he got her to have fun. She needs that a little. I tried to get her into crafts, but it never took."

Lorelai appeared stumped for a proper reaction. "She's… lucky to have you, Paris."

Paris smiled at the compliment. "I'll let you talk to her. I'll be at the library, if you need me."

Once they were alone in the suite, Lorelai walked to her daughter's door and rapped politely before pushing it open a little. She gave a full start when she saw her daughter, unstably balanced on a chair, standing and reaching to the top of her window. She had glass cleaner in one hand, newspaper in the other. Her head turned at the noise, just a side glance.

"Paris, for the last time, I do not need a psychiatric evaluation."

"Sure you don't, sweetie," Lorelai said soothingly, moving to sit on the end of Rory's properly made bed in her spotless room. "Paris nipped out for a bit."

"She called you?"

"She's worried. Probably that you'll clean her into a hermetically sealed bubble."

"Very funny. For the record, I'm fine."

"Fine is a relative term," Lorelai said diplomatically, while outwardly cringing. "Can you get down from the wobbly chair, maybe? You're making Mommy nervous."

Rory shot her mother a withering eye roll. "I'm almost done."

"The window looks clean. Isn't there a janitorial staff on campus who do things like clean windows?"

"The outside was clean, but the inside had fingerprint smudges. Logan would come in through here, some nights when he didn't want to deal with Paris."

"Oh. I'm a little horrified and a little jealous that I never considered that option myself."

Rory stepped down gingerly and put the cleaning supplies on the chair. "So, I've been thinking," she said after clearing her throat.

"About Logan and how it would feel better to express your sorrow in a healthy way?"

"I'm going to apply to take a semester abroad. I know most people do it junior year but I figure if I pester and/or bribe the dean in charge of the deadline, I could still apply for first semester of my senior year."

Lorelai threw her hands up. "You're taking off?"

"No. I'm refocusing on my future. I've always wanted to travel and work abroad—I should have thought of this last year. My mind was on other things, and it has been again. I realized I let guys get in the way of my focus. I'm swearing off guys for the time being."

"That sounds… insane. Do you need to swear off guys completely? I mean, if you do go to a foreign country, you'll want the option to go out. Foreign guys are the best kind of guys," Lorelai reasoned. "The accents alone," she drawled hungrily.

Rory shook her head, stalwart in her determination. "I can't. I let my emotions cloud my judgment and I get sidetracked. It's practically a pattern at this point. I'm done being sidetracked. I can't put off my life-long dreams, for… what? To live in Portland?"

Lorelai softened. "Logan asked you to move with him to Portland?"

Rory's face crumbled a bit, as if tears were springing up fast. "No. Not directly. This isn't just about Logan."

"What is it about? Does being with Logan mean not traveling? Are you afraid you'll get tied down with a family too soon?"

Rory ducked her head, and her hair fell to cover her features. "I didn't break up with him. He broke up with me."

"But why? I don't understand. Two weeks ago, you were flitting around Europe together."

"I let myself believe that's who we were. This couple that wanted the same things. That he would somehow be pliant to my work, which is insane. Even if his job involved travel, what are the odds that his schedule would ever match mine? I want to be a nomad, basically. I can't ask anyone to make that kind of sacrifice on my account."

Lorelai frowned. "Why not?"

"He wants something—someone, to come home to. I'm not going to be that kind of woman, who keeps a house and waits for him to come home. He said we wanted different things, and he's right."

"He said that?"

"He wanted me to say being with him was more important than our other circumstances."

Lorelai opened her mouth in an O. "Well. If he loves you, I can't blame him."

Rory flashed a wary look her way. "What?"

"Honey, nothing in life is that easy. Even being in love. Heck, especially being in love."

"You think I should move to Portland with him? Transfer to a lesser school and settle for a job I don't want?"

"No, of course not! I mean, that isn't up to me. And that probably isn't even what he was asking of you, if he didn't come right out and ask it. Isn't there a way you could have compromised, to work out a solution to being apart in the short term? I mean, you could try to intern out there this summer, and someone of his bank account and frequent flier miles could probably manage to come and visit you a surprising number of times in a year."

"Well, it doesn't matter now, because it's over. It didn't matter to him that I loved him—I couldn't look into my future and see a picture of the two of us in five years, and he broke up with me."

"Oh, Honey."

Rory let her mother hug her, and she felt the instant kind of release from the comfort. She sniffled a little, but pulled back in an attempt to quell any further sadness from descending on her. "So I'm going to put in for London, I think. It's a fairly major international hub, and I have a little time to try to find an internship there as well, before fall term starts."

"If you're sure that's what you want, you know I'm behind you."

"It is. Logan was… losing him hurts more than I thought it would. It kind of feels like I can't breathe, when I think about it for too long. That passes, right?"

Lorelai nodded, knowing the feeling well. "Eventually. With time. Especially if you aren't likely to run into him."

"He hates London. And I don't have any penchant to see the Pacific Ocean any time soon, so we should be good there."

"As long as you've thought this all out."

"I have. And I can't live with Paris again. She and Doyle are getting an apartment off campus anyway. I need a fresh start. It'll be just the thing, I think."

Lorelai nodded, realizing that her daughter had no idea what would really ever help her get over this particular pain.

-X-

"Gilmore. My office!"

Rory sprang up from behind the desk in her little cubicle, giving a furtive look to the dying plant that she'd brought in as a freshly blooming bud. The dirt surrounding it was crumbly and dry, and she made a mental note to water it when she got back from Harry's office.

"You summoned me, boss?" she asked jovially as she closed the door behind her.

"Sit," he instructed, then he tossed an envelope her way. "Fill that out. Give it back to me before you leave, and I'll sign it."

"What is it?" she asked.

"Your intern evaluation. I hate paperwork and no one can read my writing anyway," he said with a wave of his hand.

"But you… I can't evaluate my own performance."

"You could put out a print run if the rest of the staff came down with food poisoning," he countered, as he took a bite of his sandwich that was laying on a wrapper on his desk. He chewed and swallowed quickly. "I have real work do to. Just make sure to be a little hard on yourself and try to sound like a cranky guy in his thirties."

"Thirties?" she asked skeptically.

He scowled. "Before I forget, this is for you, too."

"Do I have to evaluate you, too?" she asked.

"That's from Huntzberger. He was by yesterday, said to give that to you myself."

"Logan Huntzberger was here?" she asked, the blood rushing from her face. In fact, it felt as if all her blood had been displaced to her stomach.

Harry took another bite. "Huntzberger senior. The kid's long gone by now. Not that he didn't do a good job, with what he was handed back in Stamford. That's just my opinion, of course. I'm just a glorified messenger."

"You're a good boss. I'll be tough on myself, in your steed."

Harry waved her off. "There's a Red Sox game on at six."

"Working on deadline. A skill I excel at," she assured him and took her two envelopes out of his office. She sat back down at her desk, knowing whatever was in the second envelope could and should wait. In fact, she half dreaded the contents of it, to be honest. Her evaluation was thick, which meant it would take a chunk of time that she shouldn't waste.

She unfolded the set of questions on her desk and skimmed over them, pen in hand. Her eyes flickered over to the side, where Mitchum Huntzberger himself had scrawled and underlined her name, Rory Gilmore, on the front in black ink, which looked like that of a fountain pen. Probably a fountain pen that cost more than any dress that currently hung in her closet. She furrowed her brows and refocused on her evaluation. Her time at the paper was coming to a close. She'd already applied for her semester abroad. She should hear any day now. Finals were coming up fast, and no matter what was in that envelope, she had her priorities in order.

She started writing out an answer to the first question, as to the manner in which she interacted with the staff. The envelope from Mitchum just sat there, waiting to be opened. Finally, halfway through a perfunctory answer about adding to the staff in a complimentary way without adding frilly details of the like Harry despised, she put her pen down, took hold of the second envelope, and broke the seal.