It had been a rough day, but he was determined to shove away his foul sentiments. In the short walk from the office doors to the waiting car, he could feel the stagnant air start to pool around him as the thunderclouds rolled in. There was something ominous about the next few hours, and it only heightened his anxiety for Rory's flight that was supposed to be landing soon. He stalked into his building, almost blindsiding Mr. Maxwell-Hearst.
"Logan, son, slow down. You might damage a corner and I would hate to see my only ally on the tenant board sent out to the gutters!" The older man greeted him jovially, taking note of Logan's harried expression.
"Robert, my apologies, I don't know where my head is today."
"Isn't your lovely wife arriving today? I thought I overheard Armand sending a driver to Heathrow."
Logan brightened slightly at the mention of Rory, but it wasn't enough to fully lift his spirits. "Yes, I'm expecting her tonight…do you think I have anything to worry about? It just feels like one of those days."
Robert nodded in understanding, but the playful glint in his eye spoke otherwise. "Other than some complaints about Lufthansa's abysmal taste in Champagne, I think your worries just might be a byproduct of stress and distance."
Logan paused to consider his words. He still felt an irrational tug in his stomach, but at least his mind was logically checking off reasons. He felt Robert's hands clap onto his shoulders, drawing his gaze up towards the kind man's stately face.
"It sounds like you're in need of a good night's sleep in a crowded bed." Both men smiled wryly at the suggestion.
"Crowded, you're correct about that. No matter how large the bed, Rory always manages to commander almost all of it. I'm lucky she considers me a living pillow, otherwise I would probably be relegated to the floor with the rest of the blankets."
Robert's lips curled up slightly, indicating his amusement. With a knowing wink to Logan, he tipped his hat to the doorman and strolled out into the fog.
Logan sighed heavily as he slumped against the side of the elevator, not fully comprehending this foreign uneasiness. He was a Huntzberger; worry was an unknown concept to him, Huntzbergers were too busy to worry, that was for other people, underlings, secretaries, competitors. Still, he exited the elevator unsure of what exactly awaited him on the other side of the heavy oak door.
He exhaled exhaustedly as he sat down at his desk, which mirrored the one at the office, only more cluttered and unorganized, if that was possible. The windows shone with raindrops, which he felt adequately suited his mood. He shuffled tiredly to the kitchen, digging out a prepared meal Marika had taken to leaving for him, at Rory's suggestion. He sat pondering the day on the couch, absentmindedly picking at the chicken on his plate. He heard her key turn in the lock again, but he was too preoccupied to twist his head in acknowledgement. "Hey stranger", she said as she dropped her luggage at the door and walked to join him on the couch. "How was your day?" she questioned, brushing some errant blonde strands off his forehead. He leaned into her caress, feeling some release from her touch. She drew her hand down to the base of his neck, lightly scratching his hairline and dipping a finger or two below his loosened tie and collar.
"Logan, what's wrong? You haven't even said a word to me, and while I'm quite capable of carrying on a conversation by myself, a response or two would delay the inevitable transport to Bellevue." She shifted so her shoulders were square to his body, almost as if to tell him without words that he had her undivided attention. "Okay, Marcel Marceau, speak!"
He barely lifted his head to look at her: "It's nothing, I'm just tired, long day, that's it." His eyes finally took in her appearance; her hair looked different, like an artist had delicately woven flecks of gold into her coffee tresses. This little change irked him, and he didn't know why. With the constant motion surrounding him, Rory was the only still, stable, grounding force in his life and he wanted her to stay the same. "What did you do to your hair?" It came out much harsher than he intended, but he was too tired to rescind his tone. Her eyes narrowed slightly at his pitch, but she shrugged it off and swept her hair back with both hands. He reacted to the loss of her warmth and it sent him over the edge. "What did you do to your hair, Rory?" The repeated phrase hung stiffly in the air, resonating with his anger.
"I just got it cut and they added some highlights, it's not a big deal, why, don't you like it?"
"Why did you cut it? It looked fine to me! God, can't something just stay the same around here?"
She got up, moving towards the kitchen, removing herself from him and putting on a pot of coffee. "I got it cut for you, I thought you would like it if I made an extra effort since I haven't seen you for a while, okay? Next time I get it cut, I'll tell you first, okay? Can you please calm down a little babe?"
"Yeah, it would be nice if my wife would keep me informed of what's going on, got anything else you'd like to share with the class?" He turned so that he was standing, pacing the edging of the rug.
"Well, the housekeeper switched from regular Pine-sol to extra-strength, there, you feel informed now?"
He watched as she irritably grabbed a mug out of the cabinet. He couldn't grasp why he was lashing out at her, but he was powerless to control his words. "I'm not asking for much, here, Rory. God, just keep me filled in! I'm supposed to know what's going on, I know every detail about the paper at every moment!" He furiously kicked a leg of their coffee table, having lost all control of himself.
"Logan", her voice dangerous and low. "Whatever or whomever got you into this mood, do not take it out on me. I am not your punching bag, in no proposal or wedding vow does it have that clause. I am also not your paper, you can't micromanage everything and expect me jump before you even think 'how high'. I get that you're tired and stressed, and yes, you feel left out of life at home, but I sure as hell didn't fly across the Atlantic to get screamed at. So go to bed or take a shower, but if you actually have a reason to be upset with me, let's have it out here and now so it's over and won't ruin the rest of my time."
"Yes, of course, your time shouldn't be jeopardized, I mean, all the sacrifices you made, missing two whole classes!" he sneered, knowing it was a very low blow. By this point, he had extracted himself from the situation, observing his actions as an outsider. His stance was defensive, his posture defeated. His hair was unusually disheveled and his eyes were red-rimmed and dropping with a lack of sleep. Rory remained neutrally behind the counter, her hands anchored on the marble countertops. Her shoulders hunched slightly, he knew it was caused by his careless comments. Her eyes shone with anger mixed with utter confusion, her mouth poised to attempt to disarm him. He threw his hands up at the exact moment a gigantic thunderclap roared, instantly thrusting them into darkness. In the absence of light, he relaxed his muscles and instantly felt horrified by his actions and words. In the seconds it took for his eyes to adjust to the room, he saw glimpses of Rory cautiously moving towards him, flashes thrown off by the reflection of the lightening on her jewelry. "Logan?" she tentatively called, as if trying to weigh whether her fear or her anger drove her. She finally reached him and pulled him towards her. Instinctively, his arms wrapped around her waist, his face buried in her soft hair. As her hands started soothingly stroking his back, he melted into her embrace, happy that she supported him. "I'm sorry, Ace, so so sorry. I'm sorry, babe," he murmured into her skin, his eyes closed and his body pressed close to her. "I know, I know, let's worry about that later, how about you light a fire in the bedroom and I'll meet you in there with some candles in about ten?" She gently removed his hands as she stepped back towards the kitchen and redirected him towards their room.
As they settled in, he couldn't stop the constant apologies from flowing from his lips. "Ace, I am so sorry, I didn't mean anything I said, I've just been stressed and well, I occasionally hate being here, away from you and everybody. I just hate fighting with you, but the hair thing was a trigger and it set me off and I don't mean to take it out on you, but you'll listen and I'm rambling, aren't I?"
"Doing a fine job of it, too, almost as if you were a real Gilmore." He realized she didn't seem too upset; her mouth was arranged in a tiny, upturned quarter-smile. "Logan, people fight. That a reality that we're going to have to face. I know that you've been working yourself sick, so next time you want to pick a nonsense argument with me, just give me a head's up, okay? You stole a yacht with me last time I was ridiculously upset so I think I can begrudge you some petty remarks. So, fight over?"
"Seriously, Ace, I am so sorry. I'm going to feel guilty and awful for a long time, and you can't stop me."
"If you buy me something expensive, so help you God, I will go Tarantino on your ass, and the result will not be attractive, and I can't marry an ugly man, what about giving my parents pretty grandchildren?"
"You think your parents will care, please, my mother would not be above hiring a fake family if we weren't up to her impossibly high standards, and yes, I realize I just referenced a storyline from Full House, but it's a very real possibility with Shira."
"Oh, what would an ugly Huntzberger do? Actually attend class and do some work instead of flirting their way through life?"
"Hey, I attended class! I attended lots of class, it was mostly because of a pretty girl or I mistakenly stumbled into it looking for someone's room or something."
"Doyle always said that you only wrote for the paper when you were too sick to do anything else!"
"And yet, I do believe most of last year, I consistently had pieces published, now didn't I?"
"As the editor, it was my duty to motivate our talented yet unproductive writers."
"Aha, so you admit that I'm talented?"
"Oh man, your ego does not need this stroking! Yes, you are ridiculously talented, you're a great boss and you're very, very pretty. Now, why don't you call the building mechanic to fix the circuit breaker so we don't have to sit in the dark, how about, my beautiful, brainy Huntz?"
"But the dark is so romantic, don't you think?"
"Go, be a man! Be my Luke and fix things!"
"Okay, I'll make you a deal: if you allow me to make our fight up to you and you promise never to reference your mother's relationship in terms of our relationship, I will call the mechanic to come fix the circuit breaker."
"You drive a hard bargain, but agreed. Now I want popcorn and Orville Redenbacher did not mean for his kernels to be roasted over open flames, nor did the makers of Poptarts, so get the lead out, rich boy."
"What on earth could you want Poptarts for?"
"We are going to have a new tradition: we are going to sit and watch the thunderstorms and talk. You are going to sit and talk about your stress or your job or your socks, I really don't care, but you are going to talk. And I, I am going to listen and eat popcorn. And then, when you have Limbaugh'd yourself out, we will go to bed and sleep in because you need a day off, and do not fight me, Jake LaMotta, because you will not win. I am the Ali to your Frazier, the Chaplin to your Keystone Kops."
"Are you feeling okay? You just made a sports reference, a correct one at that."
"You don't know everything about me, Huntzberger, a girl's gotta do something to keep the mystery alive here buddy." She put her hands on his shoulders, leaned in to kiss him hard and spun him around towards the door. "Be a man!" he heard her shout as he headed out.
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When he opened the door again, perspiring from the long hike from the basement, he found her sprawled out on the chaise lounge, only her legs covered by the blanket. He reached down to brush the hair off her face, pausing to smooth out a small worry wrinkle on her forehead. She moaned a little, shifting towards his touch, but not opening her eyes. He moved to sit on the edge of the cushion, careful not to disturb her. The firelight threw shadows on the wall, reminding him a little of Peter Pan. He half-expected to open his sock drawer and find Tinkerbell hiding in between the folded wool. After his last few crazy weeks, he was willing to accept any possibilities. Until his recent efforts in London, people had always likened his relationship with Rory to Peter Pan and Wendy; his merry band of lost boys crowding around her for the stability she offered, the practicality and seriousness that radiated off her. He guessed that when she abandoned her shell, she had radically altered most people's opinions of her, like his father. He wondered if he was still a lost boy: he had responsibility, a solid foundation of a life and was more than willing to accept more. Was Rory still Wendy? He wasn't sure; the only thing he knew was how much they grew, both together and separately. Their relationship had grown along with them, although it had taken a second time around for them to figure that out. Their first time together wasn't meant to last; it was too fragile and cracked to be sustainable for long term. They were both scared; she was terrified of failure and he avoided his feelings. They had the makings of a true relationship, but it wouldn't have been enough to lead them to present day. Although their break-up was awful and heart-breaking, it was a necessary evil. They both had come to depend upon each other, and ripping that cruelly out from under them forced both of them to grow. She found herself again, coming back to Yale, reconciling with her mother, finding her own two feet again. He liked to think that it was partly due to his influence that she rediscovered her backbone, but he didn't want to take undue credit. He knew she was the reason why he had left the LDB New Year's Bash early, finding a lonely walk better company than the absolutely soporific blonde Finn had almost handcuffed him to. He knew she was the reason the other girls were horrible experiences; with Rory, he grew accustomed to meaningful sex. With the bridesmaids, he got a taste of his own playboy medicine: Walker had simply rolled over, got dressed and walked out; thanking him for a decent lay. He lay there alone in the empty bed and had tucked a pillow in his arms where Rory was supposed to be.
If he concentrated hard enough with his eyes closed, he could almost smell Rory's hair, feel the weight of her body on his, revel in the softness and the heat. It was at that moment that he allowed himself to grieve, to cry: to mourn the loss of the goodness that was her in his life, how easily their relationship was broken, how he let his fear control him again, something that hadn't happened since he was much younger. He let the tears drop onto the pillow he clutched, muffling his cries in an effort not to disturb the comforting silence of the room. He was struck with the irony of how he found the quiet so gentle and peaceful: it was his and Rory's combined silence that ruined their relationship. Her resignation to his father's petty and offhand remarks, his inability to confess to her that he loved her, loved her more than anything else in his life.
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"Hey, Ace, you awake?" He nudged her slightly, trying to get her to return to the land of the living. She turned to face him, barely cracking an eyelid. "What time is it?"
He bit his lip, stretching the truth a little. "Around 11."
She merely forced open her eyelid more, raising an eyebrow. "In the morning? It's still dark outside."
He sighed, forgetting that she remained cogent to some degree even while asleep. "Okay, it's 11 pm in New Haven. Are you awake?"
"You better be on fire or dying or have coffee. So if you're on fire, can you roll over and smother yourself with a pillow? Good night." She huffed, then turned over and buried her face determinedly into the linens.
"Wake up, okay? I'm scared."
Not even bothering to acknowledge his admission with any physical movement, she sleepily muttered, "Aw, does somebody need me to check under the bed for monsters?"
"You know, you take such perverse pleasure in emasculating me."
"And you woke me up", she retorted, "Early, might I add, when we're supposed to be sleeping in because you have the day off."
"Okay, okay, I'll make you coffee if you open yours eyes and talk to me."
She sighed, which was a sure sign to him that he had won their little battle. "Fine, but it better be damn good coffee, Huntzberger."
He got up and padded into the kitchen, readjusting the coffeemaker's automatic setting. Taking a seat at the counter, he felt her hands reassuringly scratch the back of his head. He grabbed her free hand and kissed the underside of her wrist. He thought it was the most intimate gesture because he loved to feel the faint murmur of her pulse underneath his lips. It wasn't as sexually charged as say, kissing her neck, but it was a quiet demonstration of their trust and love of each other. The cool expanse of her wrist, dotted by her multicolored veins, reminded him of their future. The lines of red and blue criss-crossed, looking like a map of their past, present and the unknown. When he kissed her there, he could imagine a tiny hand clutching his finger, tickled by the feather light touch of his mouth. Their first Valentine's, he bought her the tennis bracelet not only because it was beautiful, but because it was his personal reminder of his favorite part of her. The piece of jewelry protected the delicate flesh, kept it safe for him. He didn't think she knew that he loved that particular appendage, she probably assumed he was more interested in something sexual. A few years ago, a few girls ago, he would have, preferring the superficiality of breasts or something else usually flaunted shamelessly by his previous conquests. Not that he didn't love the sight of Rory without clothing, he found her gorgeous, but he reserved his adoration specifically for something considered plain. The fact that the underside of her wrist was simple to the untrained eye, yet unexpected reminded him why he fell in love with her all over again each time he saw her. He felt a slight rush of cool air brush over the bridge of his nose, caused by her hand waving in front of his face, effectively drawing his attention.
"Okay, speak. I am slowly becoming caffeinated and I know you're serious about something because you wouldn't voluntarily give me coffee so early in the day without a good reason."
"I'm scared."
"You know I was only kidding about the monsters, right?"
"I didn't like who I was when I was yelling at you. And we broke up because I ended up screaming at you in a bar. I really do like your hair, it was just that it made me feel left out. I can't believe that I was triggered by something so tiny. I don't like fighting with you, I hate who I am when that happens. I'm so scared that I'm gonna lose it and you're going to decide that I'm not worth this and then we'll be trading insults and holidays with the kids."
She looked shocked at the words tumbling clumsily out of his mouth. She abruptly pushed her chair back, grabbed his hand and held it firmly.
"Look at me!" She commanded. "We had a fight. It was something stupid that probably could have been avoided, but we got over it. I don't care what we fight about as long as we can get past it. Even if we fought every day, Logan, you are worth this. You have always been and will always be worth this. You're going to have to figure out a way to get past this paralyzing self-doubt and when you do, you're going to talk to me about it, and we'll work on this together. When I tell you that I love you, I mean it. I will always love you. What you're worth to me is so much more than anything superficial; you're a part of me and I could never let that go." She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely, fighting tears. He felt revived by her touch, drawing energy from her love. Just as he was fully embracing the tightness of her grasp, she pulled away violently and slapped him across the back of his head; he winced in pain as she stepped back, her arms folded across her chest. "Logan Lawrence Huntzberger, if you are ever so stupid again as to think you are not worth my love, I will begin an unholy reign of terror and then you will be in a great deal of pain."
"Please, aside from the well-placed upside the head, you're almost incapable of inflicting bodily harm."
"Did I say body? I was thinking about calling Daddy Warbucks up and having a little chat about your trust fund, you know, hitting you where it hurts."
"Aw, you wouldn't stoop that low."
"Wanna bet? One more outburst and it'll all go away, just like that. Her hand made a sweeping gesture, indicating his electronics, his toys and other expensive paraphernalia.
"You would leave me a broke, broken man?"
"Definitely. I'd even scratch your Porsche and then kick a dog, in front of nuns."
"What has my Porsche ever done to you? You are very dark and twisty inside, you know that?"
"How did you find the time to mock Grey's Anatomy without me? You're in London!"
"Perks of being a media mogul." He smirked smugly, knowing he had finally bested her in pop culture. She moved towards him, curving her body to fit perfectly.
"Do these perks extend to the wife of a media mogul?"
"Perhaps, if said media mogul's wife was really nice and loving and promised her very powerful media mogul husband a foot massage after he comes home tired from a very long day of ruling the world."
"Well, I'll have to tell that to your trophy wife after I divorce your ass and gain millions in the process. Maybe Mitchum will even give me a paper or two, he's always liked me better."
"Well, you're just blatantly lying with that one, aren't you? Mitchum doesn't like anyone, he tolerates certain people for extended periods of time."
"For a famous newspaperman and a self-proclaimed 'media mogul', you suck at getting the story right, just like your Hemingway faux pas."
"Hey, if I recall, you were incorrect about that as well."
"At first", she countered, "but then I was a real reporter and investigated the truth." She placed sardonic emphasis on 'real reporter' just to goad him. He poked her sides playfully, egging her on. "Oh yeah, and what is this truth?"
"That your father likes me more than you!"
"I beg to differ. I think my position as the prodigal son elevates me over you, the acquired daughter-in-law."
"Are you implying that I, fabulous, brainy, beautiful me, would lie to you in terms of our family?"
"Definitely." He got caught on what she had said. "Wait, you said our family?"
"Yes..." she said, puzzled. "Our family, you know, your chain-smoking mother who can barely stand me, my utterly amazing mother and her overprotective Luke, my overbearing and manipulative grandparents, our family."
His face crept into a smile; their family. He always considered their relationship and impending marriage to be separate from his family, for whom he generally disdained. But she was right; even though their respective relatives were many cents short of a dollar, combined they were their crazy, awkward loved ones.
"Well," his face twisting into a maniacal grin, "it's nice to hear how happy you are to have great-aunt Emmeline at the wedding. I'm sure you'll be able to convince her that she can leave at least half her cats at home." She merely huffed and stomped away in response.
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Finally it was June and she was all moved into the London flat. Even though the place was already more or less completely furnished, including a bevy of her clothes that had somehow worked themselves in his closet, she still insisted on an endless stream of luggage. Between himself and Armand, it took several trips to completely transfer her belongings upstairs. Trying not to trip over her scattered knick-knacks, he scrambled to reach the phone as it was buzzing. "Yes?" he huffed, nearly out of breath from tangling his foot in an errant suitcase strap.
"Mr. Ganay is here for you, sir, shall I allow him upstairs?"
"Yes, Armand, please give him the elevator key. And please, remember to call us Logan and Rory instead of sir or ma'am, okay?"
"Of course, sir, as you wish." He sighed, replacing the receiver on its cradle. The formality required by his position chafed against him; he would rather be considered for his actions instead of his name. A rapid succession of knocks announced Paul's arrival. He happily threw open the door, greeting the man with a friendly handshake. "Hey, Paul, good to see you! What brings you by on a Saturday?"
"Well, Logan, I just can't get enough of you at the office, of course." Logan laughed, ushering him further into the apartment. Paul eyed the travel detritus that had overtaken the living room.
"Moving out? Do you feel a need to hide your love of glittery pink Hello Kitty luggage from the rest of the office?"
"No, those are Rory's, she just moved in."
"The famous Rory is real? And here I thought all the pictures of her in your office and your stories were from a magazine." They were interrupted by a rustling at the door.
"Babe, Armand called me the m-word again! Why didn't you bribe him to call us Logan and Rory?" She looked up from her shopping bags, quickly realizing that they were not alone. "Oh.", she blushed profusely, "I didn't realize you had company." He watched Paul move towards her, eagerly extending his hand.
"I would hardly think I qualify as company. I'm Paul, I'm a graphic designer at the paper."
"Oh, nice to finally meet you! I'm Rory, Logan's fiancée."
Paul continued, "I'm sorry if I interrupted your plans for the day, I was in the neighborhood and I thought I would drop by and try and convince Logan here to join me at the pub."
She shook her head vehemently. "Don't be silly, you're not interrupting anything! It's so nice to finally meet someone in London who has friends that don't already know me as that 'darling five-year-old with cake all over her face' from my great-grandmother's pictures."
Paul chuckled, amused at her description. "I guess some embarrassing things about family are universal, although I do believe my parents have a similar photo of me, except it was probably at my last birthday party after Newman stage-dived into the cake."
She nodded her head in understanding. "Ah yes, the Newman incidents. I've been very amused to hear about them from Logan. So you stopped by to grab Logan for a drink?"
"Yes, but I can see you blokes would rather immerse yourselves in setting up house."
Logan stepped in. "Nonsense, why don't you call Jen and have her meet us at the pub? Unless, Ace, you'd rather transfer what little of wardrobe of yours hasn't surreptiously made its way into my closet already?"
"Actually, if it would be alright with you boys, tagging along would be great. I'd love to meet Jen, potentially know a British female that doesn't resemble Margaret Thatcher, post internal Tory coup."
Logan smirked at her generous depiction of the few women she knew in London. "Odd comparison, but if you made a normal reference, I'd get worried."
Paul smiled a little to see their dynamic as a couple. "I'm sure Jen would love to meet us there, she'll probably relish a new Harrod's accomplice."
"Actually, I know the al Fayeds, anytime Jen wants, we can have them close the store for some private shopping."
Paul shook his head. "No, I beg you, whatever you do, do not mention that to her. I don't need her disillusioned with my lowly life after experiencing the Huntzberger style."
Rory gravitated towards Paul, something Logan was happy to see. Linking arms with him, she led him out the door and Logan was left to follow behind, listening in to Rory regale Paul with tales of his less-savory behavior.
He felt his pocket vibrate on their way to the pub. He cursed, reluctantly loud enough for her to hear him and interrupt her animated conversation with Paul and Jen. "Hey," she said softly, intertwining their fingers as he pulled them both into an empty doorway.
"Yeah," he sighed, "there's some emergency in Taipei with the printers, I've got to head into the office and find out what happened."
"Do you think you'll have to go out there?" Her cerulean eyes met his, hesitation evident. He grasped his hair in frustration, lightly tugging on the longer strands.
"I'm not sure. I couldn't tell you. I'll know more when I check in with the regional branch there." She moved closer towards him, bringing her arm around his waist.
"Do you want me to come with? Taiwan could be fun this time of year."
"But you haven't planned anything, no research has been done, this would be, dare I say it, a spontaneous trip!"
"Hey, I can do spontaneous. If I say I can, I can. I am perfectly capable of spontaneous."
"Well," he bought himself a few seconds to process a plan. "How about you let Paul and Jen walk you back to the flat and I'll call you whenever I have details."
"Okay, it'll give me some time to at least google some decent attractions."
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He found himself once again in a foreign hotel room, lonely and bored. He was in the midst of trying to arrange a mini-Asian vacation, similar to the one they were supposed to have gone on after his graduation. There was a knock on his door, opening to reveal a timid concierge holding a London tabloid. He wordlessly took the publication while answering his cell phone distractedly; "Yes?"
"Do you have it?"
"Hi Dad, I'm assuming you mean the latest copy of OK! that you somehow managed to have messengered to my Taiwanese hotel? Isn't this a rival paper anyway?"
"Don't justify it by calling it a paper, it doesn't report anything of value, just idle, pointless gossip." There was a certain edge to his father's tone that he had difficulty placing.
"So why did you feel the need to bribe the hotel to get it to me?"
"Turn to page six and you'll figure it out." His voice was rather icy, which mad Logan start to become nervous. His fingers slipping on the glossy corners, he threw the magazine open to reveal a full layout with the large title of "Lusty Lorelai?" splashed over two pages. Immediately he felt his heart plummet and his eyes cloud with tears. He was in disbelief; she was cheating on him, there was proof all over a cheap tabloid.
"Logan! Logan!" His father's voice drew him back.
"The engagement is off." He was monotonous, there wasn't anger yet to muster.
Mitchum's voice reached an unfamiliar register. "Don't be an idiot, look at the photos."
He raked his eyes over the pages, the grainy shots swimming before him. There was one of both of them, taken right before he left for Taiwan, when he pulled her into a doorway. Right next to it was a series of shots capturing a moment between her and another man, him grabbing her arm, pulling her into his body, her looking up at him. The mystery man's face was out of focus, but there was a familiar woman in the pictures, and then it hit him; the man in the pictures was Paul, with Jen standing right next to him. His pulse returned to normal after he realized the story was completely fabricated. He immediately returned to the conversation, sensing that his father could tell that he understood the photos were faux. "Why would they print these? Nobody knows her in London!"
"I'm not sure, but this is an attack on our family and I will not tolerate it! Get on the next flight, we're suing their asses. Nobody screws with my daughter and son and gets away with it. I'll meet you in the office with our lawyers." Mitchum replied.
It dawned on Logan that Mitchum sounded protective, going so far as to call Rory his daughter. He had never heard his father like that, and it comforted him; his father was trying to keep his family from harm. He searched his cell phonebook and dialed Paul's number.
"Hello?"
"Jen, it's Logan."
"Oh, thank God Logan, you have got to believe me, those bloody mongrels basically staged those photos. Rory was walking ahead of us and looked the wrong way before crossing the street when this cab roars out of thin air right towards her. Paul managed to pull her back in time, but she was so shaken. Please believe me, I was right there, she loves you, she wouldn't cheat on you, nothing happened." She was frantic, her voice wavered unevenly.
"Jen, it's okay. I know the pictures are a lie. How is Rory?"
"Logan, you have to come right away, she won't come out of your flat, and even if she would, your building is being staked out 'round the clock by those bloody paparazzi."
His heart fell again, his blood boiling in his veins. Rory needed him, need his support and he was trapped in Asia, unable to help her.
"I have to call her!"
"It's no use, she hasn't picked up the phone or answered the door in three days, and we've all but tried to smoke her out of the flat. Oh, those bloody reporters and their stupid tabloids!"
"Jen, why was this story even in those?"
"Oy, I don't know, slow news day? All any rag can talk about is poor Rory. Oh, what a week for Posh and Becks to be on holiday!"
"Okay, Jen, I'll be on the next flight home. In the meantime, try to get in touch with Rory, alright?"
"Ta, Logan, cheers."
He clicked off and then hit Colin's speed dial. Colin picked up, sounding a bit boozy.
"Colin, it's Logan. Have you heard from Rory?"
"Logan! No, I haven't talked to her since last week, what's up?"
"Listen, I need to you head to the airfield and get on the plane, Rory needs some help and I can't get there until at least a day from now."
"Jeez, what does Reporter Girl have that you won't trust the local movers to handle?"
"Colin! This is important! The paparazzi are after her and she needs a friendly face or two. See if you can stop by Stars Hollow and get Lorelai and Luke. Call the pilot and let him know you need the jet. I'll call our doorman and tell him to allow you up. Please man, I really need you to do this for me. She needs someone there for her."
Colin responded with a sobering yes. "Of course, Logan, consider it done. We'd do anything for our little Wendy. See you in London."
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He struggled through the horde of telephoto lenses, blinded by the thousands of flashes exploding before his eyes. A particularly aggressive reporter shoved a microphone in his face and asked, "So, Logan, how does it feel to have the tables turned? Lorelai's got a bloke on the side, do you have your own bird?"
He nearly swung at the man's smarmy grin, but thankfully Armand rushed towards him with a large umbrella to shield him.
"Armand, what the hell are they doing out here?"
"Sir, I'm terribly sorry, sir, the bobbies can't do a thing except offer you and Miss Rory an escort if you wish."
"No, never mind. How is she?"
"Oh sir, the entire building has been frightfully worried about her. Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell-Hearst have ordered a bodyguard for her, but so far, he's just stood outside the apartment door. Mr. Huntzberger hasn't left since he arrived several days ago, and your group from the States have left once twice to find some sweets, Ben and Jerry's, I believe Miss Lorelai requested? I'll phone the flat when the escorts arrive should you wish to leave."
Logan sighed gratefully, impulsively embracing the doorman. "Thank you Armand, for taking care of her." The man blushed slightly and moved back an appropriate distance. "Not at all, sir, please wish her well for me."
The elevator ride seemed endless with the lighted numbers mocking him. Finally, he burst through the door to be greeted by Lorelai, Colin and Finn silently playing cards while Luke was stirring something in the kitchen. Lorelai caught his eye and pointed down the hallway where he came upon the sight of Mitchum uncomfortably slumped in a chair outside their bedroom, looking a like a ragged guard dog. He smiled at his dad's hidden caring nature, a quality he didn't know the man possessed. He gently shook the haggard's shoulder, stepping back as his father rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
"Dad, how long have you been here?"
"Not too long, I just wanted to make sure she was okay."
"Dad, go home, please, take a shower and get some rest. Thank you so much for being here, but you need to take care of yourself too."
"You sure, I don't mind staying in case she needs something, she's sleeping right now but when she wakes up, she might need something." He took in the deep lines of worry etched on his father's face, and for the first time in his life, he understood. He understood his father, his clumsy attempts to demonstrate his love, his foray into such an unknown territory. Logan truly appreciated the risks his father took, venturing into an emotional outpouring he wasn't used to or particularly triumphant at. It touched the deepest part of his heart, seeing his father worried and scared over what used to be a peripheral person in his life. "Thank you for being here for her, Dad."
Mitchum shifted his gaze sheepishly, avoiding Logan's eyes as he muttered incoherently about Rory. "What did you say, Dad?"
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I said, she needed somebody to be here for her, and I wanted to be that person for her." The two men embraced silently and Logan quietly opened the bedroom door. He spotted Rory, crumpled beneath the covers, her brunette hair tucked around her with loving care. Her eyes were closed, but her face was tense even while she slept. He sat gingerly next to her, stroking her cheek with a finger. Her lashes fluttered slightly and her mouth stretched into a yawn. "You're home!"
He loved that she knew he was here without even opening her eyes. He loved that she could feel him exactly like he felt her. She shifted, allowing him enough room to beside her to lie down. She automatically rolled into his arms, sighing happily. He leaned closer to her, bringing his mouth to her ear. "I am so sorry babe that you had to go through that alone."
She turned to face him, biting back tears. "I just don't understand though, what did I do? Why are they attacking me?"
"Ace, they're not attacking you, they're using you to attack Huntzberger Media. They're taking cheap shots and they know it. Boy, you should have heard my dad talk about it when he called me in Taiwan, he was more upset than I've ever seen him."
"Yeah, Dad was more amazing than I would have ever given him credit for."
His eyes narrowed in confusion at her choice of words. "Dad? You mean my dad?"
She nodded. "He came over immediately and didn't leave the apartment except to yell at his lawyers, but he always took the calls out in the office so I wouldn't hear him. The first night, I couldn't get out of bed, I was so worried about whether or not you believed the photos, and I was crying, a sobbing mess, and he gave me a big hug and stroked my hair until I fell asleep. He kept telling me that nobody hurts his little girl and that it was okay for me to cry, that even strong girls like me could cry once in a while."
He was taken aback by her tale of Mitchum; maybe in some parallel universe that might have occurred, but this was Mitchum Huntzberger, the man who barely made time for his own children, much less his children's significant others.
"Run that by me again, just indulge me for a moment, okay?"
"I didn't ask him to be here, I didn't ask him to stay, in fact, I was so ashamed for him to see me fall apart, but I don't know, I can't explain it, he just had this look on his face like there was no other place in the world he'd rather be, that he was angry that he couldn't be hurt instead of me. I've never had that, had somebody be my father. I mean, yes, there's Luke, but nobody's ever told me that I was their little girl, my dad was never around, he's not my dad, he would never have done that. But Dad, I mean, Mitchum, I didn't even have to ask, he just loved me like I was Honor, or you, or something."
Logan shook his head; "He's never loved either one of us like that."
She wiped away the fresh tears that had made glistening tracks down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Logan, I'm sorry that those pictures were published, I'm sorry that I'm not strong enough for you."
He gripped her face firmly between his hands. "Don't you ever think that you're not strong enough for me. You are she-woman, hear you roar! You are stronger than any person I've ever met, I mean, you got Mitchum Huntzberger to hug a crying girl, voluntarily, for no financial benefits or gains. You have to pick the battles you're going to fight, and sometimes fighting means letting people with other areas of expertise handle it, say, your fiancé and his family who just happen to run the world's largest media conglomerate. If I, at one point, am challenged to a pop culture contest, or an eating competition, I will defer to my better half, of course." He snuggled deeper into their bed, relishing the feel of being home with her.
"So did you freak out when you saw the pictures?"
"Um…"
"It's okay if you did, Logan, I would have, I did, it's a knee-jerk reaction. You know I love you and would never cheat on you, right? After what we've been through, both of us, it's an impossibility."
He nodded, feeling slightly guilty for having rushed to an incorrect judgment. "I'm sorry."
She chuckled slightly. "It seems we're doing a lot of apologizing for a whole lot of nothing, huh?"
He returned her smile, blowing behind her ear to make her shiver. "And I'm sorry you had to spend all that time cooped up with my father. Maybe you can enlighten me as to why you're suddenly calling him a warmer endearment than any of his blood family does."
She shrugged; "I can't explain it, we just saw it and each other differently. Kind of like on our plane ride over here. Maybe once he saw me collapse, he figured out he didn't always need to pretend that he had it together too. If it bugs you, I can just call him Mitchum. Dad was just a term we were throwing around together when it was the two of us, attempting to survive on the gross food you had here since no take-out guys wanted to fight the paparazzi."
"What gross food? Marika keeps the fridge stocked with tons of organic vege…oh, wait, I see what you mean."
"I have to say, Dad can make a mean grilled cheese."
He turned introspective for a few moments. "Ace, it's okay that you have a relationship with my father that I may never understand. Maybe I'm just not capable of understanding it yet. I want to, and I'm gonna try, but it's okay if I don't, right?"
"You will get there, babe, you and your father have made leaps and bounds, give it time. But don't worry, you totally kick his ass Mario Batali wise."
Yet again, he marveled at her unrealized ability to wrap men around her little finger, since he fell for her all over again every moment.