Thank you so much for all the reviews – really can't say it enough! Here's hoping you like this, I'm not sure I'm thrilled with it. The dramatics at the funeral was a pretty hard place to pick up from and this is also sort of a transitional chapter, I guess… Anyway, it all has a point and it will all tie in together at some point during the story. I hope. Depending if I can finish my term projects and pass my exams (updates will be

very sporadic, like always). Ah well, enough rambling – ENJOY!

Disclaimer: Don't own GG.

From a faraway place, Rory registered the harsh sunlight peeking through her curtains. Still in her half-comatose state she let out a muffled groan and attempted to shift her position away from the intruding sun. However, as soon as she moved a rhythmic pounding penetrated her brain and her bed had inexplicably started to rotate ever so slightly.

She was hung-over. Her muddled morning, caffeine-deprived brain was not capable of figuring out why she found herself wishing she had not consumed enough alcohol to open a small bar, so instead she focused on keeping her eyes firmly shut, lying completely still as she clenched her comforter, hoping intensely that the sudden nausea would fade.

"Hon?"

Rory groaned inwardly at the deafening knock. She should have known Lorelai would be waiting with a homemade hang-over concoction, she always was. Still, Rory couldn't understand why her mother needed to talk so damn loud.

"I'm coming in."

Lorelai didn't have the patience to wait for her daughter to reply and barged into her room, making her way to the window. It felt like someone was drilling a nail into her skull with each click of Lorelai's heels and with one swift movement, Rory's bedroom was flooded in sunlight and the instant burst of light proved too much for her. She jolted up, covering her mouth with both her hands and sprinted to her bathroom.

Rory shuffled back into her room and glared at her mother, who was patiently sitting in the windowsill. She knew she looked like a hot mess. Her hair was tangled and sticky from yesterday's hairspray, she was clammy, her make-up was smeared and she was wearing a blue tank-top, her pink and green polka-dot hipsters and, for some reason unbeknownst to her, pantyhose. Luckily, Lorelai understood and there was not a trace of anger on her face as she handed her daughter a glass of greenish liquid.

"Here, drink this."

"What is it?" Rory managed to croak and she winced as she tasted the stale alcohol and fresh vomit on her breath.

"Daddy's Special Power Potion, proved to cure even the most powerful hang-over's'!" Lorelai smiled brightly and nodded encouragingly for her daughter to take a sip. "It's still patent-pending, but your father and I both agree it's a snazzy tagline. I think we'll get Lindsay Lohan as a spokesperson…" she trailed off as Rory made a face at the taste of the drink.

"Oh god," Rory groaned as she gingerly sat down on the edge of her bed. "This is the worst hangover drink you've made me."

Lorelai shot her daughter a wry smile. "Yeah, but it works," she sighed, taking a seat next to her. "I know, Christmas Party of '03…"

Rory bobbed her head as she remembered the disastrous party her mother was referring to as she eyed the concoction suspiciously. "What' is in this?"

"Lime Jello, a tablespoon of mayonnaise and a shot of Tabasco."

"Right," she sighed heavily, before downing the rest of the powerful potion. The mother-daughter duo sat in silence for a few moments. Even though Rory was relatively awake and functioning, Lorelai knew last night's events hadn't hit Rory yet.

She turned to her and brushed a few sticky hairs off her daughter's grimy forehead. Rory stole a confused glance at her mother's saddened eyes. "Today we wallow," Lorelai stated simply.

Lorelai's empty sounding words stung in her ears as she remained silent. She wished the soft pounding in her head would stop – just for a minute – so she could figure out what triggered their wallowing session. Her breath hitched as realization set it. It hit her hard; almost as hard as that unexpected phone call that prompted this all.

Her grandfather was dead and cremated. Gone. Flashes of society figures and G&T's flitted through her mind, but one image kept coming back. Logan. His messy blonde hair, captivating chocolate eyes and the endless stream of tears - her tears to be exact.

She had absolutely no recollection of leaving her grandfathers funeral, or what had actually transpired after she'd fell into Logan's arms. By the look her mother was giving her, Rory figured Lorelai had at some point taken over the consoling duties from him. She imagined he'd been grateful to hand her over to the one person who was required to love her unconditionally, leaving him to flee the scene guilt free.

"Yeah," Rory nodded slowly in agreement, "wallow."

Lorelai and Rory shared a few moments of silence, both engrossed in their own thoughts.

"Hey Mom?" Rory asked suddenly and she turned her head to face her mother.

"Yeah, kid?" Lorelai replied through a tired sigh. It was clear she hadn't gotten much sleep last night and at times like this, coffee really could not fix everything.

"What happened last night?" It was not that she was looking forward to Lorelai's detailed recap of Richard Gilmore's funeral; however, she needed to know what happened.

"Grandpa died," Lorelai answered, her tone still laced with traces of disbelief. "So we had a good old-fashioned Hartford Going Away Party. Your dad babysat your grandmother and I babysat society."

Rory bit her bottom lip harder as the guilt washed over her. She should have been there; babysitting her grandma or helping her mom and not causing more problems.

"I…" she started to apologized, but Lorelai raised her hand to stop her. "Don't worry about it, hon; your speech was enough to make up for it. Definitely one to tell the grand-chickens one day…"

Even though it was a sad moment, a glimmer of amusement sneaked through Lorelai's tone. Rory shook her head slowly in embarrassment. "It was that bad?"

"Oh yeah," Lorelai confirmed with a solid nod, "You forget you get mope-y drunk like your Dad, and not fun drunk like me…"

"Yeah…"

"I didn't know you knew Mitchum's son," Lorelai said, segwaying to the next part of the story.

"I don't."

"Well," Lorelai drew out, "You found comfort in his arms last night. I had to practically pry you away from him."

Rory's eyes went wide in shock. "Logan is a Huntzberger? Like, Logan-I-am-Mitchum-Huntzberger-The-King-of-All-Media-son's- Huntzberger?"

"Can't get any more Huntzberger that than, sweets…"

Rory groaned loudly as she dropped her head in her hands. With her track record, she shouldn't have been surprised he was a Huntzberger. She knew not to believe everything she heard at the Club, but according to her grandfather Mitchum's son was a reckless boy who funded his life of parties and girls with the trust Mitchum worked incredibly hard for.

Lorelai rubbed a comforting hand over her daughter's back, and she couldn't help being confused by her daughter's frenzied behavior.

"So, you got a little emotional, big deal," Lorelai reassured Rory, "He'll be back on a plane to England tonight and you won't have to see him again. Not soon, at least…"

Rory slowly looked up, meeting her mother's gaze. "But he's APB," she said softly.

In the midst of all the funeral preparations, Lorelai stole a few minutes of alone time and a quick cup of coffee with Rory and asked her about the flight home. Rory had responded casually that a hot guy took her mind of her traveling fears, though Lorelai could tell that her daughter wasn't as indifferent to the Airplane Boy as she let on and thus the acronym APB was born.

Lorelai let out a heavy sigh; it never occurred to her that APB-Logan was also Logan-Huntzberger-Logan. She continued to rub comforting circles on her back. "It's not that bad – I'm sure Logan understands you were upset…"

Rory remained silent as continued to nibble on her bottom lip. Her mother didn't know the whole story because there had not been enough time to discuss it in great depth. The whole plane ride and events thereafter was definitely something that needed to be analyzed over pizza and Chinese food. Though, did she really want her mom to know all the cringe-worthy details?

"I'm pretty sure I blew my nose on his shirt," she told her mother.

"Would this be before or after vomiting on his shoes?" Lorelai asked raising her left eyebrow in mild-amusement.

"I vomited on his shoes?"

Lorelai gave her daughter a short nod and Rory dropped her head in her hands yet again. She felt the uncomfortable sensation of embarrassment form in the pit of her stomach and she forced herself to stop it. It was done. Whatever it was between her and Logan was finished.

She let him seep into her thoughts during the funeral, but no more. He was a Huntzberger, a business doing Huntzberger and it was obvious he was not interested in her. And even if he had been, he couldn't be anymore. Snot, vomit and tears usually sent guys running in the other direction, or in her case, passing her drunken ass to her tired mother and mouthing apologies as he silently left the gazebo. Rory sighed heavily as she realized it didn't matter either way. Like her mother said, Logan was heading back to London.

"Grandpa is dead," Rory said softly, stressing each word.

"Yes."

"Today we wallow." Rory said with tired determination in her tone as she rested her head on her mother's shoulder. First, she would shower to wash away yesterdays' drama, then she would put on her favorite sweats and curl up to her mother on the couch to remember her grandfather in true Gilmore Style, complete with red vines and a million movies. She would allow herself today to weep and feel sorry for herself. She would do all of that, but she needed to say goodbye to Logan first.

It was early the following afternoon as Logan quickly made his way down the stairs of his father's mansion. He dropped his duffel bag by the door and headed for the kitchen. He had just enough time to grab a soda, before the car-service arrived to take him to the airport, where a private jet would take him to secure London. He'd be flying with some Suits, but it was a small price to pay for his clean break from the craziness of Hartford.

As he entered the kitchen, he was surprised to see Mitchum standing at the counter, flicking through a magazine. "You are welcome to stay another day," he said, without taking his eyes off the paper.

"Thanks for the offer," Logan said, slightly suspicious of his father's seemingly warm tone, "But I'd rather attend tomorrow's meetings in person than conference call in…" It was a lie, since he was really just trying to escape the intenseness of the last two days.

Mitchum hummed approvingly, before looking up and pointing at the soda can his son held in his hand.

"You want one?" Logan asked as he handed it over, taking another can from the fridge for himself, before turning to leave the kitchen.

"I was watching you yesterday…"

His father's words stopped him dead in his tracks. He craned his neck; "Really?" and noted that he couldn't hide the surprise in his tone.

"Don't sound so astonished. It's unbecoming," Mitchum informed him, before giving his son a barely visible smile. "I saw you talk to Bill Anderson. If he could, old Billy-boy would have signed right there, which is very rare for him." He sighed. "I should know. I've been trying to get him to back that project for the last four months…"

Logan cocked his head to the side. It had been a long time since Mitchum had given a compliment.

"I knew the London Publication would be good for you," he continued as a wry smile appeared on Logan's face. That was his Dad, skillful enough to take his praise away in a few nonchalantly spoken words. Mitchum took another sip of his soda, "Make sure you keep it up." It sounded nice enough but Logan knew it was a silent threat.

He gave his father a quick nod, mumbled thanks and started to walk away, but Mitchum called him back.

"Not so fast, son." The slyness with which is father spoke caused Logan to turn his head around and meet Mitchum's gaze dead on.

"Yes?"

"Rory Gilmore was here this morning…" Logan felt his eyes widen to the size of saucers as his heart pounded in his throat. He never told her he was a Huntzberger, so how in the world did she find out who he was, and more to the point, why was she showing up at his house?! "I did not know you were acquainted with the girl," Mitchum continued, ignoring the shocked look on his son's face.

"I am not," Logan said, swallowing as his mouth suddenly felt very dry. "I mean, I hardly know her."

Mitchum glared at his son skeptically. "Your mother says you consoled her at the wake…"

Logan shrugged as if it didn't matter to him, like holding random girls in his arms as their tears and smudged make-up stained his shirt was an everyday occurrence. Obviously, it did matter to him, especially since his mother, the gossip queen of the Club, suspected something.

"In any case, she was here this morning…"

"Looking for me?" Logan interrupted, with certain urgency lacing his tone.

"Don't flatter yourself," Mitchum told him lightly. "She told the maid to give you this." He handed Logan a case of coca-cola. It was an ordinary fridge-pack with a pieced of folded light-blue paper taped to the top.

Logan was about to tell his father to keep it. Really, he needed to stop thinking about Rory Gilmore. He convinced himself his initial attraction was caused by the high altitudes and yesterday was a jet-lagged induced lapse of judgment. The whole thing was just too much, too fast, just too…

He was headed to London, making a clean break and frankly, had no intention of talking to the blue-eyed girl again. Yet, he let curiosity get the better of him one last time as he took the case from his father.

Under Mitchum's inquiring eyes he opened the note.

"Fact: every second over seven thousand coca-cola products are consumed."

It was by far the strangest thank-you note he had ever gotten. For one, it lacked the two words that were imperative in such a note, it didn't address the thing she was thanking him for and she did not sign her name. He studied the carefully penned words once more.

"She's Richard's granddaughter," Mitchum warned as Logan pulled the smile he wasn't aware he was wearing in to a frown.

He knew all right, as his thoughts slipped back to last night's dramatics. Logan also knew that his father's statement implied Richard Gilmore's granddaughter was off-limits. Mitchum did not know his son very well, but he was well aware of his playboy status.

"I know," he told his father as he folded up the no-frills note and stuck it in his jacket pocket. If there was one thing he would not go to battle on with Mitchum, this was it. Once he was out of sight, Rory would be out of mind and Logan would return to his normal life.

"Good." Mitchum gave him a short nod so as to underscore their understanding. "Make sure you send a thank-you note in return," the elder Huntzberger told his son, "It's important the Huntzberger-Gilmore bond stays intact. I don't want anything as trivial as an unsent note tarnishing the relationship."

Logan blinked at his father, hating that the man was right. In his world, a forgotten thank-you could lead to a feud. "I'll have my secretary arrange it tomorrow."

Mitchum nodded approvingly, before pointing at the clock. "Your car is waiting."

The return flight to the land of fish, chips and lager was uneventful, something that Logan was extremely grateful for. He gladly listened to the two ostentatious business associates discuss stock prices and communication strategies as Logan quietly sipped his rum-and-cokes. It did not matter if the men had been discussing the benefits of wholegrain toast – he was just relieved there were not any bug-eyed sunglasses wearing Birkin toting girls and flirtatious rounds of twenty questions to distract him. Nevertheless, the nagging feeling of being a jerk followed him to his penthouse door, where he stood now, fumbling with his keys.

"Mate!"

Logan dropped his keys in surprise as his Australian friend stood in the doorway, dressed in nothing but a bathrobe and a beer in hand. He quickly picked-up his keys, brushed passed his friend and headed to his room. He loved Finn, but his impromptu male-pajama parties were not something Logan enjoyed. Especially not when he was dealing with jet-lag, guilt and the incredible urge to dial a certain set of numbers that he had unwillingly memorized… He thought he needed peace, though in retrospect that didn't have the desired effect. Maybe he should just get drunk.

"What brought you here, Finn?" Logan asked in a far better mood than before as he returned from his bedroom a few moments later.

"Mate," the Australian boy said solemnly as he looked up from his magazine. "Jenna kicked me out. I knew agreeing to move in with her was a bad idea…"

"Especially since you knew her all of two days," Logan shook his head in disbelief, "I thought her name was Tamara?"

"No, Tamara broke my heart last week," he cried dramatically.

"I see," Logan couldn't help but smirk at his friends troubles. "And explain why you couldn't nurse your broken heart at your own place?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Finn asked in honest amazement.

Logan rolled his eyes and pulled out two beers from the fridge, before taking a seat in the recliner next to him. "You can stay as long as you want, but refrain from reading Play Girl on my couch…naked."

He held out the beer, waiting for Finn to take it and seal their agreement.

"I'm not naked," Finn replied offended as he gestured to his chest, "I'm wearing a bathrobe."

He ignored the fact that he was not wearing anything else, just as he ignored Logan's disbelieving look. "And, I'm not reading Play Girl." Finn held up the magazine for Logan to see. "It's Cosmo!"

Normally, Logan wouldn't have laughed as loud or as long as he did, but after the days he'd had coming home to a semi-naked Finn, drinking beer and reading Cosmopolitan seemed like the funniest thing ever.

"That's golden," Logan said, after he recovered from his laugh attack as Finn took the beer, "Why would you do that?"

"Because," Finn said exasperated as he took a swig of his beer, "To stay on top of the game one must know his audience," he wiggled his eyebrow suggestively.

"Look here, page sixty two…" He cleared his throat and spoke in a deep voice, "Decoding his body language: If he positions his shoulders and chest towards you, it means that you are the most important thing in the room."

He hit the magazine with the back of his hand. "Pure brilliance!" he exclaimed pleased, as if this tidbit revealed all the mysteries of the fairer sex and he tossed the women's magazine on the coffee table.

Logan picked it up and studied the cover carefully, before smirking at Finn. "And you are sure purchasing this glossy magazine had nothing to do with Penelope Cruz on the cover?"

"Only redheads mate," Finn smiled, before taking another sip of his beer.

A few hours later, Logan shuffled into his bedroom. He was dead-tired, but relaxed. Talking shit and drinking beers with Finn was exactly what he needed after… everything.

He let himself fall on the bed and he was sure he would fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow; however, he had forgotten about the blue note on his bedside table. Of course, he had meant to throw it away, but he didn't.

Logan stared at it for a few moments. It was dark, so he couldn't see it very well, but he was contemplating on getting up, turning on the lights and reading it again. It was pointless, seeing as it would not contain any new information; it was just a random fact written in her perfect script. Logan shifted his gaze to his cell phone and thought about calling her – but groaned as that thought entered his mind. How would calling her give him a clean break? Instead, he grabbed his phone, set his alarm and rolled over. Eventually, the Huntzberger boy fell into a restless sleep, though he firmly believed it was because of his jet-lag.

Rory lie wide awake in bed. She was tired, too tired to sleep. It had been a sad, but good day considering the circumstances. For starters, she was not drunk and that was always a big plus. She spent the whole day eating comfort food and watching movies with her mother. Late that afternoon, Christopher entered with a fresh bag of take-out, which lured Emily from her guest-bedroom retreat. She knew her grandmother would not be returning to her Hartford mansion, even though Emily insisted that her staying with Lorelai and Christopher was temporary.

Aggravated that she could not snuggle into a comatose slumber, Rory rolled over and her gaze met her cell phone. She did not have to look at it to know she did not have any missed calls or messages. Rory figured he would have at least sent a two word text to thank her for the soda, especially since she now knew his last name. But he wasn't calling. And she wasn't supposed to want him to call. Frustrated she rolled over again, closed her eyes tightly and gripping her comforter, she convinced herself that her insomnia had to do with the gallons of coffee she consumed today.

Okay. So, we've got a little Rory, a little Logan, a little Lorelai, a little Finn and a little background information.


PS: Who has ever read the A/N's in NYN knows I live in Europe during the school year (child of divorce, not fancy boarding school like Logan. Ha!) and spend my summers in Florida (except for an internship last year). Anyway, I leave on July 2 and school will be extremely busy untill then; though, I plan on updating before then, but just in case.... Okay. I'm done rambling. Let me know. I'm dying to find out! :)