I've been in this weird kind of a funk lately. It's been affecting my writing so I hope this one is up to par!

Standard disclaimers apply

It was 6:30 am on a Tuesday morning. Like every morning, Logan was standing at the kitchen counter, scanning the morning edition of the London Times, nursing a cup of tea and eating a piece of wheat toast. He'd have to leave by 7:00 to swing by the office for a meeting with his secretary, before heading to the university to teach his weekly seminar for the Future Writers. He had always loved this little half hour of tranquility before his day truly started, but he especially loved them now.

From the far side of the house, he heard a distinct buzzing followed directly loud cursing – he always knew she had a large vocabulary and a smirk flashed across Logan's face as he reached over and poured a cup of coffee in a big mug. Not a minute later, Rory shuffled into the kitchen, looking completely disheveled in an oversized Oxford t-shirt (his – since all of her PJs has been infested with cold-germs) and a pair of well-worn grey sweatpants. Her hair was tied up in a messy, lopsided bun and she hadn't removed all of her eye-makeup last night, so her eyes were rimmed with light black smudges.

All Logan did to acknowledge her presence was to hold out the mug of hot delicious coffee. He knew better than to speak to her considering she was still in her pre-caffeine, groggy morning state. After she took a few big sips, he spoke. "You know, one morning I'll get you to drink tea. Maybe even herbal…"

Rory took another sip – the last one – and let our a satisfied sigh, before turning her focus to him. "This is not an herbal tea morning, Logan." She held out her mug for a refill. "This is a coffee morning!"

"When is it not a coffee morning?" he shot back playfully as he dutifully refilled the cup.

"Last week."

He shot her a slightly puzzled look. "Last week?"

"Yes," Rory said bobbing her head wildly. "I was sick. You put me on coffee restriction!"

That's right - how could he have forgotten? It'd only been a week since she'd moved downstairs, though it seemed like much longer, like she'd never not been here, sharing the breakfast counter with him.

Logan looked at her, a smile tugging at his lips. "I should have kept you on restriction." Rory playfully rolled her eyes at him, before stepping away from him to make some breakfast. He watched with a smirk plastered on his face as she expertly made her way around the kitchen. Two slices of bread from the breadbox straight into the toaster, a plate from the cupboard on the left, utensils from the drawer on the right. He couldn't suppress his laughter as she grabbed a big jar of Nutella off the shelf.

"What?" she asked innocently and begun spreading the creamy hazelnut-chocolate spread on her toast.

"It's herbal tea and granola bars from here on out, Ace!" he informed her in a mock stern tone, "Nutella for breakfast?!"

Teasingly, she ran her finger over the flat side knife to scrape off any excess chocolate goo and popped it in her mouth, smiling coyly as it elicted a digusted wince from him. "It's a breakfast spread, Logan! People eat this for breakfast – you know the amount of Nutella produced in one day could provide every person in San Diego with one jar!"

"That as it may be," he humored her breifly, before delivering the final blow. "It's still disgusting!"

A soft chuckle escaped her and she cocked her head to the side. "Then why do you have the family-sized jar in your cupboard?" she asked sweetly.

"It's for Finn," Logan shrugged, which brought Rory more laughter. "That boy is such a convenient excuse!"

"It's true!" he defended adamantly, "I won't eat that shit – you might as well spread frosting on your toast!"

Rory dropped the piece of toast and looked at him with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. "Now that's an idea!"

Logan knew he couldn't win this one, so he just shook his head, feigning his disappointment. "Just eat an apple or something, okay? You were just sick…"

"I had a cold."

"Yeah, and you can't afford to get scurvy," he told her firmly, though his tone and eyes were laced with concern. Feeling a little self-conscious at his lingering gaze, she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Whatever you say, James Lind."

"Who?"

"You've never heard of a "A Treatise of the Scurvy"? she asked, though his blank look caused her to continue. "He lead the first reported controlled clinical trial. Lind's results made the British Royal Navy provide sailors with a daily ration of lime or lemon juice to keep them healthy. That's why British sailors are called limeys…"

He gave her an impressed look as she trailed off, looking at him as if everyone on the planet should know about Lind and how British sailors got weird nicknames. "Jesus, Ace," he finally muttered and he cracked a soft, friendly smile.

Rory tried to shrug off her self-consciousness, but couldn't. "Ah," she waved, "I just retain a lot of information…"

"Apparently," Logan said, before taking a sip of his tea and a comfortable silence filled the room. This was how most of his morning now went. The light, casual banter. The looks and the smiles and the hair-behind-ear-tucking. He liked it and he knew that she enjoyed it, too, their little breakfast bonding between mentor and protégé.

"It's 7:00…" Rory said, cutting through his thoughts.

"It is?"

"Yep," she said and popped the last bit of chocolaty toast in her mouth.

"Ah, shit..." Logan mumbled. "Running behind." He quickly tossed his paper in his briefcase and hurried to put his breakfast dishes in the dishwasher.

"I'll take care of those," Rory told him, taking the mug and plate from him.

"Thanks, Ace." Her eyes moved from his grateful smile to his Hugo Boss suit-jacket. With his one hand, he quickly pushed the single button through the hole and with his other hand he snapped closed his briefcase. "I'll see you tonight – I'll make Lemon Chicken for dinner?"

An involuntary smile appeared on Rory's face as she watched him put on his tan trench coat. "You're making me a scurvy repellent, Hugo?"

Logan's head dropped in laughter, before he turned to look at her. "Yeah."

"That sounds good," Rory nodded – inwardly licking her lips at another delicious home-cooked dinner. "And I'll see you much sooner than tonight. Class starts in a hour!"

"Right." The smile with which he uttered those words looked sincere to her; only he knew it was one riddled with nerves.

By 7:50 Logan was completely settled in his classroom. Luckily, nothing major was going on at the office so he had ample time to set up his computer and put up the PowerPoint slides for this week's lecture. He figured that he had better make stopping by the office part of his Tuesday morning ritual – he and Rory couldn't afford being caught arriving together.

"Good morning, Mr. Huntzberger," six of his students greeted him in flirtatious stereo. He looked up and observed the gaggle of female students. Sure, they were here today with their notebooks and lattes and plaid skirts and navy blue cardigans, some even wearing dark-rimmed square glasses, though Logan knew that these were secretly slutty girls, the ones who would miss a deadline and suggestively email him wondering just how they could make it up…

"Morning ladies," he said flatly. "Take a seat."

During the next ten minutes, the rest of the students entered and Logan had classified them all. The boy who had won his place based on scholarship, the middle-class girl so desperately trying to be a socialite, the girl who was an outsider and the loner boy – who'd make a lovely hermit-couple one day -, the girl who wasn't all too talented, but pressured by her parents to become a writer, the soft-spoken guy who could be the next big writing talent… The only clique that was absent was Rory (the girl all the guys wanted and who all the girls wanted to be), Nicolas (a pompous ass) and Gemma (the naïve diamond in the rough).

Logan cast a glance a the clock; it was just creeping past eight and he had a busy lecture today. He rolled his eyes as he figured Rory had probably stopped off for a coffee before class.

"Good morning, everyone. Let's get started!" Logan said and the students put away their telephones and newspapers. Once he had everyone's attention he started again. "Today we'll be discussing Authors of the Twentieth Century. Everyone from Steven Crane to Fitzgerald and from Hemmingway to J.D. Salinger, but first, role call!"

Logan got up from his chair to close the door and spotted a bouncy head of blond curls running down the hallway, followed by Nicholas and Rory leisurely walking behind.

"Morning Mr. Huntzberger," Gemma said quickly, "So sorry I'm late – had a wee hair drying emergency."

He gave the girl a confused look and motioned for her to take a seat. It wasn't so much that this trio was showing up late, it was the Rory and Nick were walking together and made no effort to hurry up.

"Mr. Braden, Miss Gilmore," Logan called down the hallway. "Class started five minutes ago!"

Nicholas stepped it up and Rory quickly followed suit. "I'm sorry, Mr. Huntzberger," he said, his slimy tone laced with insincerity. "First Gemma had a hair drying emergency and then, Rory here," Logan eyes dropped to Nick's hand as he placed it on Rory's shoulder, "needed to make a pit-stop to buy fruit."

"To buy fruit?" Logan asked skeptically, running his eyes from Rory to Nick and back to Rory.

"Apples," she clarified with a sweet smile, as she produced a small bag of apples from her Birkin tote. Logan raised his eyebrows in confusion – Rory was mocking him on a multitude of levels. First, for his healthy eating habits, second for suggesting those eating habits to her and, most importantly, his class. Why did she think that she should be allowed to show up late? With Nicholas to boot?

"But we have…" Logan started off, but caught himself quickly. There were a bunch of apples on the counter in the fruit basket at home. Why hadn't she just taken apples from there? A question for a later time. He cleared his throat. "We have to start class on time." He shot Rory a knowing look. "Next time, fight scurvy and bad hair days after class, alright?"

"Right," Nick laughed a little unsurely at Logan's quip and headed for his seat.

"I'm sorry, too," Rory whispered, shooting him an apologetic smile. He just shook his head, finding her smile too cute to be mad and hating the fact that her smile had that power over him. His hand went to the small of her back, gently pushing her into the classroom as he closed the door behind them with his other. "Just take a seat," he smirked slightly at her, before turning his attention to the rest of the class room.

"Okay, ladies and gentlemen. Please excuse our late start this morning, let's get right into it. Great Authors of the 20th century. The last century produced some great literary minds from all over the world. This first lecture will tackle the great American writers whom have written our modern classics: Hemmingway, J.D. Salinger, Sylvia Plath, Heller, Fitzgerald….the list goes on and on. However, to understand the process literature went through, we'll have to go back to 1884 to what many call one of, "The Great American Novels."" Logan looked at his bright-eyed students and cracked a smile. "Any guesses as to what it is?"

Immediately, Rory's hand shot up, followed by Gemma's and Nick's and a few others. "Ah, Mr. Braden?" he asked, jutting out his chin towards Nick.

"I think it's Huckleberry Finn?"

Logan crossed his arms over his chest and locked eyes with the boy. "You think or you know?"

The class fell silent as they waited for Nick's answer. It didn't come as his eyes nervously darted around the room searching for some other student to fall under the pressure of Mr. Huntzberger's glare, but Logan didn't waver. After a few minutes of silence, Logan cleared his throat and spoke.

"Ladies and gentlemen, confidence is key. One must always carry him or herself as if he or she knows the answer and is in control. Be aware that this is not arrogance, rather confidence and an extremely important attitude to carry in business and, more general, in life. Remember that."

A few of the secretly-slutty crew snickered at how Logan put Nick in place, before moving on with the question. "Miss Warrington?"

"Nick thought right, sir," her thick accent cut through the class, "it's Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain."

Logan nodded in agreement. "Twain was actually a pen name. Extra points to those who know his real name."

His eyes scanned the room, but this time the only hand that shot up was Rory's – he wasn't surprised. "Miss Gilmore?"

"Samuel Langhorne Clemens," Rory answered confidently, "Mark Twain wasn't his only pen name – he used several – that's why it's so hard to create a complete collection of his works."

"Do not think that this makes up for being tardy, Miss Gilmore," Logan said sternly, though he softened his tone a little when he saw the blush creep over her features, " but that is more than the right answer."

The class went on to discuss Twain's personal life and debated his influence in helping to create and distinctive American literature based typical American themes and languages. Normally, covering the American greats bored Logan to tears, but seeing how passionate Rory was about this topic enthused him.

More than ever, he noticed just how competitive and driven she was. Here, in some London classroom it didn't matter what her last name was or how many dollars she had in her bank account or what kind of pulp the gossip mill was turning out. Here, she was allowed to be that brainy girl who knew all the answers, the girl who formulated her opinions thoughtfully and with caution, yet confidently.

Before he knew it, it was 10:00 and the class came to a close. All Logan really wanted was to talk to her, let her know that he wasn't really that mad at her about showing up late, though he was curious about the apples.

But he couldn't, it'd be too suspicious. Or he'd have to call Nick and Gemma up to his desk as well and he didn't have the desire to talk to those two.

So, instead Logan simply started packing up his belongings as his students filed out of the class room, away to their luncheon with HPG's CFO. Rory had mentioned something about that the other day. Her childlike enthusiasm was endearing and Logan did not want to spoil it for her, so he kept his opinions about the CFO to himself. Logan left the class room with a big smile plastered on his face and a mental note to be prepared for a rant during dinner tonight.

Rory was sitting at the breakfast bar, busily tapping away at her laptop keyboard when Logan entered the house much later that afternoon.

"If you type any faster, smoke will come out of your fingers," Logan commented dryly as he made his way around the bar, throwing off his jacket and loosening his tie in the process. Rory didn't look up, she was too caught up in whatever she was doing. Logan chuckled to himself and carried on fixing himself his post-workday drink.

"You want some?" he asked, pointing the rum bottle in Rory's direction.

"Of that fire water?" she replied absentmindedly, which was met with a rumble of laughter from Logan. This caught her attention and she finally looked up. "Oh my god, Logan! When did you get home?"

"A few minutes ago… good to know that you have a fine-tuned radar for rum…" Logan smirked at her, "you sure you don't want to give it a try? Seems your sub-conscious wants you to..."

Rory rolled her eyes at his comment. "No, thank-you. But I do think it's time for a coffee break…" Logan watched as she hopped off the barstool and make her way into the kitchen.

"So, what's that you were working on?" he asked as Rory started scooping grounds into the coffee machine.

"Oh," she gesticulated vaguely, "just the essay on the influential authors…"

"That essay isn't due for another 3 weeks!"

She shrugged, "I just wanted to get a head start…"

Logan shook his head in slight disbelief. "Just in case you show up late for the final seminar?"

"Very funny," Rory said, trying to sound unaffected, though she turned her head away slightly, giving away her embarrassment.

"What happened, Ace?" Logan asked, "You were up and caffeinated when I left!"

"I know," she sighed. "Gemma and Nick showed up late at the coffee place since Gemma's hair got caught in her hairdryer and then I mentioned something about needing an apple muffin…"

A tiny laugh passed over Logan's lips. "Apple muffins aren't a health food, Ace."

"That's what Nick said…" Rory replied, waving her hand so as to dismiss Logan's comment. She didn't notice how Logan's nose wrinkled at the mention of Nick's name as she animatedly carried on telling her story, "… so we just had to stop and get some apples…"

"But we have apples in the fruit bowl," Logan said with a gesture toward the big silver bowl that graced the corner of the breakfast nook.

"Those are…" Rory trailed off as Logan walked over and took an apple from the bowl. She watched as he buffed it u on his shirt, before sinking his teeth into the crisp red-greenish skin and taking a big, juicy bite. "…not plastic," she finished her thought in a bemused tone. "Who would have thunk?"

"These are Cox's Orange Pippin apples," Logan remarked as he held out the half-eaten apple and observed it. "It's England's most famous apple variety, considered to be the finest tasting dessert apple." Shooting her a cocky grin, he brought the apple back to his mouth and took another bite.

It was obvious Logan was mocking her encyclopedic skills and she couldn't deny that it irked her that she somehow missed out on world-famous British apples. He was blatantly mocking her! Shrugging it off, she turned away from him and fixed her coffee as he continued to munch away at that damn apple. It was gone by the time Rory switched off the coffee pot and moved away from the counter.

Logan snorted as soon as he noticed the annoyed look on her face. "Some one is quiet", he said trying to sound serious, but the laughter was clear in his tone.

"Not much to say" Rory shrugged, stirring her coffee, "It's clear I'm not an apple-expert."

At this, Logan threw his head back in genuine laughter, which caused Rory's eyebrows to raise – a clear sign that she was not amused. "Oh, Ace, I'm not laughing at you – I'm laughing with you."

"I'm not laughing," Rory shot back immediately, but she her lips couldn't help pulling into a relenting smile. "This is why I don't eat fruits, you know…can never tell if the damn this is real or fake, or edible. At least with pizza rolls and Twinkies you know its chemically conducted and edible even after a nuclear war…"

"Yeah, that's a comforting image. You, a bunch of cockroaches and a box of Twinkies."

Rory pulled her shoulders up into a shrug and Logan shook his head. "Forget essays, we've got to develop your healthy eating habits."

"Is that part of your mentoring duties?" she asked, slightly cocking her head to the side.

"I'm the total package, Ace," Logan shot back with a grin.

Boy, was he ever. Rory bit her bottom lip slightly, too caught off guard to reply to his comment. He didn't seem to notice the impact his words had on her (or maybe he ignored them?) her mind was too muddled to tell as he rambled on about the finer points of making lemon chicken. Before she knew it, she was slicing and dicing right next to him in the kitchen, like an old pro.

Tension. Were you suprised? Mitchum might make an appearance next chapter and maybe Finn too! I promise I won't wait 'till March to update again (ps: this story will be a year old in March! Craziness!!)