Remember way back in, like chapter 5, I said that I was taking the story in a different direction than I originally planned?
It was for this for this chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own GG.
Logan couldn't wait to get home and tell Rory everything. About how he let Westville talk him out of Rory and into Gemma for the Paris trip; how he allowed it because he was scared of the commitment their date implied. He wanted to tell her that he should've fought harder for her (for them?) and about how right Rory was that Gemma would try something and - more importantly - how surprisingly easy it was for him to turn her down. Above all, he wanted to tell her that he was sorry and that he was ready now.
Really ready.
Somewhere in the car-train between Calais and Dover he realized that he'd have a lot apologizing to do. Obviously and understandably Rory was mad at him. Not just at their date falling through, but at how he handled the whole situation. His insecurities played a part in preventing her from receiving the recognition she deserved. Sure, maybe Westville would've still gone with Gemma, but at least Logan would've been on Rory's side. And instead of offering her a warning that their plans fell through, he let her walk into that hotel ballroom with false hope, leaving her humiliated. He couldn't even be supportive or apologetic at home. No, he simply laughed off her worries about Gemma. The final blow came when he promised to call and didn't.
Still, Logan was hopeful that if he got the chance to explain, Rory would understand, especially if he provided her a home-cooked breakfast.
Finally, at 8:45 in the morning, after a night of driving and a quick stop at the market, Logan entered the apartment. Feeling content with his purchases (fresh eggs, crusty bread, sausages, tomatoes and a can of baked beans) and confident that a full English breakfast was exactly what Rory needed, he rounded the corner and stopped short at the kitchen door, stunned at the scene that unfolded before him.
Rory, dressed in an ambiguous black garment (he couldn't tell if it was a negligee, a silk top, or a dress), was leaning against the counter, a half-empty bottle of rum open next to her, with a row of shot glasses filled and lined up before her. He also noticed the sugar jar open in front of her and a plate of orange wedges next to her. She hugged a legal pad and – apparently deep in thought – exchanged meaningful glances at the bar she'd created and mumbled to herself.
To say Logan was concerned was an understatement.
"Rory?" he asked as he stepped in to the kitchen and placed his bag of groceries on the counter. "Are you okay?"
She looked up. "Looooogan! You came back!"
"I did, Ace."
Rory blinked a few times and a goofy smile appeared on her face. "Oh, you called me Ace! That's so sweet!" Before he got a chance to reply, her smile made place for a frown and her forehead creased.
"But you can't call me Ace," she bit at him.
"Uh, okay," he tried to shoot her a reassuring smile, "I won't call you Ace."
Her cold eyes stayed on him for a brief moment before she dropped them to her legal pad. "Thank you."
It was clear that Rory was not well. Drunk and angry was a bad combination for anybody, but especially Rory. Logan knew from experience; though this time the damage was not caused by Richard's death and an excessive amount of G&T's. An uneasy feeling came over him – had he done this to her?
"Rory?" he asked, stepping closer to her.
"What?" Her tone wasn't quite as harsh as before, but it was obvious she was not in the mood for small-talk. In fact, she looked quite concerned herself as she kept exchanging looks between her legal pad and line of rum-shots.
"What happened?"
An agitated, sloppy sigh escaped her and she tried to blow a stray hair from her forehead before talking. "If you give me a minute… I can figure it out."
Logan watched in shock as Rory proceeded to raise her left hand to her mouth and press her tongue against it – too tired and too drunk to actually lick it – before dipping her entire hand in the sugar jar. She didn't bother to shake off the excess as she brought her hand back up to her face and moved her tongue across her hand. With a quick flick of the wrist, she downed one of the shots in line and bit down on an orange slice.
She didn't shutter or gag, like he expected – she smirked like an old pro – before scribbling something on her legal pad. What? Was she conducting a study on variations of a tequila shot?
"Rory?" The concern was now all but tangible in his tone, though not to Rory. With a heavy sigh, she put down her pen and turned to him. She almost lost her balance in the turn, but laughed it off as she quickly found that leaning backwards against the counter helped her remain upright.
"I am retracing my steps, Logan." She spoke slowly and over-annunciated every word, but for a girl who'd done a massive amount of shots, she sounded surprisingly sober.
Logan nodded as if he understood, but he had no clue what she was trying to say.
"I need to know what happened, 'cause…" Rory made some vague gesture with her hand, "… and last night involved tequila…" She kissed some sugar off the back of her hand, before tipping back another shot.
"That's not tequila," Logan told her. "Or salt."
"Sweet salt," she nodded in some kind of agreement, before trying to make eye-contact with him. "You, Logan," she pointed at him, "only have rum. It's not good for retracing."
"There's a whole liquor cabinet in the pool room," Logan instantly regretted volunteering this information so freely as a wide, almost mischievous smile spread across her face.
"Really?" she laughed, though it wasn't really funny. Rory pushed herself off the counter, in search of the pool room, but Logan grabbed her by the wrist, stopping her.
"Hey!" Rory placed her sticky hand over his, but she did not make any effort to break free of Logan's hold. Instead she smiled at him. Flirtatiously – at least to her mind.
"Where is Finn, Rory?" he asked firmly.
It took a moment for the question to compute in her brain, but once it hit she nodded enthusiastically and raised her pointer finger, as if she was about to dive into an elaborate description of Finn's whereabouts, but in its place, she provided a more cryptic explanation. "In Scotland."
"In Scotland?" Logan shouted, "He left you?"
"I don't know!" Rory shouted back, though her tone wasn't panicked like his; it was harsh. "I'm trying to figure it out, Logan!" She tried to twist herself out of his hold, but his grip was much too strong for her drunken state. "Let me go, I need tequila. Your stupid rum is not good for step…step-retracement!"
Rory continue to wiggle, but there was no way he was letting her go. He doubted that she could stand on her own and as he took hold of her free hand, she pressed her body flush against his. She snapped back to her sexy flirty mode, settling for resting her head on his chest and humming contently.
She was a mess. A complete and total mess. And Finn could very well be in fucking Scotland. What the hell happened?
"You're not getting tequila, Rory," he told her, as he gently put some distance between them. "I'm making you coffee." He picked her up and sat her down on the counter top. "Stay here." And he spotted the legal pad – it was sticky and some of the scribbles were smudged and entirely illegible to him, but maybe it was legible to her, and it'd keep her busy as the coffee brewed.
"Why don't you read me this?" he asked kindly as he kept his eyes on her as he filled the carafe with water.
Rory's head dropped to her chest, in tired defeat. "Why?"
"To retrace the steps you were telling me about…"
Rory's head popped up, as if she suddenly remembered. "Oh, right. Well, let me see…."
She tugged at a loose strand of her hair as she thought. He kept his eyes on her, though it was very difficult for her to maintain eye contact. More because of her immense alcohol intake, not because of his intent look.
Finally, she settled her gaze on her nails and she let go of her hair as she started to talk in her slow, vaguely slurred tone. "Smith Jerrod has good abs. And he bought Samantha tickets and never fucked her. He should've because he's so hot and Samantha is so pretty. Together they'd be so…" Rory looked up as she let that thought fade away. "Logan, I'm pretty. Don't you think I'm pretty?"
A wry smile tugged at his lips. In this moment, no, he did not think she was pretty. Her otherwise glossy, curly hair, lay sticky and sweaty on her scalp. Eyes blood-shot and rimmed in mascara black. Skin pale and greasy. Alcohol on her breath and stained in her barely-there get-up. This was not the Rory Gilmore he knew, this was not a beautiful Rory Gilmore.
Logan nodded anyway and a soft chuckle passed over Rory's dry, cracked lips. "And you are pretty," she told him. "Not just your hair, but your eyes…." Her voice trailed off and her gaze dropped to the floor and she clicked her heels together. One, two, three times.
"You know who's not pretty?" she whispered.
"Who?"
"Nicholas." Logan's eyes widened in surprise – what'd that boy have to do with anything?
"He's so…" she sighed, searching for the right word. "…ugly…"
"What'd he do, Ace?" That he called her Ace, and the urgency in his tone was lost on her as she continued her ramble. "He thinks I'm pretty," her hand went to her chest to stress the fact, "But he's ugly, Logan. And the bar…was…bad. So bad. So, we danced."
The coffee was done brewing, but Logan was entirely focused on determining what role Nick played in last nights events. He moved so he was standing in front of her and gently steadied her bobbing head, so her look focused on him.
"You went dancing?" he asked slowly. "With Finn? And Nicholas?"
"No. Just Finn." Rory's hand went to her neck. "I was supposed to be bullet proof. Because of Paris…and Gemma….and Nicholas…" Logan nodded as if he understood which encouraged her to carry on. "And then, the music…loud. So loud. Louder than sirens and bells together. And it was so hot." She blinked a few times, trying to look past Logan. "He was so hot."
"Who?" Logan demanded, "Finn?"
"We were dancing and the music…it was in my fists and bones and eyelids and my neck…" Logan quickly glanced down and saw a deep purple mark on her collarbone. "… and it was salty, and it burned, and then it was quiet. So quiet." She paused and shot him a thoughtful look. "Do you like Greek food?"
Greek food! That was her main concern right now, whether or not he liked Greek food! She was beyond wasted and had a grapefruit sized hickey on her neck and he was supposed to let her know if he liked Kofta or Gyros? Logan realized, though that Rory didn't wait for him to answer.
"…there are so many boys, Logan. Hundreds. Dancing. They like me. Because I'm…pretty and…rich…you know? So, it doesn't matter…not being smart…failing."
"You are smart, Rory," he jumped in, but she didn't care. "And you…" she shook her head, "were in Paris. And I…was here. And it was so, so quiet and I was so tired. And he, Logan, he was so pretty…"
Her breathing became more erratic – as if realization was just now dawning on her – and her voice started to crack as she reached out to touch his chest. "I woke up..and he was there and, Logan, he cannot be here, because it was supposed to be you!"
Revealing this information was an obvious release for Rory as her breathing returned back to normal and her head returned to his bobbing state, but Logan was far less calm about the situation. The rest of the information she presented him faded to the background; he zeroed in on the fact that there was someone in her bed.
"Who? Rory, who was here when you woke up?" he spoke slowly hoping to keep his composure. "Finn, Nicholas?"
"No," she shook her head slowly, "I don't…know…."
Logan took a deep breath. "No, it's not Finn or Nicholas or no, I don't know?"
"Finn is in Scotland," she reminded him and he nodded, "Right, okay. Finn is in Scotland and there is a boy in your bed?"
Rory nodded and Logan was incredulous. "How'd he get there?"
She pulled her shoulders into a deep shrug and pointed at the make-shift tequila mess on the counter. "I was retracing my steps."
Logan's head dropped in defeat – the girl was a scholarly drunk – but it didn't change the fact that there was a strange boy in her bed. She might as well have punched him in the face. Head spinning, he yelled at her to stay put as he stomped off toward her bedroom.
Not a minute later, he returned, jaw-clenched and gripping a very hung-over and bed-sheet clad tanned man.
"Is this him?" Logan jerked his chin forward as he practically pushed the man at Rory, causing his bed-sheet garb to shift, exposing his modesty to her.
Rory took a moment to benefit form this as she ogled the man in all of his glory.
Greek was back!
Although, without the club lights, the bass penetrating her soul, and a wash of sticky/salty tequila, he looked different – less God-like – but his pearly white smile remained in tact.
And because the look of absolute shock and disgust and hurt on Logan's face wasn't enough of a sobering experience, Rory couldn't help but smile back. Flirtatiously. "Yeah, that's him…"
"Hey," he nodded back, a little hoarsely and Logan exchanged a disbelieving look between the two. Was this some kind of joke? Their half-assed attempt at flirting right here before him? Were they fucking kidding him?
"What's his name?" Logan barked, but Rory shrugged uncomfortably, as if she just remembered that Logan was in the room too, witnessing her staring at Greek's six-pack, "I don't quite…remember…" and her hand made its way toward the rum bottle.
"Put it down, Rory," he warned.
"Pretty name." Logan looked at the tanned man with his fuck-you eyes and the Greek bravely extended his free hand for Logan to shake. "I'm Andreas."
"Greek!" Rory exclaimed and Andreas confirmed it with a nod. A sloppy smile played at her lips as she broke out in a fit of giggles.
Logan was about to explode. Finn was gone. Rory was drunk. And making eyes at the Greek asshole. And he could call him an asshole because all signs pointed at him being the one responsible for the giant hickey on Rory's neck and yet, they stood here in his fucking kitchen, introducing themselves as if they'd never met!
"Get out!" Logan snapped at him. "Just get the hell out and don't ever come back here. Or call. Or do anything to her again."
"Hey!" Greek raised his hands defensively. "Chill. I'll get my clothes – "
But Logan wasn't in a forgiving mood and he grabbed Greek's arm a little tighter as he dragged him to the door.
Rory's giggles drowned out his yelling as Logan slammed the door shut, disposing of the Greek.
"You are my knight in shining Hugo Boss!" Rory exclaimed as Logan walked back into the kitchen. She cocked her head to the side to better observe Logan. "Oh, you look mad!"
"Are you kidding me, Rory?"
His harsh tone silenced her and he immediately felt guilty. She was drunk, she had no recollection. There was no point in getting mad now – she needed to be sober. Maybe then he'd get the whole story.
The apartment was engulfed in silence as he fixed her a cup of coffee. "Just drink this," he said, his tone distant, as he handed it to her.
She took the cup and stared at it a few moments, before taking a small, cautious sip, as if she didn't know what it was. Rory savored that first sip and kept on nipping at her cup under the scrutiny of Logan's glare.
In all his anger and confusion, he couldn't help but notice the incredibly tragic scene she cut. Slumped together, her head bobbing, eyes blinking. A look of complete detachment on her face. Coffee at this point was her only salvation and even that she could not fully embrace. Maybe she was embarrassed coffee had to witness her like this, holding the mug with two hands and slowly – unsurely – bringing it up to her mouth.
Of course, Logan had no way of knowing that coffee had seen her like this many, many times before.
"Oi, mate, there's a naked bloke roaming around the hallways!"
Logan snapped his neck around and saw a casually dressed Finn standing his kitchen. He had two large Starbucks to-go cups stacked in his left hand and his eyes were covered by Rayban's. This was him hung-over. Thankfully, though, he's damage did not seem as severe as Rory's.
"That's just fucking excellent," Logan spat, much to Finn's dismay.
"No need to get angry, mate!" He took a sip of his latté, "That naked man probably had a rough night…"
Yeah, Andreas was the one with the rough night. Logan gently rubbed his temples in an attempt to stave off his growing headache and building anger. In what kind of parallel universe had he come home to?
"Are you alright?" Finn asked, hints of concern lacing his voice but he was far too hazy to wonder why, exactly, Logan was standing in the kitchen when he should've been in Paris.
Logan smacked his lips together contemplating, not so much the answer, because that was obvious, but how to respond. Blowing up would get him nowhere and probably upset Rory.
"Just peachy," he answered through gritted teeth. Finn picked up on his sarcastic angry tone and took offence.
"Hey, no need to snap at me, mate. Naked men have never angered you before!"
Logan snorted. "That's because I've never had to deal with them roaming around my apartment!"
Stunned, Finn lifted up his sunglasses and shot him a confused look, but Logan didn't notice as he carried on his angry ramble.
"I leave to go on one fucking business trip and I come back to find Rory drunk off her ass doing rum and orange wedge shots on my kitchen counter and you are no where to be found. You went off to Scotland!"
Finn looked to the left and to the right, checking to see if Logan, perhaps, was directing himself toward someone else, but when he realized it was for him he let out an indignant gasp. "I most certainly did not!"
"You were somewhere, Finn! 'Cause you weren't here, stopping Greek men from mauling her!"
"I was hardly mauled!" Rory interjected, taking offence, but Finn's shouting overshadowed her comment.
"She's a grown woman, mate, not a baby!" Last night's events were too clouded in his mind and it was very hard to fight with just half the facts.
"So that makes it okay to bring naked guys home?"
"He wasn't naked then!" Rory's laugh caught the men's attention as they turned to look at her. Still propped up on the counter, she was waving he now-empty coffee mug about.
Finn's gaze shifted from Rory to Logan. Rory had mentioned something about the other shoe dropping and he was witnessing it freefalling from Mt. Everest and kir-splatting on the ground. And yet, the severity of the situation didn't quite hit him.
"What happened, Finn?" Logan asked softly as he took the mug from Rory.
A few deep breaths and the effects of the Starbucks brought some of it back. "It started with a text," Finn said slowly, thoughtfully, "which was a bit poor form, but the lad's method proved effective. Not so much in the outcome."
"Why?" Logan asked.
"We went dancing." With this information, Logan pieced together that Nicholas must've been the texter (that bastard) and had come on to Rory (he'd kill him) but that Rory didn't want him (apparently, because he was ugly?) and left to go dancing.
"Bungalow was packed," Finn continued his story, "you should've been there, mate, ladies all around…"
And suddenly, it clicked, Finn met a girl – a red head, with a good chance of being Scottish as he remembered Rory relaying that fact to him - so he left.
"Who's the girl?"
"Ah." Finn nodded before taking a sip of his coffee. "Didn't quite catch her name. It wasn't that type of encounter…" He shook his head a little bit. "She did pinch my nipples, though. Quite painful." Finn proceeded to lift his shirt, but Logan stopped him as he let out an annoyed huff.
"Just put your shirt down, Finn! I'm not diagnosing your nipples!" His jaw tightened. "I can't believe you left Rory alone to fuck some chick!"
"She wasn't alone – she was dancing with five hundred people!" Finn shot back. "Rory just wanted to dance, and she was dancing and I just wanted to sneak off to the loo. Fifteen minutes tops…"
"…and one thing lead to another." Logan cut in – he'd heard this too many times before. "Jesus, Finn! You're not in college anymore, you're an adult. You should have some sense of responsibility!"
"Well thank-you, Mr. Huntzberger!"
Logan scoffed – calling him Mr. Huntzberger was a low blow - but Finn didn't apologize.
"Rory got drunk and made a mistake, Logan. She had a bad day and was hurting. We had some fun." Finn tried to explain, but it only fueled Logan's anger.
"Is it fun now?" he intentionally raised his voice and his loud tone pierced their ears and aggravated their hangover headaches.
"No!" Rory cried, causing Logan and Finn to look at her. Her breathing was heavy and her head stopped bobbing as her whole body tensed up. Before either of the boys could ask what was wrong, or fetch her a bucket, she threw up. A rancid mix of last night's alcohol and Chinese food spilled across the kitchen floor and the toxic stench permeated the air.
"Oh, love," Finn sighed, feeling incredibly sorry for his sick friend, "let me make you Finny's patent-pending hangover beverage." He turned to Logan. "Do we have applesauce, Tabasco, vegemite, peanut butter and a raw egg?"
Logan raised his hand to silence Finn. "Just clean up this mess."
He'd always been able to manage crisis situations. It was Logan who'd calmed down the Hilton's General Manager after the skate-rink incident. It was him who'd been on the horn to his father's legal team and it was him who'd talked Finn out of his ridiculous escape plans.
In this moment, this was just another crisis; his emotions were numbed as rational thinking took over. There was vomit on the kitchen floor. Finn needed to clean it up. There was vomit on Rory. He needed to clean it up.
And with that, he stepped over the sick, scooped up Rory and carried her to the bathroom. He set her down on the counter top as he proceeded to draw her a bath.
"Lots of bubbles," Rory said, as she pushed on of her shoulder straps down. Subtle. As if she hadn't woken up with a man in her bed.
Logan threw his head back and groaned. Of course Rory had to make this more difficult than it already was. In his fantasies, anything involving a bath and the two of them, was just a continuation of the good time he fantasized they were having.
In no way did it come close to having Rory so smashed she couldn't stand, leaving him in an intensely awkward and difficult to negotiate position. She'd have take off her clothes and he'd have to stay with her, since she was in no way capable of bathing herself. Logan was racking his brain to think of a way to fix the impending awkward naked time, but Rory's voice distracted him.
"Oh Logan," she cooed. He looked up and wasn't surprised that Rory had managed to discard the dress/negligee she'd been wearing, leaving her exposed before him in her bra and panties.
It was sad and uncomfortable. Not sexy. Even though it was obvious she thought it was. She cocked a flirtatious eyebrow at him.
He grabbed a large towel off the rack as he stepped toward her. She immediately ran her sticky fingers over his chest, that flirtatious smile still in place, but he didn't respond to her advances.
"Rory?"
She stopped and her expectant eyes met his distant ones. "You have to take a bath, okay? And I'm going to have to help you."
"Yes, you will…" Another smile, bat of the eyes. Logan sighed. "I'm going to put this towel between us and I want you to take off your underwear. Then I will help you stand up, put this towel around you and put you in the tub. Okay?"
He had never spoken about getting naked so clinically before (he could not fathom a situation in which you'd have to) and he'd never spoken to her so condescendingly. Even if class, he debated with her as an equal. But not now, not here.
"Why so serious?" Rory asked, grinning, slowly running her tongue across her bottom lip.
Maybe it would've been easier on him to have her strip off completely, to lure her to the tub under false pretenses, but he didn't want to. Maybe he wanted to help her preserve the lasts shreds of her dignity, but it was self protection, too. He did not want to see her naked, take advantage of her, not like this.
"You don't want to take a bath with me?" she tested, her hands once again finding their way to Logan's chest and before they reached his neck, he gently, but firmly, took them in his own, before letting go.
"You've got to take a bath, Rory. We'll talk later."
"I don't want to talk, Logan!" Rory exclaimed. "I want to…" she lowered her voice as an impish grin flashed across her face, "… fuck you."
He inhaled sharply as all subtlety flew out the window. Somehow her crassness shocked him, although, if he was honest, it was something he'd said to his conquests many times before, with a matching wicked smirk.
At Logan's prolonged silence, Rory tipped her head to the side and the mood changed. "You don't…?" A looked of genuine confusion and hurt was etched on her face.
"Rory…let's just focus on the bath, okay?" he said softly, as he placed the towel between them. She looked at him, so fragile, and he gave her a short nod. It was okay. Ever the gentleman, he turned his head to the side as she undid her final garments.
Her soft cough let him know she was ready. "Do you think you can stand?" he asked and she shook her head. It wasn't another attempt to seduce him; Logan could tell by how hard she was avoiding eye-contact with him that she was embarrassed.
With one swift move, he gently slid her off the counter, so she fell into him, and catching her, he wrapped the soft towel around her body.
Silently, he carried her to the edge of the tub, sat her down and turned around as she undid the towel and slid into the tub. Rory stared vacantly at the silver faucet as Logan quickly washed her hair and took a washcloth to her face.
Thankfully, the hot water and soapy bubbles sobered her up a bit; she was able to stand up and lean back into the towel. Without innuendos, without words, without even looking at him. She gratefully took the robe Logan held out for her and nodded obediently as he told her that she'd should get some sleep.
He held out his arm and she took hold of it – still a little unsteady on her feet – as they slowly made their way to her room.
Her bed sheets were scattered across the room as were Greek's clothes and Logan spotted one of Rory's stilettos on the nightstand.
Without a word, Logan closed her door, shielding her (or was that himself?) from last night's wreckage. Rory didn't dare look at his face as he lead her back through the hallway and down another. His room.
"Sleep here", he told her. "The sheets are…clean." The strain of this morning's events were obviously taking its toll.
Rory sat down on his bed – it was soft and his comforter smelled so good and inviting. She didn't even notice that he was standing before her with a pair of boxers and a t-shirt (also his), a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin.
"Here…" he said offering her the clothes and she watched, eyes fixed to the plastic white bottle, as he shook two tablets in his hand. "These will help."
Gratefully, she popped the pills in her mouth and downed the water.
"Logan…" she started, unsure what she wanted to say, but she needed to say something. He didn't want to hear it as he shook his head.
"Just try to get some sleep, Rory."
She recognized that tone. It was disappointment mixed with disbelief and, maybe, just a hint of betrayal. Her dad had used that tone many times. Richard and Mitchum, too. And now, Logan.
Rory took in a shaky breath – glad that he had closed the door so he couldn't see the tears that filled her eyes.
Her tears quickly gave way to the overwhelming and all-encompassing urge to sleep and as he head hit the pillow she slipped into another world.
Sixteen. Her room. Her bed. Tristan DuGrey smirking down at her.
"Are you sure, my angel?"
Maybe? Her eyes darted from that smirk to his eyes. Green ones she loved because they looked at her like that. Yes, she was sure.
Summer. Her garden. Love, flash forwarding to hate. His hand down Ginger Reynolds silk panties, violating their gazebo.
Humiliation fading to her room. A new bed. A six-week home, until she needed to be over it. Clubs and cosmopolitans helped stagnate her thoughts, helped smother the burn of embarrassment. The gaping hole he'd left.
The one she let him leave.
Practically perfect Rory was now looking at scantily clad Rory. Cropped-top, even shorter skirt. Electro beats aiding to silence gossiping words. Floating through a slew of boys, sloppy kisses, lust-filled touches. The ball firmly in her court. She orchestrated the moves; she was in control. Never love, always lust, always to her benefit. Guys entered, but never came close to her.
Cut to Christopher's office filled with angry shouting. Mitchum and Richard. Lorelai silent, for once and Emily crying. Too many boys, too much gossip. Vague promises to do better. Visions of graduation and work accomplishments floated by.
She did better, but wasn't better.
Back to the garden. Broken. Again. Still. G&Ts and daffodils. More gossip. Logan. More shouting. No promises, just accusations.
But she liked him.
Fast-forward to London. A quick succession of Logan. His smiles, his meaningful glances, his notes.
Coffee, coke, it's still caffeine. Sweaty palms and butterfly stomach. So bright and so shiny, so meant to be.
Spinning, drowning into a deep, dark, and twisted vortex.
Too many diamonds to be rough.
Gap-toothed and frizzy-haired goodbyes. No. Betrayals.
An uncomfortable feeling seeped in as she realized she'd been staring at a cell phone on the coffee table. It rang with the wrong number.
Even more dread as she walked into the bar, feeling far superior to the other patrons, causing a scene. Breaking an ugly heart – but a heart nonetheless - in the way only someone scorned by love could.
A new club. Shinier floors. Louder music. Fist punching and foot stomping. Different green eyes, but essentially same.
These eyes do not love her, but want her, for tonight at least.
At least someone did.
Bitter, she was, just like the white wine she'd been drinking earlier. The gin-and-juice made her want to be wanted by him; tequila made her choose green available eyes.
And then, her whirlwind of thoughts slowed to the next scene. Slow-motion. The kitchen. Logan. Not supposed to be there, but he was (for her? For them?) with a different look in his eyes.
Concerned, soft tones. Patient questions. Bad answers. Logan, saving her from a naked Greek statue man.
Lust. Not for Greek, but for him. She knows she's drunk but she's sure he longs for her, too.
Too many games, so many points. They are both winners, right?
Pouty lips, flirty smiles, seductive touches. She wants him. Needs him. His hands covering hers before letting go…
It means rejection. She lost. And because she's exposed, it stings worse.
Her embarrassment may have started as a small fire, but it is now an inferno, burning through her body. No more meaningful glances, no more talking. Silence.
Tub water drains away and there's nothing left but his bed and her otherwise naked skin covered by his clothes.
Maybe there's hope…?
Tiny airplane hallway. Hugo Boss. Just Boss. She hates flying, but she's on this plane for him. Even if it's commercial, even it's business class. For him, anything. Toting her Birkin, she shuffles her ballerina clad feet towards him, but he steps back, away from her, and the plane drops, quickly falling from the sky and catching aflame before it hits the ground.
Rory jolted up before the plane smashed into the ground, instantly regretting it as she felt an immediate sharp pounding in her head. Nauseated, she squinted a little, trying to adjust to the harsh light in the room. It doesn't help that the room is spinning softly, either.
Her mouth was dry – as if she swallowed a family pack of rum and tequila cotton balls – and she was sweaty. Even with all of the sheets kicked of the bed, she still managed to soak through her T-shirt and stain the pillow case.
Slowly, her breathing returned to normal and she realized that she was in Logan's room. And she'd been dreaming. About the plane crash, at least. The rest was scattered and fractured, but she knew what she needed to know. She royally fucked up things with Logan. Without obvious reasons, apart from her own insecurities about being cheated on and commitment.
But she knew that didn't justify her actions. She got drunk, brought a stranger home, and vomited on the kitchen floor and Logan witnessed it all, and not only put up with it; he took care of her.
Rory sunk back into her (his) pillows as she watched his room idly float by. She had a lot of explaining and apologizing to do.
A knock on the door felt like someone jabbed a knife through her eye, but she did not respond. The wooden picture frames were still swaying on Logan's blue-gray walls and besides, Rory had no clue what – if anything – she could say to Logan to make this better.
"Rory?" His deep voice was another knife-jab and an uncomfortable sensation of humiliation radiated through her body. Slowly, he pushed open the door and settled his gaze on her. Rory knew she looked awful. He didn't smirk as he took in her damp, sweaty hair, pale skin, boxers and a stained t-shirt.
"Hey."
Rory tired to swallow; her tongue was like sandpaper. And she coughed, before speaking. "Hi," she croaked back, noting how hoarse and foreign her voice sounded.
Logan handed her a glass of water and some more aspirin before sitting down on the edge of the bed.
"You alright?" His tone was distant; he'd run out of patience with her.
She nodded slowly, all too aware of the rhythmic pounding in her brain, before downing the pills. Wincing as the cool water could not offset the nasty taste in her mouth. She needed a tic-tac, or something.
"Hung over," Rory told him truthfully, "but I'll be alright…"
It lingered in the air, as they both silently contemplated that statement. "Um, Finn…?" she asked, trying to alleviate the building tension. Besides, she was curious about her friend – she had some vague recollection of a Scottish girl, but it was lost between the shreds of thoughts from last night.
"…is sleeping through his hang over," Logan said, "he probably won't wake up for until tomorrow."
"That's…not good," Rory said, weighing her words carefully, as she tried to make eye contact with him. She wasn't looking forward to this conversation, but she knew instinctively that it'd be worse if Logan started.
Logan caught her eye and his expression silently urged her to speak up. "Last night was…not good."
He chuckled darkly. "No, it wasn't."
"I was in bad place," she tried to explain, "and when I was younger I'd go out to cope…"
"Yeah, because growing up was probably really tough for you," he nodded in fake sympathy. "Big family, all the money in the world, lots of friends. I'd drink to forget about it, too."
"It wasn't because of them!" She let out an irritated sigh. All she wanted was to apologize and for things to go back to normal. He was making this much more difficult than it had to be. "You grew up in London – shielded from Hartford's hypocrisy; don't judge." She waited a beat, averting her gaze. "You don't know me."
"You are absolutely right, Rory. The girl I know would never in her right mind get drunk and drag some guy home!"
Her head snapped back to him and she pounded her fists on the mattress. "It wasn't intentional….!"
"But you fucked him? Right?"
It stayed silent for a while as Rory thought about it. In her mind she saw them kissing, she saw the shots, she knew he left his mark on her neck and she knew her room looked like a mess, but the actual deed, she couldn't remember.
"I don't remember," she whispered, but his bellowing cut through. "You don't remember? God, Rory! He jumped up from his seat. "How could you be so….?" His hand ran through his perfect hair and he shook his head at her. "You know, you've got a one track mind to the point of recklessness! You've got to be so god damn extreme, up, down, left, right, you're like a freaking one woman circus. What if that asshole raped you, huh?" He cocked his head to the side, "What if he got you pregnant? He could be ridden with disease!"
"I'm on the Pill," she bit back defensively, "and I'll get tested. It's fine." She tried to wave this uncomfortable subject away, but Logan was outraged.
"It's not fine!"
He was yelling! At her! Telling her what she could and could not do! No one ever yelled at her; they spoke firmly. And now, instead of apologetic, she was enraged.
"Fuck you, Logan," she spat, struggling to push the tangled mess of sheets off the bed. "You are just upset I'm not some perfect virgin girl you can deflower. You hate that I've been with guys like Andreas. That I'm like that…Well, guess what, Logan. It's just sex and you are the same!"
His brow wrinkled and he was about to retaliate, but she didn't let him. "You snap your fingers and girls come running. They could be disease ridden hussies, sluts you could've impregnated, but does that stop you? I believe just last night you were having dinner with Gemma?"
Logan's face hardened. "Nothing happened."
Unimpressed, she scoffed. "You didn't call."
"It was a business meeting. I couldn't."
She took a step closer to him; venom in her tone. "How'd long it take you to come up with that brilliant excuse?"
"She came on to me, but I shut her down." He snapped his fingers for emphasis, "Like that. And it wasn't hard at all, because I knew I wanted you." Logan swallowed, adding softly. "Only you."
This revelation punched her in the stomach and sucked all the air out of the room. He what? This was too much, she needed to sit down.
It was obvious to him that it hurt her. Badly. But oddly, he was void of emotion – at least of feelings of sadness or forgiveness. "Of course," he inhaled sharply, "That was before I knew you were out, getting drunk, because you couldn't deal with the fact that plans fell through…."
"Not just plans! Big things!" Rory shouted, "I failed FTF. Even without my last names, they still screwed me over. And you left and didn't call! I thought… that I thought wrong about you…."
"You jumped to conclusions."
Rory shrugged. Maybe so. She hadn't really thought about it, but there was no way in hell she'd let him know that. He should've called. Period.
"I was waiting by the phone for you to call, Logan," she told him. "I'm not that person! I cannot be that person! And I thought you weren't calling because of her."
"Rory, I told you…"
"But I didn't believe you!" she yelled, hoping that'd she'd get that through his thick skull. She couldn't help that she didn't believe him. The craziness took over – the result was out of her hands. And the blame, really, couldn't be placed on her.
"Why?" he demanded. "What have I done for you not to trust me…?"
Nothing her brain screamed but she couldn't bring herself to say it. Instead, she heaved a heavy sigh. "I have …issues."
Logan snorted. "Clearly."
"I've been cheated on before," Rory said calmly, "it wasn't a good experience."
Logan needed a minute to process but tabloid headlines came rushing back to him; reminding him. His features softened a bit. "Tristan DuGrey?"
"Don't say his name."
"Rory…"
"I don't want to talk about it, Logan." But maybe she kind of did. "I loved him, okay? With everything and he lied to me. And going out helped me cope…."
Logan looked at her full of disbelief. "How's getting drunk and sleeping around helping you cope?"
"Because it's not real. It can't hurt me."
Logan opened his mouth to counter, but Rory shut him down. She wasn't the only one; he was just as bad. "As if your "relationships" were real."
"No, but my sex was not some twisted therapy. I was having fun; sowing wild oats. If I wanted it to mean something, I could've, but I wanted fun, before Mitchum would take over my life."
Rory's eyes widened in shock. Mitchum. How'd she be able to break this to Mitchum? Disappointing him (and Richard, and everyone) again. FTF was supposed to be her redemption, the one thing that could silence her critics once and for all.
"What did you tell Mitchum?"
"About…?"
"This!"
Honestly, he'd been so busy with being in crisis mode he hadn't time to think about Mitchum.
"I'm not sure he'd would want to here about how you tried to seduce me in the shower…," he said sarcastically.
Rory dropped her head in shame. She'd forgotten about that. Another blow to her sensitive stomach; she'd treated him as if he were just another boy to screw. He wasn't – he had to know he wasn't.
"I'm sorry," she said sincerely, "I was…"
"Drunk. I know, it's the all-encompassing excuse. It's the way you operate. It's okay; I get it."
The coldness in his tone made her stomach turn. "No, Logan," she tried, desperation all but tangible in her tone, "It wasn't supposed to – I wanted it to be different with you."
"Are you sure about that, Rory?" he spat, "Because from where I'm standing you had no problem reverting back to your old ways. You like being the victim; you let yourself be the victim..."
"I'm not!"
"Are too!" he shot back, "And for what? Some sixteen year old boy that lied to you? You were a kid – you weren't going to stay with DuGrey forever. And some guys are just douche bags. Guess what? Not all guys…not me."
Rory begged to differ; he'd displayed some pretty douche bag-y behavior. At least, in this moment, to her mind.
"You left me to my own devices for a month! But you bought me a coffee maker. You wrote notes, 'cause you didn't want to talk to me, but you took care of me when I was sick. You were going to take me to Paris, but didn't!"
"I was trying, Rory!" His tone was strained from all the yelling. "I was supposed to be your mentor – there are boundaries and rules!"
"Since when you do care about rules?"
"I started caring for you and then I had to start caring about the rules!" Another revelation, causing her to avert her eyes. Her hated that she was so honest with him. That meant he could be honest with her, too.
Logan noticed the guilty look on her face, though he continued. "And I was scared, alright? I'm not the commitment type; but then again, you aren't either."
"That not true…," she tried, but it was pointless. Logan was in full on fighting mode.
"In fact, you aren't really even the honest type, are you?"
"What?"
"Oh stop it, Rory. You played a role. You tried to be so perfect, while deep down you just play games!"
She gasped in shock, not because of his accusation, but because, suddenly, a fog lifted and she realized it was true. But she wasn't giving up.
"You're not perfect, either, Logan!" she snapped back. Finger pointing. "You played games with me, too. Hiding behind your boundaries and rules! You're not scared of Mitchum. You're not scared of the Board. You were scared of me, of commitment."
His silence told her it was true. Satisfied, she snorted, "Please. How do I know I wasn't just some experiment to you – to see if it'd work?"
Logan shook his head – she might've been right about his fear of commitment – but they both knew that this had grown to be more than an experiment, a game.
"If you want to believe that, Rory, go right ahead. But it's not true." He spoke in an eerily calm voice, one that made her shiver with regret. "I took things slow. Maybe I sent mixed signals. I just, I didn't want to mess this up; I wanted to do this right – I thought it was real…"
"But it's not." Rory said with a sharp nod, as realization slapped her in the face again. This was bad. The worst she'd done. She had love. Real love and which she slip through her practically perfect fingers.
Logan was right. About Tristan, about being the victim. Her weakest moments were unfounded, exaggerated by her, but witnessed by Logan. And she was to blame. He called her out on her bullshit and saw through her. He didn't deserve this – she didn't deserve him.
Slowly, Rory stood up and backed out of the room; she needed to get away from him.
"Where are you going?" he called, coming after her as she made her way down one hallway, and another, stopping short at her bedroom door. "Rory!"
A deep breath and she opened her door, looking straight through last night's wreckage. Rory headed for her bed and tugged her suitcase from under it. One step to the left and she was at her dresser and randomly pulled open a drawer with the force of a woman on a mission.
She scooped up the clothes – not bothering to look at the items – and dumped them in her roller bag.
"Where are you going?"
"I can't stay here," Rory answered, "clearly, I'm not cut out to be a Future Writer. Or a girlfriend, or anything else…."
"What?"
"I'm not a writer," she said, more to herself than anyone else, "I wrote for Grandpa and Mitchum. Grandpa's dead and Mitchum will get over it. And I cannot stay here with you. Not like this…" she shook her head, wondering how it came to this awkward, uncomfortable, unfortunate mess.
Logan watched in silence as Rory scooped the contents of her nightstand into her Birkin and retrieved her toiletry bag from the bathroom. And he was too stunned to stop her, to stunned to tell her she was being rash, they'd work it out. At least for FTF's sake because she'd worked so hard.
But then, he realized it did not matter. After all, he was standing in the room she may, or may not have, screwed some guy. He was better off without her, better off without the drama. Kind of like what he'd always expected.
"You hate flying," he said suddenly, causing Rory to stop in her tracks. He noticed she'd changed into jeans and the same baby pink vest she'd been wearing on that first flight.
That was true, but she hated being in the same room with him even more. She was surprised her humiliation didn't eat her alive, that's how bad she felt, that's how sorry she was. And she could never make it right.
"I have to go home," Rory told him flatly as she gathered her belongings.
She had almost reached the door when she spotted her LV-roller bag. Innocent, still expecting a trip to Nice, still representing what could've been. The lump grew in her throat but she couldn't cry, not now.
"I'll send someone for the rest of my things," she announced briskly in her distant society tone, before she pushed her bug-eyed shades down.
Logan nodded slowly, as if it were a great strain. He was too numbed to stop her, to talk even.
The door slammed shut. Rory was gone.
Game over.
So curious to see your reactions to these latest developments, but before you break your keyboard pressing the review button and sending me hate mail, let me first just say that this is not the last chapter; it's not game over.
More like game changing.
I know you are dying for them to get together and they will. I promise. I know I push their relationship to the limits and overstep so many boundaries, but I am fully committed to making this happy for them. So no worries on that front, okay? OKAY?
So, to me it would've been too easy for them to start something in London. More importantly, it wouldn't have been real. Mostly because there was still a little bit of Old Rory that needed to get out. Drunk Rory at Richard's wake was bad, but that was just the tip of Old Rory's ice berg. And I think that if (when!) Logan commits to someone he deserves the whole person, not just some perfectly crafted image of that person, right? And so, I had to build it down, break it up and start again. We'll grieve for the London times, though.
And I know Rory may be a little bitchy and off-the-deep-end, but she was kind of bitchy (she played Dean. Hard. And I never even liked Dean) and off-the-deep-end in the show (she stole a boat!) So, she had to go home, because Rory runs from her problems. And Logan let her go. Because he doesn't do drama.
I'm going to let that simmer for a while.
I haven't updated my other stories since – what? March? – and I've got the Big Graduation Ceremony to prepare for (this Thursday, actually, because, you know, I graduated with honors for my thesis (!)) and then I fly off to Florida for the summer. Updates will forever be sporadic, so fingers crossed and hope for the best.
And I'm going to end this long AN with a big thank you to you guys for always loving and reviewing this story. You guys are the absolute best a girl like me could have. 500 reviews is incredible! And a special shout-out to Deyja for being the 500th!
PS: review if you are anxious to see how I fix this!