Can I just say I have the best readers ever? The love for this story is so amazing and makes me so happy! This one is for Orionsbabydoll for reviewing today!

I know you all must've thought I had gone crazy when I uploaded a Gone with the Wind fic – especially when you were waiting for me to update this. But… I'm spending part of my summer tanning and reading and I read GWTW. Scarlett and Rhett are totally fic-worthy and so, I had to write about them.

And this…well, this was supposed to be the five stages of grief, I had it all planned out, but I wrote this instead.

Thankfully, I like this better. Hope you do too! Much love!

Disclaimer: I don't own GG!

Getting out of London was all a blur. All that mattered was that she was leaving it all behind, FTF, but more importantly, Logan.

Rory didn't allow herself to think about what she had said or what she had done and she didn't allow her thoughts to venture to tomorrow, all the things she would have to face once home.

She was stuck in the moment – numbed – needing to get out of London.

Logan stared at his front door. It slammed shut twenty or thirty minutes ago but he couldn't bring himself to look away.

It was a tall door, seven or eight feet maybe. Wooden, but stained deep black and covered in thick glossy paint. The sheen was enough for him to see his reflection. Logan couldn't quite place his expression but it was somewhere between anger and betrayal. And maybe just a touch of regret.

Maybe…maybe he should've gone after her. Maybe he shouldn't have blown up at her. Maybe he had made this thing with her to be a bigger deal than it really was. After all, she was the one who brought some Greek gyros-eating bastard in his (their? no definitely his) home.

No, he had definitely made the right decision. That was somewhat comforting and he wished he could detect that in his reflection, but he couldn't. Slowly, he moved away from the door.

He would have his housekeeper clean Rory's room and pack up her stuff.

The numbness stayed. It didn't matter that Lorelai's words were sympathetic or that Christopher "wasn't mad, just disappointed". She ignored suggestions of shopping trips and spa days and took to her room. Christopher was concerned, but Lorelai convinced him it that Rory just needed to wallow.

Rory's bed became her new home. Her parents checked up on her, but couldn't get through to her. No one could. She couldn't eat and she couldn't sleep. The maid sustained her by bringing coffee every few hours, which Rory took with a grateful smile, and continued her analysis of where it all went wrong.

A lot of the events of the fateful night were lost forever and it was painful to think of how good it'd been before. How hopeful she had been, how proud and excited she would have been to call herself his girlfriend after their trip to Nice.

After a handful of days (she'd lost count how long she'd been home), Rory received a note from the desk of Mitchum Huntzberger. He wasn't mad, just "saddened by the unfortunate circumstances" and he'd be in touch soon to "figure something out". He was giving her a few weeks to get "settled" – which was code for grieve, she knew.

So that's just what she did.

Logan wasn't mad at Finn. Of course, they had an explosive argument. Logan swore and Finn yelled. A punch or two may have fallen (Finn's sunglasses didn't survive) and in the heat of the moment Logan kicked Finn out. But the two had made up before Finn could start packing.

At the end of the day, they both knew it wasn't Finn who Logan was mad at and they both knew Rory well enough to know that once she made up her mind about the rum, the boy, and being bulletproof all hope was lost.

Finn really was sorry, though. He was drunk and the nameless girl wasn't worth it. Not if it'd cost Logan and Rory becoming Logan-and-Rory.

On the first chilly Sunday night, Finn and Logan were in the movie room watching Top Gear, drinking beer and eating potato chips. Without dip. Because Rory had always insisted on dip, especially if she was watching a show about cars.

Logan caught the look in Finn's eye. "I'm not making dip."

Finn was grateful for the opening Logan provided, because he never talked about her. "Just call her. Or put a note in her stuff, which we've yet to mail...?"

"Don't touch her shit, Finn. The maid is taking care of it. And no notes."

"But mate…"

Logan shook his head, annoyed that Finn had to bring it up. "What is it they say? Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice shame on me?"

Finn took a swig of beer and shrugged. That sounded about right.

"I was fooled and I won't be fooled again." Logan drained his beer and with that closed the subject for good.

Finn thought that Logan would drown his sorrows (because it was obvious that he was hurting) in booze and hussies but instead he had jumped straight into work. Damage control at FTF. It was Westville who had approached him at the HPG offices last week saying what a shame it was that Miss Gilmore had to forfeit the rest of the Program.

Logan had nodded sympathetically and silently urged Westville to divulge more, which he did. Apparently, Rory Gilmore left the program because her grandfather was sick and she needed to be home. Westville chuckled too, as he let slip that the Gilmore family must be distraught to contact Mitchum Huntzberger personally about their family drama. Logan had let out an agreeable chuckle, but silently thanked Mitchum's cunning ways.

He did not understand Mitchum and Rory's relationship, but as long as he wasn't on the receiving end of an angry telephone call blaming him for this mess it was fine by him.

And he gladly used the excuse conjured up by his dear old dad in Tuesday's class.

"It's unacceptable!" Emily said as she carefully buttered her toast. "I should've…but Richard said…and I listened!" Her tone had reached the pitch only dogs could hear, so she took a deep breath before speaking again. "Not any longer! That girl's place is at the DAR, in society. She's a Gilmore-Hayden for Pete's sake – our heiress should be involved!"

"Heiress, mom?" Lorelai raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "We are the Gilmore-Haydens, Mom. We make the rules."

She shot a side glance to Christopher, lobbying for some support, but he was concentrating on mixing the perfect amount of Tabasco with ketchup – the perfect dipping sauce for scrambled eggs.

"Oh, the DAR is so lovely," Shira sighed, "and we've got the holiday dances coming up and the debs in the spring…it'll be so much fun."

Lorelai pointed her fork at Shira. "Rory's had too much fun." She twisted her head to Chris, waiting for him to chime in, which he did eventually, with a weighty sigh.

"I don't know, Lore. Maybe it'll be good for her – "

"Good for her?"

"You know – some tradition, some structure," he pushed his eggs around on his plate, "those functions aren't entirely awful – we met at one, remember?"

His smile did nothing to convince Lorelai. "So you hope she's going to meet someone?"

"That would be splendid!" Lorelai and Chris both turned to observe the wistful smile on Shira's face – she'd give anything to relive her glory days.

"Oh stop it, Shira!" Mitchum rudely interrupted his wife's daydream. "Who's she going to meet? DuGrey?"

"Thank-you!" Lorelai exclaimed, but she found herself on the receiving end of one of Chris' looks. "As if Huntzberger is so much better."

Shira and Lorelai gasped, but Emily nodded in agreement.

"Chris, Rory said nothing happened between her and Logan…"

"…she was upset about the whole Paris trip falling through," Mitchum interjected. "Yes, Logan should not have mentioned it to her, but he – and I – thought the Board would select her. I've already spoken to Westville about his conduct."

"And how 'bout your son's conduct?" Emily asked, "It's obvious she's protecting that boy. She was living with him, Mitchum! If the girls at the Club new my granddaughter was living with Logan Huntzberger…"

"Oh, they'd curl up and just die, Mom," Lorelai shook her head in disgust. "Rory was sick, she told me that's how she ended up staying there. And she made friends with that homosexual Australian boy. It was all innocent!" She turned to Mitchum and he nodded – at least someone was backing her up.

"Emily," he tried again, "Rory is not cut out to be in the DAR. Richard said…"

And Rory sat there, Lorelai on her left, Mitchum on her right, quietly nursing a cup of bad coffee. She never understood how a restaurant that advertised a two-hundred dollar brunch had the audacity to serve substandard coffee.

The conversation – her fate being decided – really didn't interest her. She couldn't bring herself to expand on the situation – it was best to let everyone think that not winning the Paris trip caused her to go a little crazy and it was easier to explain that she was having fun with Finn and that's why she stayed at Logan's. She alluded to him being gay so her mother wouldn't pry.

Maybe she was protecting Logan. She couldn't imagine him needing protection, but he had mentioned something about rules to take into consideration and him being fond of his trust. Rory wouldn't put it past Mitchum to have established a certain set of rules for his son.

And even if there weren't any rules, she still wanted to protect him from the Gilmore's wrath, from angry Mitchum phone calls. She'd done enough to hurt him, he didn't need that too.

Rory cast her eyes to her plate. Her scrambled eggs were gone and she'd eaten a chocolate muffin, too. Her appetite was coming back and she was dressed, out of bed and hadn't cried for 48 hours. That had to count for something, too, right?

Rory had been gone for three weeks and Logan faked a smile as he presented Katie Nolan with the grand prize – the 1-year contract at HPG. The Nolans were wealthy Irish and Katie was quiet but smart, Rory-smart, and went through the program without much notice, but without much drama, very un-Rory-like. She was the underdog.

Did she deserve to win? Maybe, Logan thought as the girl graciously started on her acceptance speech. He spotted a dejected looking Nicholas and Gemma in the crowd, him wearing last year's Ralph Lauren with a slightly too-long tie, and her in Vera Wang for H&M. Rory was right about that – they'd always be "last year". If they had known that, he realized, they wouldn't look so put out.

For a brief moment, Logan wondered if Nick was upset about the way things turned out with Rory. Maybe he had harbored some hope that it was just a drunk rejection, that perhaps she'd come to her senses in the morning. What with a great guy like Nick throwing himself at her feet – how could she resist? And how tragic, then, that Rory just up and left without so much as a note to her friends.

His sympathy faded quickly as he realized that that would put him on the same level as Nicholas.

And, truthfully, he knew Rory was never really friends with Gemma or Nick. It turned out that Gemma wasn't much of a friend either. She had started a rumor that Rory left because she couldn't bear losing Paris to her. Once or twice, she pressed him for information, but he always directed the attention of the class back to the task at hand.

Of course, Gemma did not know how much truth was hidden in her lies.

Needless to say, Logan did not vote for either of them during the Board's final meeting.

Gemma caught him staring and she smiled. His mind flashed to her, naked, in his bed, body flexing at his touch, blond curls fanned out on the pillow, but he broke off his gaze. She wasn't what he wanted, no matter how hard he tried.

Logan stuck around for the celebratory cocktails. He made polite conversation and snacked on the obligatory salmon puffs. He made a game out of avoiding Westville – he had heard rumblings of a phone call between Westville and Mitchum, and he wanted no part in that.

After the party, Logan should've gone home, but instead he crossed town, popped by a liquor store, and wasted his rum-and-coke buzz on work.

Her London boxes arrived that morning. It'd taken them long enough – six weeks! Rory didn't want to analyze what that meant, but she did anyway. Maybe he had kept her stuff because he couldn't part with it. Or maybe he just really wanted to hurt her, as if missing her stuff would cause that.

It didn't matter; she'd never open the boxes. She had bought new everything because she did not want to be reminded of London (or him).

That night, plagued by insomnia, she wondered if she should open them. Maybe he had put something in there for her, or maybe Finn had. Maybe Finn packed the boxes?

She mulled over the possibilities until she couldn't take it anymore. At 2:30 a.m. she snuck out of her room, down the hall and down the stairs to the kitchen where she located a box cutter and by 2:45, she was back in bed crying.

The first box contained nothing but her LV-roller bag. The contents was unchanged, the scarf she'd tied around the handle still held its bow. It was a relic – the only remains of her almost-relationship. The rest of the boxes contained the rest of her items. Clothes, coats, shoes, make-up. A pillow. A bunch of books. A bathrobe. A few picture frames. Her jewelry box. A couple of notebooks and a Justin Bieber CD (a gag gift from Finn). But all the bits and pieces of her London life were packed in a neat and impersonal way. Housekeeper-style.

The last box was the hardest, that one was the one that sent her back to bed. It was her coffee maker. It wouldn't work here, but he had returned it to her anyway (of course, he had, he didn't drink the stuff) and a manila envelope. She didn't have to open it; it was the envelope she used to save Logan's notes. Not neat and definitely not impersonal, but not anymore.

Rory tried her best to get the brown packing tape to stick to the box again, but it wouldn't. She started pressing it down with urgency, but it popped right back open. Tears heralded her defeat and she dragged herself back to bed. Suddenly six weeks seems like an incredibly short time for everything to have changed so much, so irrevocably.

That night, Rory stopped the analyzing, but switched to a more intense type of torture. She entered the world of could-have. She could've won FTF (instead of that homely Katie Nolan), she could've been starting her year at HPG after the holidays, she could've had him; could've been in his bed right now. She could've still been friends with Finn.

That hurt, too. Probably more than she initially realized. Lane and Dave were her friends, had always been her friends, but they were a package deal. Very Lane-and-Dave. And Lane-and-Dave were moving on. Engaged, in fact, something that happened while she was away, and moving on meant moving past teenage drama, and Rory was still very much involved in drama. What's more, Lane-and-Dave actually thought Chris and Emily were right about joining the DAR!

Finn would've mocked them and offered a glass of wine and a Cosmo magazine (or Marie Clare in a pinch) and they'd think of a way to escape.

She still had Finn's number in her London phone (she kept it on just in case). Theoretically, Rory could contact him. Logan, she reasoned, was out of this. This was between her and Finn. They were friends, best friends. So, without thinking, she texted him. Her phone buzzed a minute later, an angry message letting her know that it wasn't Finn – didn't even know a bloody Finn! – and what kind of idiot texts at 7:30 in the morning?

A fresh round of tears welled up in her eyes. Finn changed numbers. Maybe that girl Finn had been with that night turned out to be psycho and he had to change numbers because she kept calling. Her optimistic side liked that idea, but her pessimistic side knew better. Finn took on new number out of loyalty to Logan. Logan cut all ties, so Finn would cut ties, too. Bros before hoes and that all.

It was sad that he was her only friend and sadder still that she lost him to a guy she never really had.

The holidays never really meant much to Logan. Normally, he and Finn and Colin and Stephanie would do their best to escape. Skiing in the Alps, diving in the Caribbean. It didn't matter, as long as they were away for the holidays.

This year; however, Colin was traveling to California and he wasn't sure he'd be back. It depended on Stephanie's reaction when she saw the sparkly, giant diamond he'd purchased. Colin understood that Logan declined Colin's invitation to spend the last two weeks of December at some Californian vineyard. And Finn, being Finn, stuck by Logan.

They spent Christmas Eve eating pizza and drinking beer and watching a BBC special. Finn tried to break out the wine, but Logan scrunched up his nose and Finn relented to beer. At least the Heineken had a Santa Clause decoration – it was the only bit of holiday cheer in the whole house.

Logan did his best at monosyllable answers to Finn's questions, so there was also no talking on Christmas Eve. Instead, Finn spent the night fantasizing if Fern Cotton would look good as a red head and Logan's thoughts turned to the handful of Christmas' he spent with his family in Hartford.

Watching bad TV, drinking overpriced beer, and eating cold pizza sounded pretty damn good compared to his mother's dry turkey and his father's maleficent stare. He shook his head at the thought of him spending this Christmas with them.

Best case scenario he'd eat dry turkey and listen to his mother purr on about happenings at the Club and he'd get a lecture from his Dad, probably accompanied by a shout or two and a handful of not-so-subtle reminders of him being a disgrace to the family.

Worst case, ol' Mitch disowned him. It was a possibility since he hadn't heard from his dad since their business in Aberdeen. He could've disowned him; technically, he'd broken the rules. How ever twisted and crazy it was, but he played a role in her fucking up the FTF-thing. Mitchum didn't care about love or trust or how Logan tried to play by the rules, but Mitchum wouldn't believe him.

Disowned.

Goodbye years of life spent at HPG.

Goodbye trust fund.

But then Logan remembered his bank statement and the interest he'd received this month. He hadn't been disowned and no news from Mitchum was good news.

In his thoughts, the worst case changed to the Huntzbergers inviting the Gilmores to Christmas dinner. Logan imagined the awkwardness that would ensue. He chuckled a little darkly as he pictured Mitchum's expression.

Would he follow his Dad's oh-so-brilliant excuse and they'd all pretend the whole thing had never happened? Or would he get a proverbial ass-whopping right in front of the family and her? And what about her? Would Rory be shocked, or maybe she'd be happy and relieved? Maybe she'd run. She seemed to be pretty good at that. Maybe she would yell. Yelling would be okay, he imagined, because it meant that she cared. Or something. Finn had babbled too much tonight about sensitive crap like that.

Christopher might yell. Lorelai and Emily would definitely yell. No, it was best that he'd stayed home. Alone. Except he never really was – not with thoughts of her weighing him down all the damn time.

Rory had made it through all of the DAR pre-holiday functions without a glass of champagne, gin-and-tonic or white wine. It was a conscious decision to stay away from the alcoholic beverages; she didn't think she was an alcoholic, but alcohol had certainly fueled a bunch of regrettable decisions, so maybe it was best to stay away.

But tonight, at the first little "get together" of the New Year, she felt like she needed a drink. A beer, a shot of tequila, a rum-and-coke, even. She was that desperate.

It was hard to imagine that the Daughters of the American revolution had ever been anyone's daughter. They were all so old.

Except for the new girls – she was a new girl – together with Rosemary, Madeline, Francine, all the girls she'd gone to high school with and despised.

Of course, those girls had gone to college, came back married and had nothing better to do than make babies and plan charity events.

And it was Rosie – junior treasurer – who was taking forever and a day to go through this year's budget. Rory was distracted by Rosemary's tweed jacket and bob-cut and thought of Finn. This was the spunky, spicy girl he followed across Europe and then to the US because he loved her, oh-so-much? This was the girl he let crush his heart? Oh, if only he could see her now. He was much better off sleeping his way through London than being tied down to this boring broad.

Eventually, the meeting adjourned and the ladies – though Rory used that term lightly considering she'd known what the girls did in high school – enjoyed a social cup of tea.

"Coffee?" Rory inquired, but Emily shot her down.

"Coffee is a morning beverage, young lady," Emily reprimanded, "tea is served in the afternoon."

"Oh." Rory dully took her tea cup and saucer from her grandmother and picked a chocolate chip cookie from the plate. Emily's regime was strict, but at least she had good cookies.

"Rory dear, it's so lovely to have you join the DAR," Rosie said after she was finished dumping half the sugar bowl in her tiny cup. Rory's eyebrows shot up unimpressed – as if using a pound of sugar per cup was ladylike – and pulled her lips into a disbelieving grin.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, obviously, you had every right to go off and have European adventures, but at the end of the day women of our standing belong in the DAR, wouldn't you agree Constance?"

Rory's looked next to her and saw Constance, grey hair twisted in a sharp bun, glasses pushed to the tip of her nose, eyes droopy from a too-long meeting. Constance mumbled and bit into another cookie.

"Of course," Rosie carried on, "it would be lovely if your mother would join as well. Oh Emily, three Gilmore women in one organization – Hartford wouldn't know what to do with itself."

A wicked grin played at Emily's lips. "I suppose." But Rory was offended, "Rosie, I'm sorry, but my mother is a very busy woman."

"With her little inn…"

"It's not a little inn; it's one of the best inns on the East Coast. And she invested a whole lot of money, so she should be there protecting her investment." Rory noticed her voice had risen an octave and Rosemary's eyes popped open with mild excitement. She'd knew firsthand what happened when Rory Gilmore was mad.

She squinted a bit and a fake-placid smile graced her lips. "I didn't know you were so passionate about your mother's business. Maybe you should try your hand at that instead of newspapers?"

Rory's nostrils flared but before the thing could escalate, Emily handed her another cookie. "Let's not talk about business, ladies, not when the spring collection is about to hit Barney's."

Rory made her way through a dozen chocolate chip cookies and four cups of tea and didn't say a word as the ladies discussed everything from stilettos to sparkly hair clips. And they weren't letting up. It was infuriating.

"We're going to need more cookies," Constance whispered in her ear. The ladies were now discussing what was more "classic" a LBD or a trench-coat. "It doesn't matter," Constance continued, "a dress is a dress and a coat is a coat."

Rory smiled. The old bat had a point. "You're a young, pretty thing. You can escape – just don't forget about me."

She stifled a laugh. "I can't, my grandmother would have a fit." Rory grabbed another cookie and broke it in two, offering Constance the other half.

"At least the cookies are fresh," Constance chewed slowly and Rory thought that her five minutes of fun were up, but the soft old voice returned. "I should've listened to my grandson. He's in California and he's not coming back."

"California?" Rory was intrigued.

"His girl went there for school and he followed. Crazy boy proposed at Christmas and they were so excited they got married in Vegas the next day."

"Wow." A faint smile played at her lips. That did sound romantic.

"That's a McCrea for you…" Constance shook her head, "it can take a long time to make up a McCrea mind, but once it's made up – good luck changing it."

Rory didn't hear the last part , she was focused on McCrea. "Colin's married?"

"You know my grandson?"

"Um." Rory almost blushed at the thought of her curled up on Logan's couch listening to all of his and Finn's stories about the things those three had gotten into. But did she know him? No. "I've heard of him. We've got some similar friends…." And she hoped that the old bird wouldn't pry.

"You weren't one of his conquests, were you?" she peered over her glasses and inspected her.

"No, I was not."

"Too bad. I bet you would've had enough sense to get married with your family in attendance before skipping town." There was just a hint of bitterness in her tone. "And besides, you'd make a great granddaughter in law."

Rory could cry. Not because she was stuck in the hell that was the DAR, but because Colin's grandmother thought she'd make a great granddaughter-in-law. If only she knew, but Rory couldn't break the old woman's heart.

Grandma McCrea's words came back to haunt her that night. Rory had tried her hardest to forget her life in London, forget Logan, forget Finn, forget writing, just forget it all. But she couldn't. How she managed to avoid Logan in her youth was just a coincidence.

In fact, their circles were so intertwined they should've met a thousand times. Finn was at her "Summer Never Dies" party as a sixteen year old. She'd known Constance McCrea from girlhood, she'd just never placed that woman as Colin's grandmother.

She could've met Logan before Tristan. If Mitchum hadn't sent Logan away to London, they would've grown up together. Maybe it would've been them eloping in Vegas and giving Hartford the finger by moving to California?

Rory let go of the could've, would've, should'ves and focused on reality. For all of her running, Logan would catch up with her one of these days; it was unavoidable.

And so, that night she found herself kneeling beside her London boxes once more. She might not wear the clothes, maybe she'd donate them or something, or save a few piece, it didn't matter. What mattered was that she was unpacking the boxes tonight. She cleaned them out, one by one, faint stabs of pain mixed with small, but happy, smiles and it was healing. At the last box, another set of words came back to her. Logan's voice, yelling: "You like being the victim; you let yourself be the victim."

The impact of those words in the middle of the night hit her hard and her breathing began to intensify, but she wouldn't cry. Not tonight, because Logan was right. Even now, she was still playing the victim.

Logan didn't call her, so she had to go out.

If Logan had shown her better that he loved her, she wouldn't have been stressed out.

If Tristan never cheated, she wouldn't have been so insecure in the first place.

And then she wouldn't be in the DAR today.

She was the victim in this.

"Shut up," she said to the dark room. "Shut up." But her thoughts shifted.

If I had been honest with Logan from the start, he would've understood where I was coming from.

If I hadn't placed Tristan on a fucking pedestal I would've been better prepared for his (our? my?) downfall.

If I hadn't been so dead-set on being a bitch to Nicholas, I wouldn't have gone out that night.

If I had been honest to Mitchum and Emily, and Lorelai and Christopher, I wouldn't have let them bully me into the DAR.

In the crystal clear of the night, it became clear that it was her fault. At least some of it. At least in direct relation to the DAR. Admittedly, the line between her and Logan was too blurred to determine who held blame – maybe they both did?

"Hello?" It was late and on any other night, Mitchum would've let

it ring, but tonight he didn't.

"''ello? Is this Mitchum Huntzberger I've have to the pleasure to speak to?"

"Yes, um...who is this?"

"Finn, Mitch. May I call you Mitch?"

"No."

"Right, Mitch, I'm calling to talk to you about your son."

"What?"

"You know him, I'm sure. Perfect blond hair, sparkly brown eyes. The problem is, Mitch, is that his eyes aren't shining any more."

"Are you drunk?"

"No, mate. I can go get my vodka if that'll make this conversation easier for you…"

"No, no, carry on."

"Right, so what I was saying was that Logan's lost the sparkle in his eyes and the reason for that is tragic. Although, really, most things related to love are tragic, wouldn't you agree?"

"Love?"

"I know, Mitch, I didn't think it was possible for Logan to fall in love. Be in love. That boy – he's so cynical. Cosmo recommends asking probing question about his youth to get him to open up, but his youth – well you know all about his youth."

"Is this Rothschild's son?"

"Yes, that's me."

"And you're telling me that Logan is in love – with you?"

"No! What? I mean, I'm not opposed to man-love, but that's not me and if Logan were…to add unrequited love to the mix….Oh, that'd be extra tragic and the boy's already had so much heartbreak."

"So you're not gay?"

"No, Mitch. What makes you think that?"

"Rory…"

"…probably just made up a story because we were all living together. Nothing sexual. But Rory got sick and Logan moved her in here because he didn't trust her to take tea instead of coffee and drink her chicken soup and take her aspirin every four hours. He sat next to her for hours making sure she was okay, asking if she needed a doctor –"

"My son?"

"We've established that, yes. Keep up. This is an international call - it ain't cheap and Logan will be home soon – so anyway. Rory didn't move out after that. Logan would've let her if she wanted to, because of the rules and he's a gentleman, but she was lonely in her place and she and I were hanging out in the apartment when Logan was away at work. Still nothing sexual, honest. Actually, Mitch, this whole story is about love, so don't worry. Anyway, like I was saying, Rory was falling in love with Logan. And he with her. But Logan… he doesn't understand the ladies like I do and he was rambling on about rules and proper behavior and all that."

"Rules?"

"You know, treat like sister and that. And even if you hadn't established such foolishness he still would've held off on pursuing the relationship."

"He would have?"

"Absolutely. Logan…he didn't want to tarnish her reputation. He wanted her to be a Future Writer on her own merit, without him meddling. So he watched her from afar and she watched him from afar. It was like The Notebook or some epic film like that. Have you ever seen The Notebook?"

"No, can't say that I have."

"Well, bring tissues when you do, because you'll need them. In any case, that's why Logan didn't speak up when that Gemma girl won the trip to Paris. Oh, he planned it for them, him and Rory, I mean. Not Gemma. A flight to Nice, a special dinner at some fancy restaurant. All for a kiss! The boy is a romantic."

"Apparently."

"Anyway, he never got the kiss, because he had to go to Paris with Gemma and Rory, well, you know Rory. She doesn't take rejection very well. Because of…"

"I know why."

"Right. So that's why she came home. Left me. And him."

"And?"

"Are you daft, Mitch? Logan is not well. I've never seen him like this. All mopey, all moody. Depressed. No life left in his eyes. Desperate-like. He's no fun. He's all work and no play and I know you're all about work, Mitch, I'm sure you've seen his hard work reflected in your profits or what have you, but Logan is dying of heartache. And I haven't talked to Rory because, well, there was an incident with my phone and lost her number, but I know Rory and I'm sure her grandmother has her roped into society functions against her will. And that's not Rory, Mitch. You know it's not Rory. And this mopey-ness isn't Logan."

The line went silent for a moment and just as Finn was about to continue his ramble, Mitchum let out a deep sigh.

"He loves her? Really loves her? Not infatuated, not hot-pink Hollywood? But real, honest to goodness love? "

"Yes."

"Interesting."

"And…?"

"Thanks for the call, Finn."

"You're welcome, Mitch. And…"

"What is it Finn?"

"Thanks for the bailout in Australia – after the skate rink."

"No problem, Finn."

Rory was standing in the Huntzberger kitchen early the next morning.

"Geez, Rory!"

"I'm sorry I'm so early, Mitchum, but I wanted to talk to you before you left for the office," she explained, helping herself to another cup of coffee.

Mitchum blinked a few times, before making his way over to the fridge and pulling out an icy cold Coke.

Like father, like son.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Mitchum asked, his voice laced with tired tones.

Rory sought his gaze and kept it. "I wasn't entirely honest about what happened in London."

Mitchum nodded and his lips pulled into a smirk. "I know."

"You know?"

"I'm Mitchum Huntzberger, aren't I? The know it all?" Mitchum chuckled at Rory's confused expression, before he turned serious. "Your friend Finn called. He assured me, by the way, that he is very much attracted to the ladies, despite his obsession with Cosmopolitan Magazine."

Rory steadied herself at the counter. Finn called Mitchum? To talk about….oh god, the things Finn might have said. She granted Mitchum a small smile. "That sounds like Finn."

"Quite a character," Mitchum agreed again. And then, unexpectedly, a comforting smile. "So. Love."

Rory fixed her gaze past Mitchum, she was now fixated on the fridge. "Did Finn say that?"

"He would've said more, but I'd heard enough."

Rory blinked a few times, wishing she'd been on the line to witness that conversation. "Whatever he said, it's not true."

"What about Nice?"

Rory swallowed hard. "That may be true. But whatever he said about love isn't true."

"Really?" Mitchum was intrigued. He'd seen Rory grow up, all through the Tristan drama and the boy trouble that followed and he'd never seen her look at him like that. How her whole face flooded in pain and regret at the mention of Logan. It was love. "How do you know?"

"Because…" Rory thought she should try to deny that there was every any kind of love, but she didn't. She turned a new page, right? No more victim. "If I had loved Logan I wouldn't have done the things I did."

"Things?" Mitchum probed gently.

"Things I would've done in high school."

Mitchum pressed his index fingers together and held them up to his nose. "Ah. I see. It certainly would've been easier if Logan had seduced you and kicked you to the curb…"

"Yeah," Rory nodded, before meeting his gaze again, "Mitchum, don't be mad at Logan. Don't do anything – don't yell at him, don't take away his trust, or fire him…it was all me, not him."

"I see," Mitchum said. If he was surprised by her outburst/plea he didn't let on. And Rory knew that if Mitchum was going to "get mad" at Logan, he would do so anyway, regardless of her opinion. But still, he credited her for sticking up for his son – despite the fact that she wasn't in love.

Apparently, it whole thing was more serious and more complicated than he thought. He'd know for sure this afternoon. "Should I let him know that?"

"What?"

"I'm flying out to London at noon," Mitchum told her. "Quarterly meetings so I'm sure I'll see Logan."

For a moment she thought he was going to invite her along, but he just looked at her, waiting for her answer. "Oh, wow. I forgot about the meetings. You'll see Katie Nolan, too?"

"Managers at the quarterly, not writers," Mitchum reminded her gently.

"Oh, right. Must be all those DAR meetings…making me forgetful."

"Sounds about right," he grinned. "So, no messages?"

His eyes dropped to the floor where a case of Bacardi Gold stood at her feet. "I was going to mail that this afternoon," Rory explained, "Maybe you could give it to him?"

"Sure." Mitchum didn't want to ask, but did anyway, "any particular reason?"

"Just tell him that'll cover what he needs to have replaced," she shot him a look so he didn't ask anymore and she frowned. "And tell him I'm sorry. For everything."

Finn to the rescue! And maybe Mitchum too? And he won't go all warm-and-fuzzy on Logan, but deep down he has his son's best interest at heart!

And I think I broke 100 000 words with this update! How did that happen?

Review if you are proud of Rory for owning up to her issues and if you think Logan will remain mope-y for a while.