Eek! I never meant to go this long without updating. I'm guess I'm still trying to figure out balancing working full-time, hanging out with friends, growing up, and still find time to write.

I still love it and I absolutely plan to continue, it's just going to take a while I guess. Hope you'll stick with me?

Refresher: Logan and Rory are still not together and working together for Mitchum's New Initiatives Project is not making things any better. Rory's found a new friend in Aubrey, who, in turn, is interested in Finn. The four of them were invited to some swanky society fundraiser.

Disclaimer: I don't own GG.

A dress, a black one probably.

What started out as a flippantly made statement, just something to curb Aubrey's enthusiasm about the Metropolitan Museum of Art's fundraiser, had turned into something so much bigger than some chiffon fabric and a designer name.

It was at this event, in this dress, that Rory would make her grand return onto the North-East Coast's social scene. The dress would have to convey that she was back to being Lorelai Leigh Gilmore-Hayden, hyphened and all, heiress, the queen bee of Hartford, better, and that whatever happened in London was better left in London.

She wanted – needed – this dress to be captured on paparazzi cameras and be splashed across the gossip columns to drive home that sentiment. She needed to show people (maybe even he-who-must-not-be-named? And definitely all of the gossips in Hartford) that she was ok. Better than ok, even, and that she was serious about her work at HPG and, obviously, about the charity. Whatever charity it was.

Of course, Aubrey's dress needed to say something, too. It couldn't be a show-stopping, over the top number – it'd be rude to upstage her North-East Coast peers – but it definitely needed to show that she was making her mark on this part of society, with the queen bee backing her up.

Ever surface in Aubrey's apartment was covered by vetoed dresses. A one-shouldered organza number by Marchesa cast aside (the ruffled neck was too much!) on the floor, next to a 1930s-inspired flapper dress (the layers of silk wrinkled too easily), and a black shift Ralph Lauren (seriously?). The heaps of chiffon, silk, and satin were almost too much to bear, but eventually the girls managed to find their perfect dresses.

The ocean blue of Aubrey's strapless silk chiffon J. Crew dress offset her copper ringlets perfectly. It was light and fun, with a swingy skirt and a bow tying around the waist, but modest enough to leave the right impression with the in-crowd. Her shoes - gorgeous lace Badgley Mischka pumps – were subtle, yet sexy.

The Loubatins were reserved for Rory. Sophisticated four-inch booties, dramatic crepe ruched across the top. Sexy, and in no way subtle, these booties were clearly made for marking territory. Her Tasdashi Shoji dress, by comparison, was less of a statement maker, with its boat-neck and knee-length, but the deep plum color, the crinkled silk chiffon, with a tight bodice and full, fluttery skirt, was classically beautiful. Chic. Not something to mess with.

"You look…" Aubrey's green eyes gave Rory a quick once over, "…absolutely gorgeous," she said, her lips pulling into a smile.

"Thanks, Aubrey, you look amazing, too," Rory quickly returned the compliment, "Pedro definitely knows his way around a blow dryer," she gestured at Aubrey's perfect 'do.

"Well, only the best for Daddy's girl," Aubrey laughed and then turned serious. "I do look alright, right?"

"Of course. You've seen yourself in the mirror, right?"

"I know, silly, but this isn't a party like I know. Do I look alright for the New York crowd?"

Rory nodded, but shrugged at the same time. What the hell did she know about parties? Her MO had always been to get drunk as quick as possible and then hightail it out of there. Emily was responsible for her look, her hair, her paparazzi smile. Honestly, Rory still didn't understand why this was all so appealing to Aubrey.

"Tell it to me straight, Rory. I'm serious. I've got butterflies." She put her hand over her stomach to emphasis the point.

"You look great," Rory said again, "and I've got butterflies, too." Aubrey breathed a sigh of relief, while Rory rolled her eyes. It was easy to say that her butterflies were down to the pressures of her grand return to the social scene; much harder to admit they were down to a boy, getting ready across town, probably donning a Hugo Boss suit.

"Well, that is one particularly effeminate male." Logan looked up from his place on the couch to find Finn casually leaning in the doorway. "I mean, look at that fellow sashay down the runway. It's quite impressive! What show is this, mate?"

"A dumb one." Annoyed, Logan rolled his eyes and switched off the TV. "How come you're dressed?"

"Because it's seven thirty, the car will be here in fifteen minutes. So, the more appropriate question is, how come you are not?"

Logan looked down and plucked at his grey sweats. "What? No good?"

Finn's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "This is your first stateside social event. Now, I don't care if you end up on the worst dressed list, but I will be standing next o you, mate. And Finn Rothschild has never been on a worst dressed list…"

"You take those things way too seriously," Logan said sarcastically, but he couldn't help the left side of his mouth twitching upwards. He had to admit that Finn looked impeccable in his grey Armani suit. He sighed once more for effect as he pushed himself off the couch. "I can't believe you are forcing me to go to this shindig."

"Technically, it's not me who is making you go. Remember who arranged the car service for tonight…"

"Compliments of good ol' Mitch," Logan nodded, but his pressing look caused Finn to confess. "I will admit that I am looking forward to the event. It's been a while since we've been to a good old-fashion fundraiser."

"It's not like it's going to be any different from the other ones," Logan said, "It's the same people, the same food, the same drinks, just different venues."

Finn wisely ignored Logan's cynical views on society events. "Just wear the Hugo Boss suit, alright?"

The Met knew how to put on a classy, sophisticated affair. A small orchestra set the tone and filled the ball room with the warm, rich sounds of cellos, delicate flute tones and violins, for a dramatic touch.

Rory was just thankful that the music muted some of the gossip. Obviously, there were a lot of people here; anyone who thought to be anyone. And they all had their eyes on her, observing, commenting, and forming opinions on her dress, her shoes, her hair, her life, and her new best friend.

Aubrey hadn't left Rory's side since their fashionably late (but not as late as someone else, she noted) arrival. There was a subdued silence between them; each girl too caught up in the moment to make casual conversation.

Aubrey looked like a little girl, a child-like, enthusiastic grin on her face and the reflection of the chandeliers sparkled in her eyes. Her perfectly manicured hand was wrapped around the stem of her wineglass, but the wine remained untouched. Every so often, Rory would feel Aubrey's eyes on her and all the excitement and hope she's see in them, caught her off-guard.

How could Aubrey like these things so much? Didn't she understand that it was all just a game, a show? These people were fake. They may say that her red hair was gorgeous and that her Southern drawl was enchanting, but that it'd be retold in tomorrow's papers as grotesque and annoying.

And yet, Rory was a little envious of this blind optimism her new friend possessed. "Oh, Rory," Aubrey gushed, "I'm having so much fun!"

"Yeah," Rory sighed deeply, before nipping at her tonic-without-gin. "It's not bad." And in truth, it wasn't. She'd spotted Lane and Dave, caught up quickly with Mrs. McCrea, and chatted with her parents, but the night was young and she couldn't help her thoughts from going to a certain Huntzberger.

She had seen Mitchum talking to some guy she couldn't quite place, but knew was an investment banker, and if Mitchum was here, Logan would have to be.

Suddenly, Aubrey let out an awestruck sigh. "Finn's here."

Rory's eyes shot up and she saw Finn confidently stride into the room. Yeah, Finn looked nice in his grey suit, but Rory's gaze was drawn to Logan. Classic black, crisp white shirt, shiny black tie. He looked poised, despite the attention he was drawing. Rory wasn't blind to the approving looks the women in the room were giving him.

He wasn't looking at any of them, though.

No, his eyes were fixed on her.

Dead-lock.

Eye-to-eye.

Her stomach tightened at his incessant gaze and suddenly parched, she brought her water to her lips and missed, sending a trickle of tonic water straight down the front of her dress.

An amused smirk flashed across his face, but it pissed off Rory. His mere presence was enough to throw her off completely, him in a tux turned her into a clumsy fool, completely incompetent, even making it difficult to have a simple drink of water.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Rory muttered as she pat off her dress with her hands.

"Oh honey," Aubrey frowned, "your dress is too pretty to swear like that." And with that, Aubrey took Rory by the hand and dragged her to the lady's room to freshen up.

"Where do you think the girls are off to, mate?" Finn asked, before popping a salmon puff into his mouth.

Logan ignored Finn's question as he loaded a few canapés on his cocktail plate. "I'm going to need a drink to go with this," he announced and set off for the bar.

Finn followed Logan's lead and decided not to press the matter. Although, he was finding it increasingly difficult to get the image of Aubrey's swishy skirt out of his mind.

Logan tried his best to distance himself from Rory. He so desperately wanted to escape her, but he couldn't. Not even in something as simple as watching TV. He couldn't just flip past America's Next Top Model, no, he had to keep watching. Keep thinking about that day when she was sick (how guilty he'd felt) and how Finn so casually suggested Rory moved in (he'd never felt that nervous and excited at the same time) and how fucked up it was now.

She was here, floating around the room in those shoes and that dress, practically ignoring him. Which should have been fine, because that's what they kind-of-sort-of agreed on, keeping it professional and all, but it was not. He could not do anything about his body tensing as her presence grew nearer, about the flutter in his stomach at her laugh above the orchestra, or how his eyes magically always found her in the crowd.

An hour and forty five minutes in, Rory was experiencing one of the most excruciatingly boring conversations ever. It was an older couple, he a banker turned art collector and she a housewife. No DAR credentials, but obviously involved with all sorts of charities. While Aubrey effortlessly kept the conversation going, jabbering on about Southern summers, New York city shopping, and her budding art collection, Rory focused on how much these ruched ankle booties made her feet hurt. Meditating on this particular type of pain was a lot better than analyzing what was hidden in Logan's eyes.

Desire? Lust? Or was that wishful thinking, considering the Hugo Boss? Maybe the looks were because he was sorry. Perhaps he wanted to apologize for imposing that stupid "strictly professional" rule. Or maybe it was a psychological game. Maybe all he wanted to do was break her spirit, to get even.

A waiter broke her analyzing with a tray of drinks, and for a brief moment she considered taking a glass of champagne or a G&T, but she opted for a sparkling water instead. For some reason, she did not want alcohol to cloud tonight's events.

"Water, huh? That seems unusual for you."

Rory's eyes flew to Logan's. He was next to her. Where the hell did he come from?

She furrowed her brows at his not-so-subtle dig but put on her best society smile. "Logan, Finn. So glad to see you were able to join us tonight."

Aubrey did little to hide her megawatt smile as she leaned in to embrace Logan, and then Finn, who definitely hugged longer than what was deemed appropriate. Deep pink patches flushed Aubrey's neck, but she ignored them as she introduced the boys to her conversation partners.

"Mr. and Mrs. Shannon, please allow me to introduce you to Mr. Logan Huntzberger and Finn Rothschild. They are part of the New Initiatives Planning Group I was telling you about?"

Rory watched as Logan introduced himself. Charming, but not as charming as he ought to be for such an event.

Finn's introduction made up for it, though. A handshake for him, a kiss on the hand for the missus, a joke, and his hand snaked around Aubrey's waist, pink blotches now covering her arms, as well.

The two made a cute couple. Rory couldn't help but note that his tie matched her dress perfectly and she knew that with Finn's optimistic attitude he'd attribute to that to something as silly as fate. And Aubrey, being Aubrey, would agree.

For a split-second, Rory hated them. They weren't "officially" anything yet - they'd had a week of lunch breaks to their name – and yet, there was something so undeniable about them. And they both made it look so easy. Aubrey's nervousness about the whole thing was made obvious by the blushing, but she ignored it, and leaned into Finn, whose arm fit perfectly, protectively, around Aubrey's waist. They looked comfortable, as if it'd been that way forever. And neither of them acted like this was a big deal, because they just carried on talking to Mr. and Mrs. Shannon about the next Rodin exhibit.

A flame of jealousy ignited from deep within her. In this moment, Finn and Aubrey visualized how it should've been for her and Logan and Logan just stood there, holding his tumbler of rum and coke, eyes on her.

Still.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice cracking, as she took a step back from the little group. "I'm just….I have to…" she made a vague gesture, towards the hallway.

"Do you want me to come?" Aubrey asked sweetly, though with concern in her eyes.

Rory shook her head, "No, no. I'm… you… stay. I'll be right back." She smiled quickly at Mr. and Mrs. Shannon and turned, not looking back at Finn or Logan.

Mr. Shannon, oblivious to the complicated relationship between the four, carried on with the topic at hand, but was cut off a few seconds later as Logan made his excuses.

The click-clack of red-heeled booties on the tiled floor was echoed in the hallway, but it was not loud enough to drown out the thump-thump-thump of her heart. She had no clue where she was going, but she knew she needed to get the hell out of there.

Seeing Logan everyday at work was complicated and caused serious emotional fluctuations, but it was manageable, but to see him here tonight, looking the way he did, being under the scrutiny of his gaze, with Finn and Aubrey's fairytale romance in her face, just underlined the distance between her and Logan, and highlighted – again – just how much she fucked it up.

"Rory!" his voice called out after her, but she didn't stop. Instead, she quickened her pace and fled into the cloak room.

It was a terrible place to hide-out, especially because Logan saw her go in there, but she needed a place to catch her breath. Her breathing had just barely returned to normal as he pushed down the door handle.

"Rory? You in here?" he asked, in a tone that was foreign to her. It was a mix of compassion, amusement, and bewilderment.

"Yeah," she nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. "I am."

He opened the door, stepped in, closed the door, and leaned back against, all in silence as she watched him with curious eyes. For the size of the Met, the cloak room was extremely small, or maybe it was L-shaped, and most of the coats were stored in the vertical part of the L and not in the horizontal part they were standing.

No matter. Logan was standing in front of her, so close all she had to do was extend her arm and she would be able to touch his chest. She silently stared at his chest, noting the rise and fall of it as he breathed.

"Are you…okay?" he asked.

No! Her mind screamed. How could she be? And how could he ask that? She clenched her jaw. "I'm fine. It was just, um, a little hot in there."

He nodded slowly, clearly not believing her, but also unsure how far he wanted to pursue this. He wasn't supposed to want to. After all, it was him who'd been hurt (although, he was pretty sure the score was evened somewhere along the way) and he who had imposed all sorts of silly rules and codes of conduct.

Yet, he hadn't been blind to the way Finn looked at Aubrey and the way Aubrey looked at him. He was pretty sure that at one point in time, he'd looked at Rory like that. And he knew Rory had looked at him that way.

That was something, right?

"Are you sure?"

She scoffed at this out-of-place remark. "Yeah, I'm sure," she bit at him sarcastically, "Just go back to the party," and she gestured for him to leave.

He inhaled deeply, "Rory…"

Her eyes met his for a brief moment – for the millionth time - and her tough-girl stance broke. "I see the way you look at me, Logan! You're not over it! And I want to be over it – need to be over it and I can't if you are looking at me like that!"

He swallowed the shame of being caught and lied, "I'm not…"

"You are!" she hurled at him, and then softer, "You are, Logan! God…your eyes, the follow me, Logan. All the time. And I need you to stop. If I'm going to get over this, I need you to stop," she said, almost pleading, her sorry eyes meeting his once more.

"Damn it, Rory!" he boomed, jumping to an upright position, "Do you think I want to look at you like this?" He took a step closer to her, really getting in her face, "Do you? Huh?"

Taken aback by his outburst, she couldn't speak and he continued on, pacing around the tiny space. "Don't you think I'd just rather not? Don't you think I try to force myself to look at someone else? There are 250 women in that damn ballroom I could look at and not feel anything. But no, I'm looking at you. It's always got to be you! You are the one that reminds me I'm not in control, the one who unsettles me with one look. And that… can't you understand what it's like for me? I have to sit in that meeting room with you every day and act like nothing happened – "

"But you started that!" she screamed, but he ignored it. "…and know that nothing will ever happen."

He stopped his pacing and was now right in front of Rory. Her gaze dropped to his chest once again, which was rising and falling quickly; a direct result of his angry rant.

Thoughts clouded by his nearness to her, she reached up and put her flat palm against his chest. His shirt with crisp with starch, but still soft and she could feel the contour of his chest through the fabric. She felt him tense, but almost instantaneously, relax. He steadied himself by putting his left arm against the wall and he shut his eyes.

A few tense moments passed between them – Rory was sure his heart was beating as loud as hers – before he opened his eyes. She'd never noticed how many different hues made up his true eye color and she bit down on her lip.

Suggestive, maybe, or just nerves? He drew in a sharp breath, but didn't move. "Can happen," his voice was strained and hoarse and his breathing just intensified.

Rory nodded slowly, trying to focus on something other than his face, but she couldn't. Her hand went to his cheek and she brushed it slowly, almost comforting, like they'd be able to figure it out.

Logan sighed, dropping his head so it was just above her. She could feel his hot breath on her skin and instinctively she cocked her head to the side, bringer her face closer to his. There was maybe an inch or two between them and it took everything in her power not to jerk forward and kiss him.

His eyes glazed over, she was lost him them, any second now his lips would collide with hers, but they didn't.

"So…" his voice cracked, and he coughed, "to answer your question: do I want to look at you?"

Her eyes widened as the electricity of the moment left her body, and he pulled away from her. "No. In fact, I'd give everything to not look at you!"

He left, letting the door slam, and apparently, taking all the air in the room with him as well. His words were like a punch in the gut; she couldn't breathe and she couldn't stop the tears from falling and staining her pretty dress for the second time this evening.

Through blurred vision, she saw Aubrey and before she knew it, she was enveloped in a hug, embarrassed, angry tears falling from her eyes as the rest of her body shook violently.

"Oh honey, honey, honey" Aubrey drawled, "come on. I've called us a car, we're going home."

"But…the party….you…" Rory said through her tears.

"…need to be here with you. And that's where I am." Rory let out another sob – Aubrey was too nice to be a society girl. "You do like vanilla toffee crunch ice cream, right? Because that's all I have."

Thirty minutes later, Rory was installed on Aubrey's couch, showered and clad in a pair of purple flannel pajamas, holding a bowl of ice cream, a steaming mug of coffee besides her.

Aubrey was beside her, in Snoopy PJs and a fluffy white robe, warming her hands around a mug of vanilla coffee, an empty ice cream bowl besides her.

"I'm sorry I devoured my ice cream before you had the chance to take a bite. I just love ice cream."

"Oh," Rory shrugged, looking at the three enormous scoops in her bowl, "I'm not really hungry, I guess."

Aubrey cocked her head to the side, "Rory, honey, you've got to wallow. Whatever happened tonight, needs some ice cream and coffee to get over."

A tiny smile played at her lips. "I think it's going to have to be a lot more than ice cream and coffee."

"Because…?" Aubrey could tell that Rory was hesitant to divulge, so she apologized. "Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry – it's none of my business."

"No, no, it's ok. It's, um," she dragged her spoon across one of the scoops, "… complicated."

"Right…" Aubrey nodded understandingly, "…with a boy like him, how could it not be?"

A hallow sounding chuckle escaped her. "It's me. It's my fault."

Aubrey's perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Why would you say that?"

Rory looked at Aubrey in a way a mother might look at a young child who's made a mistake for the millionth time. What did bright-eyed, hopeful, optimistic, naïve Aubrey know about Rory-and-Logan?

"Oh, don't look at me like that," she scoffed, "I'm not naïve, Rory, you know I know about the DuGrey boy and all of the gossip. I don't hold it against you. Tristan DuGrey is an asshole…"

Rory interjected, "…but I did something much worse."

This tiny bit of information spiked Aubrey's interest and she fixed her gaze on Rory. "Like?"

"Doing body-shots off a Greek oil shipping heir and taking him back to Logan's place. And having Logan come home to find him in the morning. With me still drunk. Doing rum shots on his counter."

A moment of silence passed between them, Rory bit her lip waiting for Aubrey to pass judgment, but it never came. No shouting, no get-out, no shocked expressions. Instead, she nodded deeply. "That certainly complicates things."

"I'm on the other end of the spectrum, huh?" Rory chuckled wryly, "compared to you and Finn."

Aubrey let the comment slide. "He likes you, Rory," she said with a certain confidence in her tone. "I see it, he's hurt, but he's hurting you, too, so all of this…it's not entirely your fault. At least, not anymore. He'll come around."

"How do you know?"

"I just do," Aubrey shrugged, "It has to."

Rory nodded in semi-understanding, still envious of that kind of blind faith Aubrey had. Meanwhile, Aubrey's mind had turned to other things.

"So, what's it like?"

"What?" Rory asked, "living a real-life soap opera romance?"

A trail of pink blotches spread across her face, "Um, actually, I meant… you know…"

Rory's eyes widened at the implication. "Sex?" she squeaked, "With him?" and she couldn't stop the butterflies as she thought back to the almost-kiss in the cloakroom.

Aubrey looped a strand of hair around her index finger, "In general?"

"Oh." A moment of awkward silence passed between them. But the moment was enough, for both of them to feel Rory passing judgment. Rory remembered a vague sense of pressure from Tristan to take that step at sixteen, but at the same time, it seemed natural and she had wanted it. Kind of, sort of. For him. Whatever. "So, you've never….?"

"Nope," Aubrey shook her head and her curls danced around, "It's just that I'm a late bloomer and, you know, I think that is meant for my One True Love."

Rory nodded as if she understood and Aubrey let out a deep sigh, "So, things could get complicated for Finn and me."

"But Finn's a romantic," Rory said quickly, "he won't mind."

"It'll freak 'm out," Aubrey said, "he's been with, you know, so he'll want to…"

"Not until you're ready," Rory said with the same kind of confidence Aubrey had used before. She knew Finn, and she'd knew he'd not freak out on Aubrey and break her heart. And if he did, he'd have her to deal with. Odd, that she suddenly felt so protective of Aubrey.

"I've never…" Rory laughed at Aubrey's shocked expression, "I mean, I have, obviously, but not with Logan."

Aubrey leaned back on the couch and her lips pulled into a funny grin. "That's too bad."

Rory nodded deeply in agreement and spooned the last bit of ice cream into her mouth. "I know."