AN: So sorry this has taken so long to get up. I worked a ton this month, combined with some pretty nasty writer's block. Hopefully I've worked through it now because we're getting to some good stuff after this chapter ;) Plus it's nice long chapter. So enjoy.

May 2005

Rory had managed to snag her favorite couch in her favorite dining hall. And it was just the right level of busy to keep her in prime concentration mode. Plus having the afternoon unexpectedly off to fit some extra studying in was a relief. Not that she hadn't been looking forward to Sookie's baby shower—she had—but she still had one more final tomorrow morning and another on Monday. Every extra minute of studying was invaluable. Even the tiniest change in her cumulative GPA could mean the difference between getting into grad school or getting a prestigious fellowship versus moving back home with her Mom to work at the Stars Hollow Gazette writing Old Man Ketchum's obituary.

Of course, despite the prime study environment, she was still finding herself distracted. Every time she started to delve into the effeminating effects of certain books and their influence on gender norms and genre, her mind would flash back to very disturbing images of Sookie shooting a baby out from between her legs. Why did childbirth have to be so graphic?

Her phone rang and with barely a glance, she picked it up and flipped it open, knowing automatically who was on the other end of the line. "Hey, how's it going?"

"Oh, fine," her mother informed her. "She's all checked in, breathing normally, contracting painfully. The cursing should start any time now, everything's as it should be." Well didn't that sound just lovely. But as gross and disturbing as the thought of labor was, Rory supposed that was just the natural way of things. The baby had to enter the world somehow. She'd just prefer if she didn't have to know about it.

"Good. I mean, that was weird, wasn't it? She was like, what, a week and a half early?" She hadn't been expecting Sookie to go into labor just as her baby shower was supposed to start. That had not been an emotional trauma she needed in the middle of finals.

"Yeah, those little buggers tend to come when they want to come."

"I still can't get 'coming round the mountain' out of my mind. It's like one of those phrases, like 'drop it like it's hot' that I really wish I'd never heard." Seriously. She would never again be able to hear that saying without cringing. It was just descriptive enough to permanently implant itself in her head, and just vague enough to bring up all sorts of questions she couldn't stop her mind from contemplating. Like what mountain? It was really more of a valley down there. Unless the knees were the mountains. But did the baby really come around them so much as between them? Oh god, her brain was doing it again.

"Hey, um...you're doing everything you need to do in that area, right?"

"What area?"

"Um, protection, to prevent something from coming round the mountain," Lorelai clarified.

"I hope so!" Rory cringed. Was her mother seriously asking her this? This was not what she needed to be talking about right now—or ever for that matter. Sure, she had a pretty open relationship with her Mom, but no matter how close they were, there were some things that were just not topics that needed to be discussed. She was a responsible adult, she could handle those matters herself.

"Hope? This is not an area where hope is good enough," Lorelai scolded.

"I think I have it covered." The words hadn't even finished forming before Rory was predicting her mother's cheeky reply… "And that wasn't meant to be a euphemism," she quickly added before Lorelai could go there.

"Okay, 'think' is not good enough either." This really wasn't the direction Rory had been expecting this conversation to go in. Her mom seemed seriously perturbed. What was her deal? "What kind of birth control do you use?"

"Um…" Rory glanced nervously around the crowded room. "I'm in the dining hall!" she replied in a harsh whisper.

"That was not my question."

She squirmed uncomfortably, twiddling with the pencil in her hand. "People are, like, three feet away from me."

"Listen, all I'm saying is you cannot leave it up to the guy, okay? They are not reliable."

Rory looked around again. She could practically feel all eyes on her even though she knew logically that no one around her knew what she was talking about—nor did they likely care, what with their own looming finals occupying all their mental capacity. "I don't leave it up to the guy!" Although to be fair, Logan was more anal about birth control than she was. She knew the way families like his were—the narrative that women only wanted them for their money and would try to 'lock it down' with a pregnancy. The closest Logan probably go to a heart to heart with his father was a lecture on the importance of birth control. Not to mention the multitude of partners he used to have—not that she wanted to think about that. Anyway, the point was, she was on the pill. And she and Logan always used condoms. She wasn't taking any chances.

"They get into this state, you know? Primordial. It's all very exciting, but so is eating a gallon of pudding, and believe me, you are going to regret that later. I use that as an example because I know you like pudding."

Geez, her mom was seriously going off the rails, even for Lorelai Gilmore. In times like this, it was best not to indulge her rants, but rather just to go into appeasement mode. "Okay," Rory nodded succinctly.

"You have got to figure, if he shoots, he scores. I mean, look around you. There are babies popping out all over the place."

"You are in a maternity ward! You've got a skewed sample there." Rory knew unplanned pregnancy was a triggering topic for her mother, but she hadn't expected the birth of Sookie and Jackson's very planned child to set her off like this.

"So you're caught up on the subject?" Lorelai asked for confirmation.

"You've caught me up," Rory assured her. "Society has caught me up. The health channel on cable has caught me up. Miss Driscoll, the sad spinster gym teacher at Stars Hollow High has caught me up…" Rory may not like to talk about sex, but that didn't mean she was ignorant on the matter. She knew what she was doing and she knew how to protect herself.

"Miss Driscoll. Right, like she would ever need birth control." Rory could almost see her mother's eye roll.

"I'm caught up. Honest."

"Okay. Good," Lorelai conceded with a sigh. But Rory could tell there was more to her freak out than met the eye. And as much as she was loathe to risk continuing this current conversation, she needed to make sure everything was alright.

"Mom. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing."

"Mom!?" Rory wasn't stupid, and she wasn't a kid. 'I'm fine,' wasn't going to cut it and Lorelai knew that.

"I might be pregnant."

"Oh." She sure as hell hadn't been expecting that. She knew it wasn't impossible. She knew her Mom was still young. Hell, she had a two-year-old sibling as it was, so clearly, her parents' childbearing years were not all behind them. But still, the confession had taken her off guard and left her feeling completely off kilter. She sat up straight, letting out an audible exhale as she tried to find words. "So, that's where this is coming from," was all she managed to come up with.

"I blame Mom," Lorelai continued on flippantly, attempting to downplay the seriousness of the issue. "She never sat me down for the talk. And Miss Driscoll. She had her chance too, all those PTA meetings, and all she ever talked about was golf."

"How did this happen?" Rory asked somberly. "I mean, if it's true?"

"Luke and I came home from the magazine party the other night," Lorelai admitted, sounding serious again as she told the story. "We were a little loopy and it got - primordial. All roadblocks down. I mean, I was always beyond careful. The last time I had my roadblocks down was, I don't know, count how old you are to the day and add nine months."

"But, that doesn't mean…" It was one time. And clearly her mother took more precautions than just a condom. She was probably just freaking out over nothing.

"I just ate an apple." Or not.

"Uh oh."

"Yeah, and I liked it."

"Whoa." Rory was fairly certain she'd never seen her mother eat an apple in her life—at least one that wasn't part of a pie or a fritter, or at the very least covered in caramel sauce and served on a stick.

"My body is telling me something."

"Maybe it's not telling you what you think it is." It might still be nothing. Maybe it was just a good old fashioned nutritional deficiency. Maybe her mom was just low on fiber or Vitamin C. With Lorelai's usual diet of coffee, pancakes, and burgers, scurvy was really not that far out of the realm of possibility. "Maybe it's just telling you to better comply with the government's recommendations for fruit and vegetable intake. That's not just propaganda, you know."

"Maybe." Lorelai didn't sound convinced.

"And…" Rory started but then stopped.

"What?"

"Well, would it be so horrible?" Now that the initial shock had worn off, the truth was, Rory wasn't so sure it would be a bad thing. Her Mom was in a good place, professionally, financially, and in her relationship. Her and Luke were good together. And if a child came out of that relationship…well, there were worse things in the world. "I mean, it's Luke…" There was a pause, one very unlike her mother, that sent a wave of panic down her chest. "It is Luke?" she questioned pointedly.

"Yes, it's Luke!" Lorelai confirmed.

Rory let out a sigh of relief and relaxed back into the couch. The more she thought about it, the better it sounded. "Well, you guys are so close, it could be headed somewhere."

"I know, but not right now, hon," she insisted. "It's early for us. You know? I mean, my life is going really good; just the inn and this new potential opportunity, and, you know…I just got rid of you. It's the first time in my life I've gotten to feel like a single, grownup woman. Now is just not the right time."

"Okay. Well, maybe it's not true," Rory offered in solace. As much as the idea of a new little brother or sister was starting to excite her, this wasn't about what she wanted. If her Mom really wasn't ready for this, then that's what mattered and Rory would support her either way.

"Yeah…Maybe."

"But what are you going to do if it is?" she asked.

Lorelai let out a despondent sigh. "I could really use my magic eight ball about now." Another exhale. "I'm going to let you go, hon."

"Keep me posted," Rory told her sympathetically.

"Okay. Bye." They hung up and Rory turned her attention back to the notebook in her lap but at that moment, her stomach grumbled. She hadn't eaten lunch because she'd expected to eat at the baby shower, but then once Sookie had gone into labor, it had kind of ruined her appetite. She'd actually felt nauseous for most of the afternoon. But now, apparently, her stomach was ready for food again.

She stood up, placing her notebook on the couch to save her seat before heading up to the cafeteria line. The late afternoon hour meant that they were done serving lunch but not yet open for dinner. But there was an array of prepackage foods and snacks available. Rory perused the selection, trying to decide what to get. Brownie? Nah. Maybe some chips? No, she wasn't really in the mood for something salty at the moment. Maybe she should get something more substantial…like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? But dinner was only a couple hours away, and besides, even though the nausea had dissipated, something about the idea of a PB&J was making her stomach turn. And then she saw it, all bright and yellow and full of potassium-y goodness. Her hand went straight for it without a second thought. She peeled the banana, and took a bite, letting the sweet, creamy fruit engulf her tastebuds. It was amazing, perfectly ripe and delicious. She felt her eyes roll back in her head a bit as she swallowed it down.

She was about to indulge in another bite but she stopped suddenly, the banana halfway to her mouth. What was she doing? Eating a banana by choice? She examined the long, slightly curved object in her hands, half covered by the peel.

"I have it covered," she'd told her mother. But that wasn't entirely true. She was pretty sure there was one time when she hadn't had it covered. One time when there had been nothing but her birth control pill to protect her.

But still, she had had her birth control pill. She hadn't left it up to the guy. So she was fine—right? There was nothing to worry about.

So then why did this banana taste so damned good?

"Can I help you?" Rory jumped at the sound of the voice behind her. She turned to see a teenage boy in a blue and red polo shirt with a name tag that identified him as Dan.

"Umm, no, I'm alright." She shook her head nervously. She may have been in a random CVS in Norwalk, far from anyone she knew. And yet still, the idea of anyone seeing her buy a pregnancy test filled her with unadulterated terror, let alone some pimply high school boy who would probably laugh about it with his friends. "I'm just…browsing." She lifted her head up to scan the signs that hung above the aisles once more; make-up, oral hygiene, analgesics…

The kid shrugged and walked away. She bit her lip, waiting for him to disappear before she started looking again. She wandered down a few more aisles until she finally found a row designated 'Family Planning.' With an anxious sigh, and one more nervous glance around, she headed down the aisle, past the condoms that she really wished she'd had on her that night six weeks ago. Actually, she mostly wished she'd never gotten so drunk and desperate that she'd let herself fall back into bed with Dean. Not that they had used a bed so much as some dirty blankets on the floor of the converted shed in Old Man Twickham's backyard. She was so ashamed of herself.

She really hoped she was wrong about this. How was she going to live with herself knowing she'd let this happen—let alone the way it did? What was she going to tell Dean? Logan? Her mom? Her grandparents? She just needed to know the truth. She might be over-reacting for nothing. It was just a banana after all. It's not like bananas could detect HCG levels. So, she just needed to get this pregnancy test and find out for sure so she could finally breath again. Because as much as she'd spent all of last night and all of this morning during her final, trying to convince herself it was a false alarm, she couldn't let it go. So here she was—halfway between New Haven and Stamford, halfway between her college final and her newspaper internship, right in the middle of the life she was building for herself—buying a pregnancy test.

She was too busy, had too much going on, too many plans to be dealing with this right now. This was the first even semi-free moment she had to so much as purchase a test. And god only knew when she was going to have time to take it. Was she going to pee on a stick in the bathroom at the Stamford Eagle Gazette? At Friday night dinner with her grandmother? At Logan's sister's engagement party?

Whatever, she'd figure that out later. For now, she just needed to get the test, get that off her to-do list. She let her eyes glide over the four full shelves of pregnancy tests. How could there be so many options? Did she want pink and blue dots? Lines? Words?" She probably shouldn't go with generic. She glanced down at her watch and saw that she only had twenty minutes to get to work. Pushing down every over analyzing inclination she had, she grabbed the first one her hand encountered, swallowed deeply, and made her way to the check-out counter.

She set a note pad down on the table, fumbling with the pencil. Her mind was scattered, disorganized. She hated the feeling; Rory was an organizer. She was always orderly and together. She was always focused on the task in front of her. But today she couldn't focus on a thing. Not a thing except the blue cardboard box burning a hole in her purse in the break room. What if someone went in there looking for a pen or a TicTac or something? She didn't flaunt the fact that she was dating the boss' son, but it was hardly a secret either. If someone found that test, they would naturally jump to conclusions. They might tell someone. What if word made it back to Mitchum? She'd have to explain to her professional mentor slash boyfriend's father that, no he wasn't about to become a granddaddy, the maybe-baby was from someone other than his son despite the fact that they were in a committed relationship. He'd have to tell Logan about it and Rory's life may as well be over no matter how the test turned out. What had she been thinking buying that test on the way here of all places?

"I'm early?" Rory startled at the voice of the very man she'd just been thinking of.

"A little," she informed him, trying to keep her calm.

"It's not ten after twelve?"

"Oh, your watch must be fast." She glanced down at her own watch to confirm that she hadn't just lost track of time herself. It was quite possible with as distracted as she'd been.

"My wife probably set it ahead to get me home earlier." He set his briefcase down on the ground. "Never works." With his right hand now unencumbered, he stood back up to adjust his timepiece.

"It's eleven forty-nine," she informed him as she continued to lay the notepads and pencils out for the meeting.

"Charmless, isn't it?" Mitchum said once he was done fiddling with his watch.

Rory looked up, glancing around her. "The room?" It wasn't exactly Architectural Digest's next cover, but she hardly found it charmless. The room might just look like four beige walls, a whiteboard, and a generic conference table, but to Rory, it had all the charm in the world. This is where the news happened. This is where it all came together. This room represented everything she had ever wanted for her future. And now especially, with the ticking time bomb that awaited her in the break room; the tiny, little stick that had the potential to take it all away from her, she found this room absolutely enthralling. She wanted to spend every day for the rest of her life in this room.

"Needs plants," Mitchum grumbled.

"I can get plants," she replied with nervous enthusiasm. No matter what that test said, for now this was still her boss, one of the biggest names in the newspaper industry, and her boyfriend's father. She wanted to impress him. And plants really would spruce the place up a bit. Even good things could be made better.

"Ever been to the Tribune's offices? Chicago?" he asked her.

"No." Rory shook her head, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"A Cathedral," he gushed. "Go, if you ever get the chance." He reached out to place an encouraging hand on her arm. Rory felt a thrill of excitement go through her. If he wanted her to go there that was good, right? It meant he thought she was good enough to go there; that she belonged in a place like the Chicago Tribune.

"I will," she nodded eagerly. She would make it happen. She had to. This was the life she was meant for. Not a life of single motherhood. And she had choices, right? This was 2005, even if she was pregnant, it didn't mean she needed to stay that way. She had too much going for her to let this derail it all. She wasn't going to let this one thing put an end to all her dreams.

Her phone rang and she squirmed awkwardly, trying to ignore the trill emanating from her pocket. She didn't want to be seen taking a personal call right in front of Mitchum.

"Going to get that?"

She touched her hand to her temple in embarrassment. "Um, I'm not done here," she demurred.

"You've got ten minutes," he dismissed her protests as he settled himself into the seat at the head of the conference table. "I'm going to stay here, catch up on e-mails and make everyone really uncomfortable that I beat them here."

"That sounds good," she replied as she pulled the ringing cellphone out of her pocket and made her way out of the room. "Hey you!" she greeted her mother as she walked into the hallway.

"It's a girl."

"A girl?" Rory exclaimed. "Oh good, we need a girl!" Rory hugged her stomach, wondering if there was a girl growing inside of there. They didn't need that many girls. She pushed the unwanted thoughts down and tried to remain happy for Sookie and Jackson.

"Why do we need a girl?"

"I don't know," Rory answered. "Aren't there enough guys walking around out there?" Right now, men were not her favorite. Even the good ones could mess everything up.

"Well, it's a beautiful girl," Lorelai repeated. "Name to come, and Sookie's fine, Jackson's fine, everyone's fine," she informed her.

"Good."

"Fourteen hours of labor was the downside, but Sookie has the rest of her little girl's life to get back at her for that."

"As she should, I mean, you're still holding it over me."

"True," Lorelai agreed. "And there's more good news."

"What?"

"It was a false alarm," she informed her. "I'm not pregnant. The crisis has passed." A wave of relief Rory didn't know she was capable of, swept over her. It was a false alarm. And if it was a false alarm for Lorelai, surely it was for her too.

"Oh, Mom. Good," she gushed with more respite than was appropriate for her mother's good news. "I'm glad."

"You're glad?" Lorelai scoffed. "The sight of babies isn't freaking me out anymore, I can enjoy the maternity ward again."

"So what was with the apple?" Rory prodded.

"I don't know. But I just had a Moonpie and a Ding-Dong and washed it down with an Orange Crush in the cafeteria, so no desire for anything nutritional." She supposed it didn't really matter what caused it, just what didn't. If the reigning Lorelai Gilmore could eat an apple and have it mean nothing more than a desire for something nutritious, then surely Rory's banana craving was a fluke as well. Rory's eating habits weren't half as atrocious as her mother's.

"Oh, thank God. I'm glad, Mom." So glad. Rory could breathe again. Surely her mid-afternoon snack of Oreos and YooHoo was just moments away. She probably didn't even need to take that stupid test.

"Yeah. So, listen. How about we reschedule Sookie's baby shower?" Lorelai continued on.

"How? It's too late."

"No," Lorelai protested. "We'll throw a 'Welcome to the Earth, Baby Girl Belleville' party. Did you save the decorations?"

"Still in my car." And it wasn't like anyone else was going to be needing them anytime soon. No more babies were on the way; Rory was sure of it. Her future was intact. And now she, like her mother, could once again enjoy the sight of babies. Okay, well not babies in general, Rory wasn't much of a kid person. But Sookie and Jackson's baby was different. She'd like that kid. So a party sounded great.

"How about Saturday morning? That's when she gets home. Just come back with me tonight after dinner, we'll set it up at her house."

"Sounds good," Rory nodded. A sudden thought crossed her mind, she wasn't sure why. "Hey, um, did you ever mention this pregnancy scare to Luke?

"My God, no," Lorelai breathed out with relief. "Can you imagine? 'Uh, Luke, you're going to be a daddy.' Suddenly there's nothing left but a puff of smoke and a baseball cap spinning on the floor."

"Yeah," Rory nodded. It was definitely a good thing. And it was a good thing she hadn't had the chance to say anything either. She'd messed up Dean's life enough by breaking up his marriage. The last thing he would have needed was some false alarm news about becoming a father. And she didn't even want to think about how Logan would have reacted. She probably wouldn't have even had the chance to tell him it wasn't his before he was halfway to Singapore or Argentina or anywhere far away from her and any semblance of commitment and responsibility. Logan hated commitment. Even the mere momentary suggestion that he might soon be a father would probably enough to get him to get a vasectomy and swear off ever being a boyfriend again. "He never seemed much like a family guy. This is for the best. Listen, um, I've got to get back. We have a big staff meeting in a few minutes and I want to get back and make sure everything's set up and ready." The arm that Rory had wrapped around her waist gripped a little tighter for just a moment before she unwound it completely.

"I'll see you tonight, my one and only offspring."

"Bye." Rory said, as she hung up the phone, ready to get back to her life. She could finally concentrate on work again, on impressing Mitchum. She could go back to hoping for that job at the Gazette. She could go back to making summer plans with Logan. It was just a scare, she was sure of it.

October 2005

Logan picked at the dessert in front of him, pushing the spongey confection through the raspberry drizzle. What he wouldn't give for a normal piece of cake; just regular vanilla with plain frosting. But this peach and lychee layer cake was as close as he was getting tonight. He didn't understand why they always had to go to restaurants where all the desserts were some fancy flambee thing with alcohol in them. Even in the middle of butt-fuck-nowhere, USA his father wouldn't dare to dine at a restaurant that had less than two Michelin Stars.

The conversation going on around him was animated after going through two bottles of wine with dinner, plus the cognac nightcap with dessert. At least it was for Mitchum and the two minions that had joined them—some department heads from London. Logan couldn't even remember what departments; he was pretty sure the fat one with the Wilford Brimley mustache was marketing. Although Logan wasn't sure what exactly he thought he was marketing with that look unless it was diabeetus medication. But the younger guy with the glasses, he could have been head of scone distribution for all he knew.

At least the conversation had finally veered away from business. They had spent an unholy amount of time discussing synergy and new media ventures in increasing shareholder value. He was bored out of his mind. Or at least he would have been if he'd been paying a lick of attention. But Logan had more than enough to think about to keep his mind occupied. He was still trying to figure out how to convince Rory to even consider the possibility that the baby could be his. There were the logistics of getting back and forth to Boston on a regular basis without raising flags with his friends and family. And of course, trying to convince Rory to contact her family. He tried to push down the uneasy feeling in his gut when he thought of Rory telling her family. That was what he wanted… was what was best for her—right?

"So what do you think?" he heard his father's voice drone in the background. "You think Germany is going to make this Merkel chick Chancellor?"

"They'll get the collation together, Schröder is out."

"A woman running a country," Mitchum groaned. "Well, on the bright side, they'll probably never go war. She'll just nag the other countries until they give in."

"Sure, no wars; tell that to the Falklands," Scone Guy replied.

Logan held back his own cutting reply to his father. He was used to him being a sexist jackass. After all, this was the man who refused to let his eldest child play any part in the family business because she was a woman. A fact which almost made Logan wish he'd been born with two x chromosomes.

The men continued their conversation, attempting to mask their chauvinism by interspersing it with talk of actual politics, although scone guy at least seemed uncomfortable with the talk, like he was only going along with it because he was afraid of getting on Mitchum's bad side.

Logan understood the desire to not make waves where Mitchum Huntzberger was concerned. He himself uttered a few uh-huhs punctuated with the occasional head nod before letting himself zone out again. He was trying to come up with something to do with Rory when he got back to Boston next week. They could do something historic, like the Boston Tea Party, or Bunker Hill, but after her less than stellar reaction to the tour he'd taken her on last week, he figured something that touristy probably wouldn't go over well either. Maybe if the weather was nice he could take her on a picnic. Although that might be too couple-y; he had seen how spooked she was by the mere fact that he planned to keep coming back and he didn't want to give her more reasons to run. They could do a museum like the Museum of Fine Arts, or maybe the JFK Presidential Library; the image of Rory sniffing a book flashed through his mind and he smiled. He'd never met a bigger bibliophile in his life than Rory Gilmore.

He wondered if their son would be as big a bookworm as she was. Probably; she had that effect on people, the ability to make them see the potential in everything. And books were full of potential. He could imagine her sitting in a rocking chair reading their son Charlotte's Web; the Velveteen Rabbit; The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. So many stories, so many adventures without ever leaving home. Logan couldn't ever remember feeling like he had a home, a place he never wanted to leave. But he was starting to be able to imagine one.

"Do you have kids?" Logan asked. The question emanated from mouth unbidden and yet, as the words manifested, he couldn't help but feel a sense of righteousness in asking them. They'd been at that table for over two hours and they had discussed everything from their golf games to the geopolitical effects of global warming. And not one mention had been made of family—well, that wasn't technically true, Logan did remember Mustache commenting on the fact that his ex-wife had gotten the house in Turks and Caicos.

"Excuse me?" Scone Guy looked at him in confusion. He wasn't sure why, it's not like asking someone about their family was a particularly bizarre line of questioning. Of course, the man might have been taken aback by the mere fact that Logan was initiating a topic of conversation at all.

"Kids?" Logan repeated. "You know, little people that live with you and share your chromosomes." Logan noticed his father glaring at him through slitted eyes but he paid him no mind as he trained his gaze on the two men across from him.

Mustache shrugged. "Well, my kid's forty and lives with his," he held up his hands to form air quotes, "'roommate,' so if that's your definition then, no. Also, he bears a striking resemblance to our old doorman, so I'd say the jury's still out on the whole chromosome thing too."

Logan held back an eye roll and turned his attention to Scones, raising his eyebrows questioningly. "Umm, yeah," the younger man replied. "I have two girls, seven and four."

Logan nodded. two daughters that he'd gone an entire evening without even mentioning. He wondered when the last time he'd spent more than 15 minutes with them was. Did he know anything about them at all?

"And a wife?" Logan asked.

"Yeeeees," the man drew out as though he was uncertain of the answer. Maybe he was uncertain. Maybe he was just waiting for the moment he came back from this business trip to a stack of divorce papers.

"And how does she feel about all the traveling you do for work?" Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the tell-tale twitch of his father's grinding jaw.

"She's probably grateful for the big, fat paycheck that keeps her in mink coats and spa trips…or maybe that was just my wife." Stache let out a deep chortle.

"They always want you to be around more until they realize someone needs to pay for those front row tickets to see Paul McCartney," Mitchum piped in, there was a smile on his face, his tone warm and light, but the look in his eyes as he glanced Logan's way was silently telling him to wrap up whatever nonsense this was he was going on about.

Logan continued to ignore him. "So she doesn't mind?" he asked, quite certain that no matter what answer Scones gave, Mrs. Scones, was probably not nearly as happy as he would make her out to be.

"She'd prefer me to be around more, I'm sure. But she understands. And the kids are still young, they're just happy to see me whenever. Besides, they're busier than I am with all the activities my wife has them signed up for. Lisette, the older one, she just started playing football…soccer," he clarified. "She's decided she's going to become the next Mia Hamm."

"When I was a kid, I wanted to be a cowboy." Logan had a vague recollection of a red cowboy hat he'd worn everywhere, and a whole lot of time spent watching old reruns of Howdy Doody. He turned to face his father, cocking his head to the side. "Or was it a firefighter?" Mitchum cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Or maybe I should be asking the nanny?"

"I'll see if I can find her number for you," Mitchum replied, with an indifferent shrug, but Logan recognized the throbbing vein on his forehead for what it was—the last threads of patience he had with his insubordinate son. "Now," Mitchum turned to Stache. "Tom, we never did hear the end of that story about how you suckered that '88 Testarosa right out from under that other collector's nose for half its value…"

Logan slumped back in his seat with a sigh. He knew it was no use pushing his questioning any further. Mitchum wanted done with the conversation, and when Mitchum was done, the whole world was done. Logan let his gaze fall back to the uneaten dessert in front of him, picking his fork up and shoving a piece of the ridiculously elaborate cake into his mouth as the conversation continued around him until the dessert plates were cleared and the last of the alcohol was drained from their cups.

Finally, the evening came to its seemingly elusive conclusion and the men filed out of the restaurant. There was a slight chill in the air as they stood outside the restaurant waiting for their car. Logan wasn't sure how much of that was the fact that it was a fall evening in the Midwest, and how much of it was the frigid atmosphere between father and son. Mitchum was reading something on his Blackberry and to anyone else, it might look like he was just distracted. But Logan could feel the waves of disappointment radiating off the man. He was just waiting, biding his time until he could lay into hm.

The Lincoln Town Car pulled up in front of the restaurant and Logan opened the door, sliding in. Mitchum was still paused outside, tapping something into the PDA with his thumbs. With a sigh, Logan slumped down in the seat, leaning his forehead against the pane of the window to stare blankly at the parking lot. A few moments later, he felt his father slide into the seat next to him and close the door behind him.

Silence lingered as the car started to pull away. Logan watched the buildings lining the midsize city streets roll by. Omaha wasn't exactly what he'd imagined. It wasn't Manhattan, or Boston, but it was still a city—one with people wandering the streets and not cows. Actually, the vibe wasn't too bad. It had a sort of college town feel to it. But none of that changed the fact that it wasn't where he wanted to be. He didn't want to be in this small city with his father, he wanted to be in a big city with Rory.

He wished he could call her, though it loathed him to say that he still didn't even have a phone number for her. And even if he did, his father got his phone bill and he didn't need him looking into suspicious calls to Boston. He was already trying to be careful enough as it was with his credit card bills.

But he was going crazy not talking to her. Despite her promise to him before he left, he still couldn't help that niggling doubt that kept creeping up, telling him he was going to show up next week to a cleared-out apartment. He wasn't sure what he'd do if that happened. It had been bad enough when she'd disappeared the first time, but now, with the baby…

He pressed his eyes closed and the image of brick store fronts was replaced by the image of an infant with blue eyes and brown hair. Or maybe the baby would be blond, erasing any doubt that he was his. He could visualize every vivid detail of the moment…Rory, lying in the hospital bed exhausted as the nurse handed her their son to hold for the very first time. She would look at the baby, a blissful smile curling up onto her face as the realization washed over her. After a moment she'd finally tear her eyes away from their son to look up at him, reaching out to take his hand and squeeze it; no words necessary, just a silent acknowledgment that they both knew the truth. God, what had happened to him? He'd kick his own ass if he could, daydreaming about babies. Daydreaming about babies he wanted to be his. What had his life come to? Logan didn't even know who he was anymore. Then again, maybe the problem was that he'd never really known who he was.

He'd spent his entire life fighting his destiny, eschewing all commitment and responsibility, grasping for any shred of freedom he could find. He had raged and raged against what he didn't want for so long, that he had never taken the time to figure out what he did want. What did he want? Was it this? Was it a life and a family with Rory? It sounded insane. A family was the last thing he'd thought he wanted. It certainly wasn't freedom. And yet, for the last two weeks it was all he could think of.

But he had no idea how to make it work even if it was what he wanted. The life he was destined for wasn't conducive to a family. Sure, families existed. Families were practically a mandate. But not like that. They weren't about love, and warmth, and comfort. They were about appearances. They were about obligation. They were about taking whatever scraps you could get, being happy to see your Dad 'whenever,' and wondering why he couldn't find the time to make it to your soccer game like all the other kids' dads. He had no idea how to reconcile a life with Rory and the baby and the life he was destined for.

"You want to tell me what the hell that was back there?" His father's angry voice broke through his brooding thoughts. Apparently he had finished dealing with whatever more pressing issue his email had presented him with and decided it was time to yell at his son.

Logan pulled his forehead away from the glass of the car window but continued to look out it. "What 'what' was?" he asked with an innocent shrug.

"Don't play cute with me, Logan. What is it going to take for you to get your act together? We discussed this, you're going to be taking over this company one day. You need to start acting like a goddam professional."

"Of course!" Logan decreed, throwing his hand over his chest in response to his fake epiphany. "Why didn't I see it before? A professional! I guess that means I should rethink that clown costume I was planning to wear to the paper tomorrow," he paused for a beat, but not long enough to let his father get a word in. "Unless of course professional clown is okay, because I think applications to clown college are accepted on a rolling basis."

Mitchum's grasp around his Blackberry was tightening to the point that Logan could almost envision his father turning green and crushing the device with his bare hands. "For fuck's sake, Logan, can't you take anything seriously?"

"I wasn't aware I was being unserious," Logan replied with a shrug. Mitchum glared dangerously at him. "Okay, fine," Logan relented. "The clown bit wasn't exactly Liam Neeson in Schindler's List. But what the hell did I do during dinner that was so damn unprofessional?"

"You're the future head of this company, Logan. You're not some sullen teenager who gets to sulk and pout because he's not out with his idiot friends getting drunk and high and screwing anything in a skirt. Those were your future colleagues in there and you spent the entire night staring into your mashed potatoes and making monotonous grunts every five minutes in an extremely ill executed attempt to pretend you were actually paying attention. And when you did finally decide to engage in conversation? I don't even know what the hell that was."

Logan scoffed. "It's called asking people about their families. In polite company it's usually considered a good thing."

Mitchum ran a tense hand through his hair. "I'm not an idiot Logan. You don't give a fuck about their families."

"Riiiiiight," Logan nodded. "Because you only ask people about themselves in an earnest attempt to get to know them on a deeper level." His father didn't give a fuck about anybody, let alone their families. He did a great job of pretending he cared; he asked all the right questions, showed all the right interest…but Logan know the only thing Mitchum cared about was information; gathering morsels of personal facts like a chipmunk gathers nuts, and storing them away for a wintery day when they may come in useful.

Mitchum apparently chose to ignore the personal dig. "You don't go airing our dirty laundry in the middle of a business dinner, Logan."

"What the hell are you talking about? I didn't mention anything about you."

"You're really going to sit here and try to tell me that wasn't some underhanded commentary about what a crappy father I was? You embarrassed me tonight, Logan. And your sanctimonious, holier than thou attitude isn't welcome. You think I don't care about my family? You think I'm a terrible father? Fine, whatever. It's not my job to make you like me. It's my job to make sure you reach your potential. And these men are going to help you get there. So shape up and start playing nice because you're going to be working very closely with them when you graduate."

Logan scoffed, turning away. Stache and Scones were nothing to him. They lived thousands of miles away. How closely could they possibly work? "Please, they're from the London office."

The car turned suddenly silent. He'd expected his father to keep arguing. To tell him all the reasons these men were essential to his inescapable future. All the reasons he needed to play nice with two random men he was going to spend half his life teleconferencing with. But he didn't say a word. And his speechlessness said more than words ever could.

Logan turned back, a pounding sense of foreboding in his chest, to meet his father's gaze. Mitchum's eyebrows were raised—the left just a smidge higher than the right. His head was cocked to the side. He didn't blink, didn't break his scrutinizing stare. Logan swallowed uncomfortably. "You're sending me to London." It wasn't a question. He knew that's what his father was communicating.

"Starting the day after graduation."

Logan felt a sudden clenching in his chest. It hurt to breath, the pressure gripping his ribs from the inside like a black hole in the center of his thorax, trying to consume him from the inside out.

London. He was being sent to London. Shipped off like some disobedient preteen going to military school. Away from his home, his friends…away from Rory and the baby. He was going to London.