Disclaimer: Amy and Daniel Palladino, along with the rest of the WB, own Gilmore Girls. I'm just borrowing the characters. "Work It Out" is owned by The Beatles.

Rating: M, for liberal amounts of cursing

A/N: Italics indicate the narrative of the person telling the story, which is why it's in first person. Whomever is talking, they're telling the story from their perspective.

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The soft rock was getting on his last nerve. Where the bloody hell was she? It was past three. Well, by a minute and a half. It might as well have been a century and a half. How long had he been here? He'd even had the common courtesy to be early. It was still past three. Over and over, the tasteless chorus repeated itself.

He'd expected punishment, but nothing as horrifying as what was assaulting his helpless eardrums.

"I'm ready for you," the doctor finally told him. He grinned and followed her upstairs to her office.

The office in question was moderately decorated with books, paintings, pictures, and, of course, her Ph.D. He sat on a plush leather chair and made himself comfortable. She sat opposite him with a cup of coffee.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" she offered.

"No, thank you, love, I'm good."

"So, Phineas, let's get started. Do you prefer Phineas or just Finn?"

"Finn, always. Phineas makes me sound as though I'm being raised by Julia Roberts."

She smiled at that, even though he knew it wasn't that funny. "Well, Finn, we'll start with the basics. Why are you here today?"

He looked at her strangely for that question. "Court mandated. This or community service. I couldn't possibly bear to ruin my manicure, so I picked this." He showed his nails to her for inspection; they were painted with a fresh coat of black.

She nodded. "And how are you doing today?"

"Darling, I'm doing just amazing. Another lovely day in the neighborhood, eh? And how about yourself?"

"I'm doing fine, though we aren't here to talk about me."

"We can't talk about you? That is just a crying shame, as I'd love to get to know you better."

"Do you always flirt your way out of situations that you find uncomfortable?"

"Darling, I'm this close to getting my degree in psychology as well. Try not to psychoanalyze me, please. I know when you're doing it." He smirked at the therapist's taken aback expression. "What, they not give you background on us?"

"No, actually, they just told me that the six of you would be coming here."

He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "I suppose that in order to avoid idle chit chat, which will most likely bore me, I'll just tell you what happened that night."

"I guess you knew what I was getting at."

"So, it started when Logan, my best mate, came back from London for winter break. Two weeks. It was glorious. I hadn't seen him since he left in May. That's when Stephanie suggested that we go on a trip to the Caribbean…"

"Are you smoking crack?" Colin asked, looking up long enough from his magazine to give Stephanie his patented patronizing look.

"Oh, go fuck yourself, Colin," she snapped back. "It'll be fun. We'll take my yacht. You can even drive. It's already at St. Bart's anyway."

"Stephanie, darling, you must be on crack," I pointed out. "It would explain the Nicole Ritchie sunglasses you've been wearing lately. Love, do you remember our last foray into aquatic adventures?"

"Yes, Finn, I remember. And my sunglasses aren't Ritchie-esque," she pouted.

"Denial. Anyway, if you remember our last trip in a yacht, then you'll also remember that it didn't exactly end in sunshine and ponies."

"That's why you're not allowed to drive this time."

Colin laughed. "She has you there."

"Oh, so now you want to go?"

"She's hotter than you; I have to agree with her."

"So now you're disagreeing with me and saying that Stephanie is prettier than I am? It's like you're purposely trying to hurt me. That's it, I'm not putting out for you tonight."

"So you're not going then?"

"No, I'm going," I answered.

"So you're gay," the therapist interrupted.

Finn looked at her oddly. "No. What gave you that idea, love? Anyway, when we got there, everything was going pretty good."

"Who's we?"

"Myself, Colin, Stephanie, Logan, Logan's girlfriend Rory, and our mate Tristan. So, like I was saying, everything was good. At first. Then Tristan and Colin got in a fight over something stupid…"

Stephanie had already passed out. Tristan was sulking under deck with Rory. Logan, Colin, and I were on deck taking tequila shots.

"What the fuck were we thinking, letting him come on this trip with us? Fucking bullshit," Colin groused, taking another shot.

"Who do you like, Colin? Present company excluded, of course," Logan asked.

Colin thought over that question with another shot. "Stephanie. And Rory's growing on me."

Logan and I clinked glasses and downed our shots. I chased mine with a gulp from my margarita and clapped Colin on the back. "Mate, you've gotta start opening yourself up to the world. Otherwise, you're never gonna get laid again. Chicks like guys with a broad mind."

"I know, I know, but not for fucking DuGrey. He's so fucking insufferable!" Colin took another shot.

I decided to change the topic. "So, Hunt, how're you enjoying your break from dreary London?"

Logan took the margarita I offered him. Colin declined, deciding on another shot instead. "It's good, man. But Rory, she's different. I don't know what it is. She's more distant."

"Girl like her needs constant care and attention. She's needy," I informed him. "Did you see how much she's been into DuGrey since he's been giving her attention?"

"Well, if he's been into her, I'll fucking kill him."

"Speaking of which, how's the sex been?" Colin grinned.

Logan smirked. "She could stand to learn more. But otherwise it's been pretty fucking fantastic. She's still surprisingly tight, you know?"

"How many London girls you been with?" Colin asked.

Logan finished off his margarita and held out the glass for me to replenish. "Too many to count. Not enough that really matter. You know how that goes. There is this one girl I see occasionally with serious discovery fantasies, though. It's been pretty much awesome."

Colin smirked. "So what does she fuck like? Rory, I mean."

The therapist held up her hand. "I don't think I need to hear any more of this."

Finn shrugged. "Your loss."

"So tell me about when it happened."

"Right. It was the same night. I had two more shots and passed out. Next thing I know, I'm being awoken by the fucking U.S. Coast Guard. Colin's on their boat puking over the side of it. Tristan's helping Rory gather up our things and bring them over to the other boat. Stephanie's curled up in a ball in Logan's lap a few feet away from Colin, bawling her bloody eyes out. And the yacht is halfway under the fucking water.

"I don't know how it happened, but we were all arrested for intoxication and accessories or some bullshit like that. And now I have to come here for the next six months. I still haven't figured out what else happened, as my mates and I haven't really been keen on talking about it."

The therapist smiled at him. "Wow. That's an amazing story."

"Isn't it?" He leaned forward and purred, "I could write a book about all my exploits, love."

The therapist blushed. "So, our forty-five minutes are up. Same time next week?"

"I'll see you there." Finn stood up at the same time as her. She held her hand out to shake, but he dropped a feather-light kiss on her knuckles instead. "I cannot wait for our next appointment, love."