A/N- this is just an alternate version of what could have happened following the events of "Blame Booze and Melville". This is a one-shot, but I am doing it in two parts. Second part should be up in a day or two, if I get reviews and the story is actually liked by people.

Disclaimer- Gilmore Girls is property of the WB, Amy Sherman-Palladinoand all the other writers/creators.

R&R

Thanks for reading!

For Her

Part I

Champagne, music, remnants of conversations and the smell of the sea lingered in the air. The night was young and glasses were full, yet despite this, Logan was beginning to tire of his sister's party. While he couldn't be happier that his sister had found love and managed to hold onto Josh after he meant the family, the engagement festivities were lacking in one important thing: his girl. She wasn't there to provide something other than the mind-numbing, brainless discussions that certain people invited in accordance with the rules of Society were limited to. If one more gold-digging tease approached him, Logan vowed to throw himself overboard. As it was, the conversation he was presently engaged in with Missy Harrington was seriously testing the limits of his patience and charm. He couldn't grin and nod much longer. Logan had hoped Rory would join him on the yacht, but he knew she was working today and it was likely she wasn't even home yet. Sighing, Logan excused himself from the "conversation" he was having with Missy and began to weave his way to Honor to say good night to her and then get hell outta dodge. However, his mission was interrupted by the twinkling of his cell phone. Grinning when he saw her dorm on the caller ID he answered;

"Hey Ace. What's up?"

"This isn't Ace, this is Paris Gellar. Your girlfriend's roommate." Paris spoke in a short, clipped tone and though this was not unusual for her to do when speaking with him; it was merely the fact that she was calling him at all that set off alarm bells in his head.

"What happened? Is she hurt?" The concern in his voice surprised Paris somewhat, the way the cockiness gave way to worry so quickly;

"I think you better come." With that, she hung up the phone, leaving Logan to whatever images his subconscious could conger in the time it took him to get to Yale. Breaking into a run the moment the dial tone hit his ears, he raced towards the exit; not bothering to let Honor know what was going on and ran down the docks to the parking lot.

Logan had never been so afraid in his life. The short talk with Paris had given him no indication as to what could be wrong with Rory, only that she wasn't at the hospital, which offered little comfort. So many thing could has happened that wouldn't require being at a hospital. Finally reaching her door, Logan burst through without bothering to knock.

"Rory?" He panted, calling her by name and conveying to the seriousness of the situation, again proving how worried he was. Paris entered the room quickly from her bedroom, and motioned towards Rory's bedroom.

"She wouldn't tell me what happened; it is almost like she's gone catatonic. I couldn't snap her out of it. I couldn't get a hold of Lorelai. So I called you." Logan called a distracted "thanks Paris" over his shoulder, making his way towards the source of her phone call and tapped Rory's door before entering slowly.

"Ace?" She was sitting on the edge of her bed staring at wall; she didn't acknowledge his presence in any way. She was pale and trembling and he immediately realized what had Paris so disconcerted. Her eyes were glazed over and her fingers were clenched into small fists on her lap.

"Rory?" He tried again; kneeling in front of her and placing his hand over her, the touch seemed to startle her and her watery blue eyes met his. "What's wrong? Everything okay at home?" He brushed some hair away from her face and let his fingers linger on her cheek, she was cool to the touch.

"I don't have it." She told him in a wavering tone. "I don't have it." Her voice was so soft and tortured, he'd never felt so lost; so confused.

"You don't have what, Ace? What's missing?"

"Journalism. I…" she took a shuddering breathe, "I don't have it, Logan. I don't have it." She brought her hand to his shoulder and clawed at his shirt in desperation, trying to find something tangible to hold on to. "I don't have it!" The tears fell then, in heaving sobs that wracking her slim frame and Logan gathered her to him, moving beside her on the bed. He stroked her chocolate locks, and cooed softly to her,

"Of course you've got it. What would make you think you didn't? Talk to me, Rory." She burrowed her face deep into his chest, mumbling incoherently. He asked her to repeat it and in a hiccupping, throaty voice she did,

"He's knows when some-someone has it and-and I don-don't have it. He to-old me, Logan. I'm not go-od enough." The tears fell harder now and Logan pulled her back to him, holding her tighter than before,

"Who? You've got to tell me." He felt her shake her head no, "I can't help if I don know. Please Rory; tell me who did this to you. Who made you cry, Ace?" She took a few shallow breaths before choking out "Mitchum" in a strangled moan. Logan tensed at the name; he should have known his father had something to do with this. Not many people held Rory's respect enough that their opinion would matter to her this much. Unfortunately, his father did.

"He's so wrong Rory, so wrong. You have such amazing talent, you're an amazing writer, it's in your heart and soul and someday you'll make a hell of an over sea's correspondent. He's a bastard. He's being cruel and he's wrong. God, he is so wrong." He rocked her gently while evaluating the many ways he could get away with patricide. "Shh." He continued to make slow circles with his hand on her back, running his fingers through her hair, and pressing kisses to her crown. All the while making soothing sounds as she cried her heart out and he was helpless to stop the tears.

Over the years, Mitchum had racked up quite a few black marks in Logan's book. . He'd missed birthdays, and graduations. He'd never once congratulated his son, or told him he was proud. He'd disappointed Honor by not remembering her 18th and missing her successful completion of college. But of all the things he'd done over the years, none had invoked the fury and spitting hatred that Logan felt at this moment. Of all the bad, deliberately cruel he'd done, telling Rory she didn't have it, well, that trumped them all. It had taken over an hour for Logan to calm her, before she cried herself into exhaustion and fell asleep. Then he'd kissed her face gently, covered her up, told Paris he'd be back and took off like a bat out of hell. Logan threw his car into park haphazardly outside the Stamford Eagle Gazette, beside his fathers, and stormed into the building, by-passing the elevators and heading straight for the stairs. He burst into Mitchum's office with such force that the door hit the wall and bounced back, starling his father and giving Logan a small feeling of victory over his father.

"Son! I'm surprised to see you here, usually you stay pretty far away from the papers. What can I do for you?" Mitchum stood from his desk and saved the document he'd been working on.

"Don't play dumb, father," the title tasted like sand in his mouth and Logan spat the word, "because you don't wear it well. You know exactly why I am here. I'm here because once again you've proved how heartless you are. You spent weeks encouraging her, leading her on, building her up, and for what? FOR WHAT!" He demanded, shaking with rage, "So you could crush her. Do you know how she respected you? That she revered you? How does it feel, knowing you've shattered an innocent, trusting girl? And for what purpose? Because you don't think she's fit to marry into this, the mighty Huntzberger Empire?" Logan punctuated his words with widespread arms, "Well you know what Dad, you're right. She's not. She's better than this, than you. She is going to the best damn reporter out there and you're going to be the idiot who passed up that chance to have her on your team. But you know what; I am going to be right there with her. You don't have to worry about her marrying into great dynasty, Dad and you know why? Because, you and I, we're done!" Mitchum, who had remained calm through out his son's rant took on a slight frown at his sons words,

"What are you talking about Logan?" Throwing his hands up and then gesturing between himself and his father Logan continue,

"You and I. It's done. I'm not going to take over this company, you can find a new heir. I'm done with you, I'm done with mom and I'm done with grandfather. I'm done." With that, Logan wiped his hands together, symbolic of washing and backed out the room with his palms displayed,

"I'm done."

A/n- what do you think?