AN: OK, so this is super-duper short, sorry guys. There was going to be another scene in this chapter but it just didn't want to come out. This part has been finished for a week now and I've been trying to get the next part written but it just doesn't want to come out. So, I figured better a short chapter than no chapter. I decided to post what I had and then move on to something different in an attempt to overcome this horrible writer's block I've been having. The only thing I've been able to write this week is my new blog. Fiction just doesn't want to come out of my head onto the page. So, anyway, I hope you enjoy what I HAVE written and I'll try and get something new out to you guys soon.

Paris slung her messenger bag over her shoulder as she exited the locker room, ready to head back to her apartment, actually do some of the things she had texted Doyle about earlier, and then pass out for a few hours until she had to be back for her next shift. So far this externship was a bust—bedpan duty was beyond disgusting and there wasn't a whole lot of learning potential to make it worth her while. She'd studied everything she could ever want to know about a urinalysis so that the next time she spotted a patient with red urine, she might get to diagnosis a rare case of paroxysmal nocturnal hemoglobinuria. In the mean time, however, her professional life sucked. At this rate, she was going to be eighty before she achieved her goals of becoming a world-class surgeon and publishing her book.


Paris rolled her eyes at the sound of some idiot making a jackass out of himself. "Yo, jerkwad, this is a hospital, not a marina—keep the swearing on the boat with the other sailors." Paris turned her attention to the perpetrator, "Huntzberger?" It figured she'd run into him of all people. As if she wasn't already in enough of a bad mood—she had to deal with useless, spoiled, rich boys. She would never understand what Rory saw in him.

"Paris," Logan turned around, noticing Rory's ex-roomate, "what are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry, did you just punch that wall?" she asked, putting together the scene before her. Logan was wincing as he shook his fist, the knuckles of which were bloody.

"So what if I did?" he asked despondantly, not having the energy or emotional capacity at the moment to get into it with Paris Gellar. Of all the people he didn't want to deal with at the moment, she was up there on the list right next to his father. He winced again as he attempted to curl his fingers into a fist.

"Well, it is utterly moronic, but your idiocy just gives me something interesting to do, so I'm not complaning." She reached for his injured hand and forcefully pulled it towards her.


"So, what's got you so pissed off? You crash your precious Mazarati or something?" She began palpating each of Logan's digits one by one.

"No, I didn't…OW!" he shreiked as she pressed on his index finger.

"Ooh, goody, it's broken. I wonder what type of fracture it is. Maybe an oblique, ooh, or maybe a spiral. I wonder if it's displaced." She grabbed him by the wrist and started tugging him along after her.

"Where the hell are you taking me, Paris?"

"Radiology." She scoffed, as though she wanted to tack the word 'duh' on as well.

"What?" He shook his arm out of her iron tight grasp. "No, I'm not going anywhere."

"So, what, are you just going to sit here and wait for them to call you? If you wait to be triaged, you'll never get to see a doctor. I can get you a doctor now."

"I don't need a doctor."

"Says the man in the hospital with the broken finger."

"I'll live," he said flatly. But Rory might not, and to be honest, he wasn't exactly sure how he would manage to live without her. He couldn't think like that though—she would be fine, she had to be. There wasn't a god in the universe that was cruel enough to take her from him now, was there?

And of course, then there was the baby. The baby was already gone. They had lost their first child. He couldn't understand how it could possibly hurt so much to lose something he hadn't even known existed. It wasn't even a baby yet, not really. Just a few cells—a potential baby—and they still had the rest of their lives to make it happen. But somehow an entire future—a million possibilities—were made real and then crushed with just a few short sentences…You are the father, right?…I'm sorry…Miss Gilmore had something called an ectopic pregnancy…Ectopic pregnancies are unable to be carried to term. He was sure those words would haunt him for the rest of his life. Their baby was gone.

Logan wasn't going anywhere.

Paris watched in confusion as Logan adamantly took a seat and crossed his arms, flinching visibly as his broken finger came into contact with the opposite arm. It was another moment before her sleep deprived brain realized the obvious. He wasn't there for himself. Still, something wasn't right. It wasn't like Logan Huntzberger to be self-sacraficing. Was it one of his idiot friends he was here with? They could have easily hurt themselves bungee jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge or something equally insane. But then where was the third Stooge? Or maybe it was his father. Would the World soon be mourning the loss of a great business man? The journalism world was in a lot of trouble in her opinion if Logan was about to become CEO of HPG. But Logan hated his father—what were the chances he would be the first to know and be by his side if something had happened? So that only left…

"Rory?" she asked. Logan seemed to shrink into the hard, plastic seat that was supporting him. He almost looked small to Paris like a lost, little child who insisted on staying in one spot until his mother found him. It was a side of Logan she had never seen before—the side that cared about something or someone other than himself—and as much as she hated Logan, and as much as she hated weakness, she couldn't find it in herself to hate him in that moment. He really did love her friend, more than she thought it was possible for someone like him to love anybody.

"She's in surgery."

"Is she okay?"

"She's in surgery, Paris," he snapped.

"You know what I mean." There were a million possibilities. It could have been anything from a broken leg that needed to be set, to a car crash that had smooshed all her vital organs into patte and the idiot in front of her wasn't giving her any information.

"I can't really talk about this right now, Paris. Please, just go away."

"Logan!" Paris turned to see two people rushing towards them. She recognized the tall, man as Finn—she had met him a couple of times at Yale—but the girl was new. She had red hair and her green eyes were glistening with tears, but her face was dry. As she reached them, she leaned down and threw her arms around Logan's neck. "How is she?"

"I don't know. I haven't heard anything since they took her into surgery."

The red head pulled back and slapped him upside the head. "What the hell were you thinking hanging up on me like that? I've been having a complete panic attack for the last forty-five minutes. What the hell is going on?"

"I bet you'll tell them," Paris grummbled.

"Who are you?" The red head turned to acknowledge her for the first time.

"I'm Paris, who the hell are you?"

"I'm Sue—I'm Rory's best friend."

"No you're not—I'm her best friend."

"Oh, you're that Paris." Sue nodded in understanding. She'd heard tales of crazy Paris Gellar.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Paris hissed in response.

"It's okay, mate," Finn pushed his way between the two arguing girls and sat in the seat next to Logan. "Whatever it is, she'll be fine. That Reporter Girl's a fighter."

"She's gone…" he whimpered.

"What?" Paris and Sue both shreiked at once.

"Or he," Logan continued, "I don't even know. I'll never know now."

Sue took a deep breath and squatted down in front of Logan so she was at eye-level with him. "There was a baby, wasn't there?" He nodded his head in the affimative. "It wasn't a false alarm afterall." This time he shook his head in response. Sue took his left hand in her right and squeezed comfortingly. "What happened, Logan?"

He looked across the room, avoiding making eye-contact with any of them. "The baby was in the wrong spot…" he paused, trying to remember the word the doctor had used. "..ectopic," he finally finished.

"Her fallopian tube ruptured." Paris quickly caught on—it wasn't a question. Logan nodded his head 'yes' anyway.

Sue felt her stomach swim and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment to gather herself. She wasn't a doctor, but she knew enough about Rory's condition to know it was serious. She couldn't even imagine what Logan must be feeling knowing that the woman he loved was lying open on an operating table in critical condition. She placed her free hand on top of his, but he immediately flinched away. Sue looked curiously at his withdrawn limb and immediately say how swollen it was—still caked with dried blood over his knuckels.

"What happened to you?" she gasped.

"Come on." Paris held her hand out for him, but Logan ignored it.

"I said I wasn't going anywhere, Paris." He wasn't even going to the bathroom until he knew she was okay—his bladder could explode for all he cared.

"Logan, your hand could be broken."

"It is broken," Paris clarified. "The idiot decided taking his frustrations out on the wall would be a good idea."

"Logan," Sue scolded, "what were you thinking?"

"Well gee," he exploded, "maybe I was thinking my baby was dead and that Rory…" He choked back a sob, "Rory," he repeated, this time nothing more than a horse whisper and fresh tears flooded his eyes.

Sue flung her arms around his neck again. "It's going to be okay," she whispered reassuringly. "This is a great hospital, with great doctors that are going to take great care of her. She's going to get through this."

"You want some coffee, mate?" Finn suggested, trying to offer his help. He didn't know how to do the mushy sentamental stuff, but he cared about Rory and Logan and he wanted to at least do something here.

Logan shook his head. "No."

"You should take care of your hand." Finn nodded towards Logan's injury. "Don't want your girl worrying about your sorry arse when she wakes up, do you?"

This seemed to be the argument that finally got through to him. The last thing Rory needed when she woke up was one more thing to worry about. Logan didn't want to make anything harder for her than he already knew it would be. She would already be devestated when she learned what happened. "Fine," he relented.

"You two can fill out his paperwork. I'll take him back to radiology," Paris delegated.

Logan reluctantly got up from his seat and followed Paris into the hospital.