. . . . Gold . . . .

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

[Robert Frost]

London, England, UK | October 2016

The golden days of summer draw to their end, and Odette begins to pack her things away in anticipation of her departure. She will return to Paris for her quarterly set of meetings with charities and designers alike – and she doesn't plan to return. She carefully places items into their boxes, addresses them clearly to her apartment and hides them away in the hall closet until such a time as Logan might send them to her without drawing attention to the fact she has permanently relocated.

And then, one gray morning, he walks her down to a waiting car, her luggage in one hand and her arm looped casually through the bend in his elbow. Her friendship has proved a bright and beautiful constant these last few years. As he hands her bag to the driver, he knows he will miss her more than he can begin to express. The driver stows the bag in the trunk and reappears to help Odette into the car. She pulls Logan in for a tight hug, catching him off of his guard.

"Oh, how I will miss you, mon amie." She pulls back to place a kiss on each cheek and look into his eyes. "Merci, for everything. Do not be a stranger. Nico will feed you if you come." A smile breaks on her face, and the wrinkled corners of her eyes belie her excitement over her impending elopement. She clasps his hand, swinging their arms back and forth with childlike fervor. As much as he wants to resent her for having found the love for which she had so long sought, he also wants to ensure she only sees the genuine happiness he holds for her.

"Nico is a lucky man," he can't help but say through a smile. "You will be a stunning bride. If only you would tell me when the wedding is," he winks and she laughs, a flash of silvery joy adding light and life to an otherwise drab curbside for the last time. He squeezes her hand and chastely kisses both of her cheeks as she smooths down the front of his suit jacket. The driver helps her into the car and she rolls down the window after settling herself into the seat.

"Au revoir, mon amie. Until we meet again." She blows him a kiss as the car pulls away from the curb. He holds up a hand in farewell. The car turns the corner and is gone.

He takes the stairs up to his flat and opens the door.

The space he calls home suddenly feels empty, and suffocatingly so. Once more, any spare drawers are bereft of their contents and only one toothbrush sits in its holster in the bathroom. No stacks of books lie stashed in random corners. Only one phone sits plugged into only one cord at the desk. No expected visitors.

His phone vibrates to let him know his car has arrived to take him to the office. He grabs his attaché case and heads back down the stairs.

He arrives home well past midnight, a takeaway dinner in a bag under his arm. Thanking the driver, he walks to the building door and ushers himself inside, nodding to the doorman as he passes. He slowly climbs the steps to his flat, debating whether he should have just stayed at the office.

Balancing his various items, he manages to get the key into the lock and turns the handle. He takes a deep breath and braces himself for the deserted dark, and then opens the door.

Inside, it is anything but dark and deserted.

"Ah, there you are. It's about damn time." Colin puts down the evening paper, glancing up at him sidewise. Finn snores loudly from the bed, where he has sprawled himself out facedown in a manner that will prevent anyone else from sleeping well. He reaches up and runs a hand over his tired face. He does not possess enough energy to deal with this after a full day at the office.

"Colin," he says through the deepening clench of exhaustion. "It's late. I'm hungry and tired and I've had a hell of a day. You can tell me why you're here in the morning – just get Finn out of my bed."

He grabs a fork from a drawer and sits down to pick at his food while Colin moves to the bed and begins to exert himself in an effort to remove Finn from it, or at the least to move him to the one side so as to open up space for someone else to use. In his spent state, his ears quickly tune out the bickering and antics that ensue in the background.

"Where's Robert?" Finn mumbles from half-sleep. "Odette promised me Robert, not you sorry lot." Finn rolls over suddenly, jettisoning Colin backward in his attempts to push Finn to one side.

What does Odette have to do with anything? He wonders, looking up at Colin bewilderedly.

Colin steps back from the bed, brushing his hands together as if he has managed a great accomplishment. "Don't worry, Logan. Robert will be here in the morning." His friend grabs a blanket and settles onto the couch for the night.

That wasn't why he was worried.

He wakes before his two misfit friends, having been rendered conscious by Finn's absurd snores and vowing never to lie to any potential future wives about his friend's sleeping habits. Padding over to the kitchenette, he pulls down three bowls and a box of cereal from a cabinet. He lets a portion jingle into the bowl and opens the refrigerator to retrieve a little milk from the bottle, and then moves to find a spoon. A knock interrupts from the direction of the door.

Setting down his bowl, he hears the other two stir as he releases the lock and cracks the door open, revealing Robert on the other side.

Not feeling chatty, he opens the door and motions Robert inside. He crosses back to the kitchen and pulls out a stack of spoons, keeping one for himself and letting the rest clatter loudly onto the counter. He stabs angrily at his cereal, spooning it into his mouth and feeling the decided clench of his jaw as his teeth work at the pieces.

Turning around, he catches sight of the now-awake stooges whispering amongst themselves and glancing warily in his direction.

"Why are you here?" he asks as calmly as he can muster, relying on a hefty measure of self-control to keep him from exploding in exasperation. His friends persist in their tendency to disrupt his life without the slightest word of warning, even a decade after they all last lived in close proximity to one another.

Finn sheepishly steps forward and presents him with a sealed envelope. Taking it in hand, he notices his name scrawled across the front in Odette's writing. He sighs, running his finger under the edge of the seal and pulling out its contents.

The topmost sheet is covered in more of her writing, while the rest appear to be printouts. He begins to read:

Logan –

Do not blame them. I asked them to come, to pack light, and to bring their passports.

Enjoy your 'stag' party. Consider it your final obligation to me, one that will divert attention from all that is about to happen and provide you with one last proof of innocence for your family. The boys have looked forward to this since we announced our engagement. They will make sure you have a wonderful time. Flights and accommodations are on the following pages.

You, too, deserve a chance at true love. Go to her. Make known your love and let there be no doubt of it. If still she does not speak – if still she does not ask for more – then, I fear it is time to let her go. I hate to give such unkind advice, but it is all I have left to give.

All my love,
Odette

Stars Hollow, CT

He steps out of the car and into the street, wondering how in the world his friends managed to coordinate all of this. Even with the assistance of the current Brigade, it had been years since they last planned a Brigade outing and he had expected the details to be a bit sloppy somehow, but every last one – from changing the sign at the flower shop to the creepy black bird to pulling in Rory's aging coworker at the Gazette – set the mood perfectly for a night of beautiful mayhem, the Brigade's speciality.

He watches her walk into the darkness of the newspaper's office and holds his breath, waiting for that moment when the jig is up and she re-emerges to be greeted by three men wearing gorilla masks and steampunk garb. Definitely one of their more eclectic outings to date.

She chats animatedly with each of them, their disguises hiding nothing of their identities from her. He exhales at the sight of her smile. They circle her like carrion whirling over their prey, and he spies her brain turning in an effort to keep up and make sense of their gibberish. She's game – and one is definitely afoot.

"After discussing the minutes from the last meeting and the minutes we took in this meeting discussing the minutes from the last meeting," Robert begins his meandering explanation.

"There was a lot of Scotch," Finn interjects, very proud of that fact.

He inhales deeply and prepares to step out of the shadows.

"And we took a vote," continues Robert.

"And we decided," he pauses, emerging from his hiding spot. "That we had to come and take you out." Bedecked in the same fashion as his idiotic brethren, he steps off of the curb and slowly moves toward her. He doesn't break his gaze, trying to keep his steps measured even as he wants to rush at her and pull her into his arms. He wonders if he's a fool and perhaps, he acknowledges, he is – but he loves her. Attempting to tamp down his churning emotions, he offers up to her a costume hat and coat.

She masks her thoughts carefully, then takes the hat, trying it on for size. Its ribbon and tulle trail down her back and a smile breaks out across her face. Suddenly, the grand anxious pause of the previous moments speeds into full technicolor surreality and hope swells in his chest.

They run through the streets and into the fast blur of adrenaline and alcohol, camaraderie and nostalgia.

The current Brigade intersects their path as they enter the speakeasy, lavishly Latin in every element. He had nearly forgotten the thrill of escaping the normalcy of life.

The club's rhythm lulls him into a heady state of prolonged disbelief as they dance, feigning to know what they're doing but neither of them particularly skilled. His desire – to hold her close and breathe in the scent of her – keeps him rooted to the dancefloor. He feels her reluctance, the tension in her arms and legs refusing to relax into him as his body has done under her influence. She missteps and mistakes his foot for the floor, teetering off-balance. As she awkwardly apologizes, he leads her to a table set aside from the lounge and partially obscured by beaded curtains. The time has come to address the proverbial elephant that makes this the first night he has seen her in months.

He sits down to assess his foot, grateful when the pain starts to subside.

"You're still a terrible dancer," he chides lightly.

"Agreed," she admits without hesitation.

"But damn – " he can't help himself. It's the truth. "You are a beauty."

They sip champagne and exchange witticisms. In light of her hesitance, in light of the serial hang-ups and subsequent non-existent 'breakup', a question sits at the forefront of his mind, but he knows it will shift the conversation and it might not turn out in his favor. He pauses, takes a shallow breath and launches ahead before he can change his mind.

"You glad I came?"

She cooly asks why he came and he can honestly say he hadn't expected another question as her answer. Her body still tense, he decides to adjust the tone of the conversation – if at all possible – and says the first thought that arises, at the sight of Finn harassing a young Brigade member across the floor.

"Well, it was my turn to walk Finn."

The joke doesn't land, so he resumes his original tactic. He steels himself, sifting all that he wants to say and knowing he has to adhere to the boundaries of what she does and doesn't know about Odette.

"I did not like the way we left things." She looks decidedly uncomfortable.

"Yeah – me neither," she replies, looking down.

"I should have told you about Odette moving in," he adds, assuming that event to be at least closely approximate to the turning point for her attitude toward their tryst.

"Nope. That was not the agreement," she states through clenched teeth. He agrees because he does know that wasn't the agreement. "You owed me nothing."

Nothing? Is that truly what she thinks, that his actions toward her were some sort of obligation?

"Technically, no, but – " he begins, slightly afraid his lips will profess his love for her before he can restrain them or before he can rightly assess the situation. A small seed of frustration starts to grow, and he fears it will obscure his judgement.

"No strings," she cuts him off. "When we're together, we're together. When we're not, we're not." She rattles off their terms, seemingly unconcerned with any other possibilities for the two of them to coexist in the world. She fixes a stare and he knows better than to proceed.

He changes course. Perhaps there will be a better time to continue this discussion before the night comes to a close.

"So, how are you?"

She relaxes a little and begins to talk. As he suspected, the rift with Lorelai still hovers prominently over her mood. She asks about the time and he jokes it off, asking if she's bored. But she's never bored – at least, not with him. They're good like that. He reaches into his jacket and retrieves the key from his inside pocket.

It's Plan B, the key. If she has a means of writing what she wants without the financial limitations of paying for rent and food, if she can produce something great that aids in confirming the validity of her life choices; if she can somehow find a way to be a little less adrift – then perhaps she might be able to better grasp what else she may want from life.

He reads the intrigue, the interest in her face. It's a grand gesture, but she sees that it's a heartfelt one. Her pride and incredulity don't keep her from reaching out her hand and accepting the key. She looks down, unanswered questions thick in the air.

"Are you really going to marry Odette?"

Maybe – just maybe – this is the moment. Does she not understand how he loves her? Has she not picked up on how indefinitely he has answered every question about Odette this evening? Is it possible she simply doesn't care how he feels?

"That's the dynastic plan," he says calmly, soberly.

But is it your plan? he wants her to ask – and, yet, she does not respond.

That is where the conversation ends and the drinking escalates.

To say they're drunk when they enter The King's Head Inn might be a slight overstatement of reality, but a sufficient quantity of alcohol remains in their blood – sufficient to lower their inhibitions, to relax their tensions, and to encourage their bodies to a collision course.

It starts with small touches – her hand on his hip, his hand rubbing firmly up and down her arm. They settle the matter of where they are and the truth of the deserted inn while the others wander about looking at pictures and scavenging for booze.

He offers up a key to the room across from his, and then her lips are on him. His whole body rouses at the taste of her.

"Show me," she says as he leads her upstairs.

Let there be no doubt.

He awakens slowly, aware of the daylight, the stark quiet, and the mottled feeling of having consumed more than prudence would advise. He watches her as she sits wrapped in a robe, gazing out the open window at the new day and the brilliant leaves. Propping himself against the backboard, he invites her back to bed, and he tries to piece together what he can of what transpired in that bed mere hours before.

She appears contemplative, and he fears she regrets the night. She gives voice to the practical questions about when he has to return to London and shows no emotion in the asking. But then, for a split second, he spies spitfire wrapped into the pragmatic facade. He works his way out of the bed, talking about a diner – granting one last chance to discuss the future with the hope that she might speak, that she might ask him to change course.

"It was a perfect night," she says, returning her gaze outside. He recognizes the tone, the notes of finality, of resignation. She has accepted that her time with him has come to an end.

She gives back the key, in spite of his protests, in spite of the pained expression he can feel etching its way into his features. For a moment, his fears ease as she affirms she still has a plan to write. Clearly resolute and at peace, hope reemerges for the smallest of moments before once more being completely and unceremoniously dashed.

"Come on. We have to get you home."

And in that moment he knows. He knows he must let her go.

They walk down the stairs to an offer of a martini, seemingly to help taper the drunkenness rather than to be blindsided by its immediate surge into hangover.

His insides fight for control, his emotions at war in the knowledge of what he must do. Anger rises to the surface one moment, then grief, then shock. Perhaps a drink will assist him in governing the wide-spectrum assault, in keeping it off of his face.

Looking out the window, he reins himself in momentarily before re-entering the conversation.

"I did not know about the Colt," he adds. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of Colin's inability to keep track of how he spends his money, but he feels the sigh of his heart instead. Not even humor at Colin's expense can revive the smallest bit of joy in this moment.

He takes a swig of the proffered martini and its imagined psychosomatic influence is quick in calming him. Barricades fall into place around his wounds, locking away the bleeding parts for after she has gone – and he picks up on the signs, on her body language. She intends to leave, and leave soon.

But how soon, he doesn't realize. There will be no breakfast. Any courage he might possess catches in his throat at her declaration of intent, making him suddenly sick. The recognition that this is the end, that it has come so quickly on the heels of his decision, rushes through and numbs his whole being with its pain. She rattles on in a friendly manner with the others and he manages to pull himself together one more time, his focus fixed on deepening his breaths. It will be over soon, he reminds himself. Too soon.

"No, no, no. We had a whole morning planned," Finn protests. "No one's naked yet! You can't just rush off like this. Logan, tell her!" Colin and Robert look to him, despondent over the imminent loss of their queen.

He knows what Finn wants him to give voice to: To tell her Odette will marry Nico in a week or two, that the engagement was simply a means to buy time for both of them with their mothers, that he loves her – but he knows it will not make a difference. She has determined to go her own way and nothing he can tell her will stop the forward motion of her strength of will.

"I don't think she's listening to me anymore, boys," he manages, and in that moment he senses the slightest deposit of peace. He did this poorly the first time, abandoning her angrily at his refused proposal and not recognizing her need to establish herself – not just without him, but simply on her own. He will not stand in her way this time. He will step aside.

His friends candidly lament her going, reluctantly accepting her goodbyes with tears. None of them speaks for him, and for that he is grateful. They take their leave in the posture of meeting him at the diner. He can't help but ask one last time, "You sure you don't want breakfast?"

She smiles a relaxed, genuine smile for the first time since she saw him in Stars Hollow. His lips turn upward at the sight of it, he being the moon to her sun.

He rambles about wanting to drive her back, how he dragged her to the clearly forsaken wilds of New Hampshire – but she rebuffs his offers, seemingly grateful for the wild ride of the night. Mr. Toad would be proud, he acknowledges.

"It didn't work though, did it?" he asks, wondering if she has even registered that the whole evening was intentionally designed with an aim to accomplish something.

"Every ride has to end." Her answer only confirms what he already knows.

"Okay," he resigns. He touches her, keeping her at arm's length for fear of what he might do if he brings her close. "So, let's do this."

It is time.

She leans in to accept one last kiss and his brain scrambles to tuck away every detail of the moment, the feel of her, the beautiful pause in time caused by her closeness, the final imprint of her lips upon his own.

He offers the house again with no expectation she will take it.

"I think your days of rescuing me are over." Their eyes lock.

"You never really needed rescuing, Ace. You know that."

"I do now," she responds.

A swelling sense of pride overtakes the numbness of his pain as he hears her speak the words with such confidence and ease. All he has ever wanted for her was that she might know how capable she is – that she has no need of him or anyone else to help her along.

He drops the costume hat back on her head, brushing aside a small piece of hair. This is how he wants to remember her: As beautiful as she ever was, but fully realized in and of herself.

This is Rory Gilmore on her best day.

He steps back and frames her face with outstretched fingers like a director, locking down into memory the fall of the light onto her face and the impressive quiet in her eyes.

"Yeah – just like that," he remarks. He lowers his hands slowly, soberly, smiles and walks to the door. He doesn't look back, the ache and tension of withheld emotion breaking with each footfall toward the diner.

Let her go.

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who followed along and arrived here at the end! It may not have turned out as you had hoped and, for that, I hope you'll grieve with me. The revival did not turn out as I had hoped, either – but I must admit I found its endpoint realistic nonetheless. It simply lacked some details that sidelined for the sake of the story's GIlmore-centric focus. And, there, the idea for this fic was born and demanded to be written. After more than two years of writing, I'm so grateful I've been able to share it with you.