A/N: This is going to be rough. I have been writing this since the reboot aired, and I am finally ready to share it. Three parts, all about how Rory and Logan deal with the loss of their baby. Updates will be sporadic, as they always are with me. But please, bear with me.

I wrote a lot of it in the days following the deaths of both of my grandmothers earlier in the year. Strangely, it has helped me grieve.

Thank you for taking a chance on this small, sorrowful tale.

The feeling is gone, only you and I

It means nothing to me,

This means nothing to me,

Oh, Vienna

Vienna | Ultravox

Ashes to Ashes | Part One

For the first time since it had been placed on his finger five weeks ago, the titanium ring decorating Logan's left hand feels foreign. Heavy. He twists the constricting object around and around. It chafes his skin, burns him raw.

The hospital is busy tonight. A bus crash, apparently. Gurneys are running through the ER doors on a continual loop. Logan can smell the sickening scent of charred flesh each time a new body is pushed by his anxious figure.

He keeps trying to distract himself. He thinks of upcoming work he needs to get done. His mother's birthday approaching quicker than he had anticipated. That dog he promised Rory—

—Logan's throat clinches. He buries his head between his knees. Pulls at his hair until his scalp is raging. As much as he is physically able, he rocks back and forth. Fear trickles into his bloodstream as he finally allows his panic to take ahold of him. It roils around in his stomach, sending acidic bile up his oesophagus.

He sees the blood as he presses his eyelids closed. Hears her whimpers as his knees crush his ears. And there is nothing he can do.

He is home late. Far too late. His eyes are lined in a tired sort of red. His bones are creaking.

Entering the apartment, Logan sets down his keys and stares at the plate of food resting on top of the toaster. Work has been weighing him down lately. Following his dismissal from his father's company when he announced his plans to move to America to be with Rory, he grabbed the first job that paid well enough. Unfortunately, that job is editor-in-chief for an online magazine with a staff that have little to no journalistic background.

Rory laughs whenever he catches her skimming through the magazine on her laptop. She likes the mindless articles his staff pump out. They distract her from the cabin fever she is suffering following her doctor's orders for bed rest. Winter is drawing to a close in Connecticut, and the articles are already revolving around what bikinis are in fashion this coming summer. Rory says jokingly they should do a list for pregnant people as most of the swimsuits on the lists have intricate, pointless straps that crisscross over the stomach area. Not practical for a summer pregnancy.

Reaching for his dinner, Logan finds a pile of envelopes addressed to him. He slips the plate inside the microwave and picks up the letters, thumbing through them as the microwave buzzes, heating up his food. His eyes catch all of the return addresses. His father. Finn.

Odette.

This one requires his immediate attention. He feels sick to his stomach as he tears through the envelope. Rory had to handle this. She had to touch it. Carry it all the way up to their apartment on the tenth floor and place it down gently in a neat stack, knowing he would find it and read it.

He doesn't want to read it.

He wants to throw it in the sink and stuff it down the drain. Let the garbage disposal take care of it. But something falls from the pouch when he pulls out the letter. It makes a dinging noise as it hits the countertop. He grabs it, knowing what it is before looking at it.

The ring. His father picked it out. Logan said she could keep it that night he went to her, apologising for everything that had happened. For everything that was about to happen. Apparently she didn't want it.

He doesn't blame her.

He doesn't want it, either.

The diamonds sparkle in the dim light of the kitchen. They cast rainbows on the cupboards.

Staring at it brings to mind the night he proposed. How horrible he felt in that moment. Like his happiness was being sucked from him with every word coming out of his moronic mouth.

He knows he is to blame for this. Not Odette. It isn't her fault he never loved her. Not her fault he allowed his father's bullying voice to control him. He made all of the mistakes. Him and Rory together. They are the ones responsible for Odette's heartbreak.

Logan often wonders what he had been thinking when he first proposed to Rory all those long years ago. She hadn't been ready. Neither had he. But he went ahead and asked her anyway. And then he left her, like the coward he was.

Is. He is still a coward, even with Rory by his side, their child growing inside of her. He is better than he ever was, but there are still times he contemplates running far away from his mess of a life.

Finding Rory, wherever she is, always calms those thoughts.

Logan puts the ring down. He will think about what to do with it later.

He takes out Odette's note. It is one sheet of a paper, written in her clean, orderly hand.

Logan, she begins. I do not want this ring. I thought of giving it to your father - I saw him the other day; he said he was sorry about how you acted - but this is not his problem. It is yours. And that girl.

Logan almost stops reading, but he sees Rory's name in the following sentence and keeps his eyes glued to the page.

Your father also said this girl - Rory - he said you love her. He said this angrily. He was in disbelief that after she refused you, you still held her in your heart. It is funny; I am still angry at you, so very angry, but hearing your father's words has helped me understand your decision to leave.

Promise to love this girl forever, Logan. That is the only way I can see myself ever forgiving you for all of the pain you have caused me.

Sincerely,

Odette

The microwave's loud beeping pulls Logan away from the letter. He isn't very hungry anymore.

Punching the microwave off, he walks through the apartment to the bedroom he shares with Rory. She will have gone to bed hours ago, but time has proven that just glancing her will fill the void in his long-thought-dead soul. She is lying on her side, away from the door. Logan enters the room quietly.

Immediately, he senses something is off. The light filtering through the hallway casts an eerie glow on Rory's upper body. She is shivering, though the room is stiflingly hot.

Worry strikes him like a lightning bolt, awakening his body. His fingers scramble for the light switch. Suddenly, the room is illuminated in yellow. Rory remains on her side, tremors moving through her skin.

"Rory," he says, desperate. He walks—flies, like his body is no longer trapped by the laws of gravity—further into the room and lands on his knees by the bed. He reaches out a hand. Turning her over onto her back, he notices how ghostly pale she is.

He calls her name again, a screeching noise that sounds as though it is coming from far away, "Rory!"

Her eyelids flutter. Sweat is dotted over her face. She parts her lips, one word slipping out. He can't hear her, but he reads the two tired movements of her dry mouth:

Baby.

A hand touches his back. Logan jerks, eyes opening. The memories of the last hour fade as he comes face to face with Lorelai Gilmore and Luke Danes. He stands instinctively, the world spinning as he gets to his feet, but he doesn't know what to say.

Is there anything he can say?

He reaches out a hand to Luke. It shakes violently in midair; Logan is almost embarrassed by the trembling. Luke takes it and squeezes. When they let go of each other, Logan turns to Lorelai. They have never gotten along, but these last few weeks they have both been trying. For Rory. For the baby.

"Logan," she breathes, his name breaking midway. She pulls him to her, wrapping him in a hug. She holds him tight. She cries against his shoulder.

Logan grips her. Tight, mimicking her own strength. It is all a facade. He feels a feather could snap him in two.

She pulls back slowly. Her face is puffed and pink. "Is she okay?" she asks. Her mouth falls wider and wider as she speaks, but he watches her bite back another flood of tears.

"I don't know," he admits. His throat is scratched and dry. His words come out in a gargle, like he has been swallowing jagged rocks. "They haven't come to find me yet."

Just as he says this, a doctor catches his eye from the opposite side of the emergency room. He weaves around burn victims and approaches the group of three.

"Logan Huntzberger?" he says in a calming manner.

Logan's heart drops. All light within him goes out, snuffed by an overwhelming, unmatched fear that Rory Gilmore, the woman he crosses oceans for, is gone. "Yes," he says.

"I am sure you're aware that most pregnancies are considered to be in the clear once the first trimester is over," the doctor—Dr. Lopez, according to his name tag—says. He doesn't wait for Logan's response. "In some cases, however, there are risks that can effect the pregnancy further down the road. Your girlfriend"—

"Wife," Logan interrupts.

Dr. Lopez blinks, his mouth hanging open. He clears his throat and continues, "I apologise for the slip, Mr. Huntzberger. Your wife had developed uterine fibroids, which led to a miscarriage . . ."

The doctor continues speaking, but Logan can no longer hear him.

Their baby is gone.

Room turning around and around, Logan collapses in a chair. His stomach rolls. Sweat rises on his palms.

"Mr. Huntzberger."

What did they do to deserve this?

"Mr. Huntzberger."

Is it a result of their infidelity? Is God playing some cruel joke on them to teach them a lesson?

Rory doesn't deserve this.

"Logan."

Glancing to the side, Logan sees Lorelai sitting next to him, her hand soothing his back. He can't feel it. She looks blurry, as though he's staring at her through a shoddy camera lens.

"Mr. Huntzberger," Dr. Lopez continues. Logan looks up at the man. He is much too calm. "Your wife requires a minor surgery to remove these fibroids. We'd like to get it done now, as she's here. If you'd like to see her before she goes under, now would be the time. She's already signed the forms."

He can see her, in his head, sitting on the hospital bed with a pen in hand all by herself in a room full of nurses and surgeons, giving the doctors permission to remove the things that caused her body to reject their growing baby. He sees her hand shaking, her head full of questions.

Or maybe it's blank. Filled with white noise. Static.

Logan realises the doctor is waiting for him to respond. He stands, amazed when he does not immediately keel over. He looks to his mother-in-law. Her eyes are shining. "Lorelai, do you want to see her?"

"She would want you there," she tells him.

No. She would want Lorelai. "It might be good for her to see you," he tries again.

"I'll see her when she comes out of surgery. Go to her, Logan."

With Lorelai Gilmore's permission, Logan follows Dr. Lopez further into the hospital. Gurneys are scattered about the hallways, lined against the walls. Some have patients upon them. One rushes past, surrounded by a haze of scrubs all shouting different things to one another. The person lying atop the stretcher is soaked in blood.

Logan swallows as his stomach attempts an escape up his throat.

He traces the walls with his eyes. The pale green and white of the hospital is meant to be relaxing, but it only raises Logan's unease. Anxiety threatens to eat him alive.

They pass by several rooms before they finally reach Rory. Dr. Lopez holds out his hand and the quivering blond boy steps inside.

Rory Gilmore lays on her back. Her eyes are closed, but he sees lines on her face where the tears dried.

Why wasn't he there to wipe them away? Why did they make him wait for so long?

Some colour has returned to her skin, but she is still much paler than usual. There is no pink hue to her skin. The freckles on her nose and cheeks brought about by the sun look like black dots against the white backdrop of her face.

Dr. Lopez has not followed him in, he realises. He turns his head and notices the door is closed. They have some privacy. Good.

Logan is trepidatious as he walks further towards Rory. He has seen her down before, but never like this. Never has she looked so broken. His heart aches for her. For all they have managed to lose in only one night. It aches for himself as well, but the pain is hardly comparable.

His shoes squeak on the floor the closer he gets to her. At the noise, Rory's nose twitches, but her eyes remain closed. He reaches her and kneels, like he had done earlier in the night. She is awake. He knows this. But she won't open her eyes for him. Not yet. Not until she's ready to see him. So, in the meantime, he takes her hand. It doesn't burn like it had done before. Now it's cold and dry.

"Your mom's here," he says. His nose runs. Lifting his arm, he wipes his shirtsleeve over his lips. "Luke is too."

It hurts to breathe. Logan's chest is so tight it's as if something is crushing his heart. He feels a sob rising, but he keeps it down. He can't fall apart yet. He won't allow himself to do that before Rory is safely sleeping under the mask of anaesthesia.

Logan, like some guy in some movie in which his girl is lying on a hospital bed dying of some unstoppable disease, presses Rory's hand to his wet cheek and wetly kisses her knuckles. He laughs, a pathetic sort of noise. A torn sort of noise.

What would his father say if he could see him now?

"I keep thinking," he says—he blubbers—holding her hand to his face, "about the day we met. That fleeting moment by the coffee cart. You were with Marty, remember? I was with . . . I can't even remember her name." He laughs again. It comes out like a cough. Phlegm washes his tongue. He swallows. "But I think about that a lot, about that one second that we were face to face. I think about it, because I always go back to that single moment, when you immediately decided you hated me and I immediately decided you were too much work even for me, and I imagine that I knew. I imagine I knew how hard I was going to fall in love with you. How long it would take for us to finally realise there was no other option—it was us, always."

She is finally looking at him. She's crying too. Her blue eyes look like the ocean as tears swim down her face.

Again, he kisses her knuckles. He leans up and kisses away the saltwater cascading down from her ocean eyes.

Her lips are pursed. Oh, Rory. His Rory—his Ace.

"I'm so sorry," she says.

Logan kisses those lips. Gentle and soft. He shakes his head. "No. You can't be sorry. Not about this. This isn't your fault," he tells her. He presses his forehead against hers and wills their minds to meld together.

"I love you, Ace," he says. "We're gonna get through this."

She nods against him. "I love you too," she says as the door to the hospital room opens.

Logan straightens and wipes his face. Dr. Lopez has returned. His too-calm eyes observe the couple and he offers them a pity-filled smile. Logan knows it is irrational, but he so badly wants to deck the good doctor.

"I'm afraid I'm going to need to get Ms. Gilmore ready for surgery now, Mr. Huntzberger," he says.

Turning to Rory, Logan bends to kiss her one final time. He holds his lips there, savouring her taste. "I'll be waiting for you," he says. Rory's petal pink lips flip up in a brief smile that makes Logan want to collapse.

"I'll be okay," she assures him. "Go take care of my mom."

Logan says his reluctant farewell and heads out of the room towards the waiting area where Lorelai and Luke have been moved. They sit side by side, hand in hand.

He goes up to them and silently takes the seat beside Lorelai. With her free hand, she takes his. It is a gesture unlike any she has offered him before, and he takes it willingly, holding on to his mother-in-law for dear life.

"I thought you already got her an engagement ring?"

"Yeah, a nice one, if I remember correctly."

Logan looked up from the array of shiny rings, frowning at his friends. "I can't give her that one."

"Why not?" Finn asked. "My dad has proposed to every woman he's ever married with the same exact ring. He's never been turned down."

"Your dad is a sociopath and so are the women who marry him," Logan proclaimed. Colin Mmm'd in agreement. "Besides, that ring wasn't Rory."

"Do you think that's why she rejected you the first time around? Because the ring wasn't her," Finn suggested airily.

He was friends with idiots. "Of course that's not why. She said no because she wasn't ready. And for that matter, I wasn't either, so I'm glad she said no ten years ago because who the hell knows where we would be now if she'd agreed."

"Then why not just give her the same ring!" Finn hollered. The lady behind the counter glared so fiercely at Finn that he apologised immediately for disrupting the peace.

Logan laughed, something he was doing more and more since he moved to Connecticut. It felt good to laugh after so many years of unhappiness.

"What about this one?" Colin pointed to a dainty solitaire ring. "It definitely screams Rory to me."

Eyeing the ring, Logan asked the worker if he look at it. The small diamond glistened in the overhead lights. Colin had a good eye. It was perfect. Rory through and through.

His throat tightened as he stared at the ring, his mind going back to the day he chose the other ring. The one still hiding in his sock drawer. He and Rory and been such different people then. Funny how time changed everything, and yet he and Rory were still finding their way back to each other each and every day.

She won't say no this time. Of that he is certain.

"I still like the other one," Finn admitted, glancing at the ring in Logan's palm.

"You know what, Finn, if you like it so much, I'll gladly sell it," Logan said through gritted teeth.

Finn touched his hand to his chest. "No need to be so hostile. I'm only sharing my humble opinion."

"Nothing you've ever said has been humble in any way, shape, or form. And I'm seriously regretting bringing you two along," he noted.

"Hey," Colin snapped. "Without me, you wouldn't have found that ring."

"Fine, fine," Logan said. He looked at Finn. "I regret bringing you, then."

The woman behind the counter cleared her throat. Logan stared at her. "I don't mean to be rude, but are you planning on actually buying anything today, sir?"

Smiling—another thing he hadn't done in years—Logan held the ring up between his thumb and forefinger. "Just this, ma'am."

"Getting engaged, I see," the woman said, taking the ring from Logan. "How long have you and she been together."

Finn held up a hand. "I am offended that you automatically assume it's a woman he's proposing to. What if I were the lucky one?"

"Please ignore my friend. He isn't drunk, but he's been drinking alcohol for so long that it just seems to always be in his system," Logan said, telling Finn with a jerk of his head to back off. "To answer your question, it's been a good eleven years."

The woman's eyes went wide. "And you waited this long to propose?"

"Trust me," Logan said. "It's a long, long story."

"Do you want anything from the vending machine, Logan?"

Jerking out of his stupor, Logan finds Luke standing in front of him. He shakes his head in response to the question and Luke goes off to grab himself a snack.

He is still holding Lorelai's hand. He doesn't want to let go.

"You're being very brave," Lorelai says, giving his hand a squeeze. "She's going to need that when you two get home."

Logan doesn't know what she's going to need when they get home. He doubts it will be his supposed bravery.

"I'm sorry," Lorelai sighs. "I don't know what to say. That was a stupid thing to say, wasn't it?"

"No. To be honest, I don't know what to say, either. I can't believe this is really happening."

This. The premature loss of their child.

Logan could throw up. He just might.

"You guys will get through it. You've been through so much together already."

He turns his whole body, letting go of Lorelai's hand. He stares at the woman who for so many years disapproved of him. "We've never been through anything like this. How will we get through it? How? I can't figure that part out." He speaks fast, the worlds getting jumbled on his tongue.

"People do it all the time," she says.

This is a wakeup call. When Rory first told him she was pregnant, he stayed up all night doing research before he shipped out the next morning. Up to twenty-five percent of recognised pregnancies will end in a miscarriage. Only twenty percent of those occur outside of the first trimester.

Ha. That's all they are now. A statistic.

Maybe it will help knowing they aren't alone in their sorrow. But everyone's hearts break differently. Who knows if they'll be able to get out of this alive.

Luke returns a moment later with a water bottle and a packet of crisps. He hands the water to Logan and orders him to drink. When he has taken a few sips, he places the bottle near his feet and again grabs Lorelai's hand.

. . .

It was Lorelai's idea that he go home for the remainder of the night. He agreed, but only after going in to see Rory and making sure she was okay with him leaving. Luke called him a cab, saying he could get his car the following morning when he came to take Rory home.

He and Rory had moved into their own place shortly after he arrived in Connecticut. It is a reasonably sized apartment right outside of Stars Hollow. Close enough that Rory can easily visit her mother any time she wants. Far enough away that they were able to start their own life without the fear of nosy townspeople barging in whenever they pleased.

The apartment is big, but when he steps inside as the early morning sun slowly brightened the sky he wonders if their place has always been so small. He feels as if the walls are closing in on him.

Moving further in, Logan spots a bag from Target lying on the floor next to the sofa. He knows what hides behind the white plastic. Baby things. An assortment of dummies, because he would have been damned had his kid not taken to a pacifier. New onesies with silly sayings he couldn't turn down as he wandered the clothing section. Some more baby-proofing items Logan didn't realise they were going to need before he started reading all of the parenting books.

He wishes he had stayed at the hospital. He doesn't want to be here, surrounded by all of the things they had bought for their child.

But maybe it's good he's there. Better him than Rory. He can tidy up the place before she comes back.

Logan starts with the fresh Target bag, taking it into his and Rory's room and going to the closet. Inside is an array of folded up cardboard boxes from their fairly recent move. Grabbing one, he gets it back to its original shape and places it on the King-sized bed in the centre of the room.

Logan works alongside the sun. He finds everything baby-related in the apartment and neatly places them inside boxes. His lungs start to hurt the longer he spends cleaning. He finds he can barely focus on the objects in his hands through the loud whirring in his head, the kind that comes about whenever he is in shock.

Everything was going so well for them. Life was finally moving forward. He wasn't stuck anymore. Not with Odette or his father. Not stuck in London. He was where he belonged.

But now—

—He doesn't know what happens now.

He still belongs here, that much has always been clear. Even when he was far away, emotionally and physically, his soul was stuck on Rory Gilmore where it will remain, clichédly, forevermore.

Eventually, once the sky is fully illuminated and Logan fears his mind will never come out of this stupor, he finishes packing up the boxes. He stacks them in the closet outside of the bathroom in the hallway. Covers them with a blanket. Still dressed in his clothes, he goes to the bedroom and lays down.

Sleep is kind to him. It finds him quickly and steals him away to another world.

The following afternoon, Logan is taken to the hospital by the same cabbie that had driven him home the night before. He is groggy after a restless sleep. Dreams plagued his mind.

Not dreams—nightmares.

He has been imagining their child for so many months, and his subconscious has not caught up with current events. He dreamt he was snuggling the soft belly of a days' old baby. Rory's blue eyes stared at him, wide and knowledgable.

He awoke to a wet pillow and a feeling as though his chest had been tightly wrapped in cellophane.

That feeling has not left him by the time he arrives at the hospital. He tips the cab driver and finds Rory's hospital room. Lorelai and Luke are eating lunch in the cafeteria, leaving he and Rory alone.

She stares blankly up at him from the hospital bed. There is a dullness in those blue eyes he has never before witnessed. Not even in the days she visited him after her grandfather's funeral. Heavy bags rest beneath her lower lash line. They look like bruises.

"Are you here to take me home?" Rory asks. Her voice is thick. Like there is a dry wad of cotton stuck in her throat.

Logan takes the seat beside Rory's bed, careful to avoid the IV, and takes her hand. The veins pop where the needle pokes her skin, delivering saline solution and morphine to her blood.

Logan Huntzberger's heart has broken a thousand times over the past twenty-four hours. He has grown used to the sensation. But it shatters—truly, completely—as he looks upon the woman he loves lying crushed and devastated on a hospital bed.

The two of them are scarred now. Internally.

He only hopes they will be able to fix each other. They have always managed it before. But everything is different. In only a few hours, everything has changed. He isn't sure of anything now.

"Yes," he says, delayed in his response, "I'm going to take you home."

Rory nods. She looks away from him towards the small window at the end of her room and closes her eyes.

The image is gone, only you and I

It means nothing to me,

This means nothing to me,

Oh, Vienna