Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

January 2005

It starts out innocently enough.

Rory shows up at the party to see Logan extricating himself from some overzealous admirer and as he’s walking away, she suddenly propels herself in his direction. He comes to a halt when she's standing in front of him.

“Hey,” he says, grinning in surprise. “You actually came.”

It’s been two months since Dean left her standing in her grandparents’ driveway and since then, she and Logan have become… friends? Or maybe friendly is the apt term; friendly greetings in hallways, friendly banter in the newsroom (when he deigns to show up), friendly invites to parties he throws—though this is the first time she’s actually shown up.

And even though there have been moments suggesting this could be something more—shared smiles and bright eyes from across desks as Doyle does something particularly Doyle-like; that precise look of begrudging and amused admiration after particularly heated exchanges; the occasional blatant flirtatious comment—nothing’s ever come of it.   

So, they’re friendly.

“Well, Doyle told Paris she needed to cut two paragraphs from her article,” Rory says, returning his comically alarmed look with one of her own. “I know, how dare he? Anyway, she’s spent all day politely declining to shut up about it and I remembered you said you were having a party tonight. So," she says, a bit hesitantly, "here I am.”

“Here you are.” He shoots her another smile. “Come on,” he says, tilting his head in the direction of his room as he swipes something from the makeshift bar. “Let’s hang out in there for a bit.”

The noises from the party die down significantly when Logan closes his bedroom door and she’s lulled into a false sense that they’re the only two people left. He lets his feet dangle over the side as he sits on his bed, grinning triumphantly as he flashes her the bottle of wine he snagged earlier. Making quick work of the cork, he holds out the opened bottle to her.

After a moment’s hesitation, she finds herself ambling over, settling in until her own feet are dangling beside his. Reaching over to take the wine—their fingertips momentarily brushing before he lets go—she feels his eyes as she raises the bottle to her lips. When she sneaks a peek at his face, the unspoken challenge in his eyes is easy enough to decipher.

Rory takes a healthy swig before handing the bottle back to a clearly delighted Logan. He grins appreciatively before taking his own swig and her heart thumps erratically in her chest. She blames it on the wine.

The words come easily as they continue passing the bottle back and forth.

“No way,” he scoffs. “I don’t believe you.”

“I’m serious. Paris kissed me and then asked me to rate it.”

“Okay, now that I believe.” He goes quiet. “You really didn’t enjoy it—” and starts laughing obnoxiously at the glare she gives him. “Alright, alright, sorry. Had to ask.” Logan hands over the bottle as a form of apology, looking appropriately contrite.  

Rolling her eyes, she drinks another mouthful before passing it back and watches him take a long pull. “Can I ask you something?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you asking me something?”

She ignores his obstinance. “Did you really take off last year to sail around in your father’s yacht before you sank it off the coast of Fiji?”

“Correction,” he admonishes with a reckless smile. “It was someone else’s father’s boat. You need to check those sources of yours.”

She shrugs. “Close enough.”

“Close enough? Ace, you gonna be a reporter with facts that are close enough?”

“I’m sorry,” she says icily. “I didn’t know my journalistic integrity was at stake on a Friday night in your dorm room surrounded by drunken idiots—” and then grabs the bottle back from him as punishment.

“You’ve always got to be prepared.” He points in her direction as she takes a swig. “Don’t say I never taught you anything.”

She laughs, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “What, were you a Boy Scout?”

Looking embarrassed, he says, “Eagle Scout.”  

“Wow.” She eyes him curiously before laughing once more. “Wow. I never would have taken you for an Eagle Scout.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, yanking the bottle back. “That was back before I became a walking disappointment to my family.” Rory starts demurring to the contrary, but he continues to talk over her protests. “But I guess I did follow that up by setting a decent-sized fire in our backyard.”

“Wait, seriously?”

Logan smiles sheepishly. “I got a little cocky after earning that fire safety designation.”  

As the night wears on, the stories become bawdier, the laughs increasingly easier to come by, and the accidental touches turning more deliberate—every once in a while, he runs his fingers down her arm or reaches over to squeeze her thigh when he wants her to pay particular attention to a certain point in his story. But it’s when Logan leans over to wipe a smudge off her cheek—his face a hair’s breadth away—that she grows impatient and crashes her lips to his; tired of all the buildup with no payoff.

Logan moves with urgency against her mouth like he’s been waiting for this all night and she tastes the wine they’ve been guzzling on his lips. He’s half urging, half dragging her onto him as his other hand slips down across her hip. Eagerly shifting her position in his lap, she feels him harden beneath her and it’s a jolt to the senses. Too fast too fast too fast. Rory abruptly pushes him back.

A moment passes—where she’s looking in every direction but his—before he inches forward an infinitesimal amount and all of a sudden, he’s in her personal space again—because really, how far away could he have been when she’s still in his lap? He stills, waiting for her to decide what happens next.

Are we friends or— Rory breathes her indecision against his skin but in that same beat, she’s angling her head up to meet his mouth; opening hers that much wider when he slips his tongue in. Logan slowly eases her down onto the bed, his right hand gently inching up beneath her shirt. He feels warm and reassuring on her skin and she finds herself running her hands all over his back.

“Logan! There’s a girl looking for you out here!” Colin’s voice carries over the music but they ignore him until the frantic banging starts. “Logan! Are you dead? I just said there’s a willing girl outside your door!”  

Groaning as he stands, Logan slips off of Rory and adjusts his pants before running a hand through his hair, trying to make it look halfway presentable. “I’ll get rid of him.”

She cocoons herself in his comforter as she tries her best to not let this brief setback of reality ruin her drunken haze. But once Logan opens the door, the music blares loudly and a sharp pain reverberates in her skull. She realizes she’s this close to puking and that would be a definite mood killer.

“Hey, Logan.” Rory hears a female voice coo from the doorway and imagines the girl leaning closer to lay a hand on Logan’s chest. “So this is where you’ve been hiding. Can we talk? Privately?”

Mood. Killer. The bile rises quickly to her throat and Rory clamps a hand over her mouth as she hurriedly pushes past them in the doorway. She rounds the corner to find the bathroom mercifully vacant.

And then she's experiencing another brush of typical college life: vomiting into a germ-infested bathroom toilet. Lorelai’s voice echoes in her head as she keels over the toilet. “I just don’t want you to go through what I went through, kid. You’re better than those guys and that world. For God’s sake, you haven’t even been properly drunk before.”  

Well, that’s one thing she can cross off the list. Stumbling to the sink to rinse out her mouth, she keeps a firm grip on the countertop as she tries to quell her insides. She tears off some toilet paper to wipe her mouth and critically looks in the mirror at her reflection. Using her finger to wipe off some of the smudged eyeliner under her eyes, she thinks, Rory Gilmore, you are quite the catch. Startling when a knock comes, she quickly tosses the crumpled paper into the trash and pulls the door open to find herself face to face with Logan.

His mouth angles into a sympathetic smile and she averts her gaze to his shoes. “I guess that last toast to loving toast wasn’t such a great idea.” He pulls her out of the bathroom and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Come on Ace, I’ll walk you home.”

--

“About tonight—” Rory starts when he speaks; his words jarring after they’ve been walking in complete silence on the way to her dorm. Logan absently shifts the shoulder she's been leaning on. “I think—"

“So,” she cuts in desperately, a bit frantic as her brain tries to catch up to her mouth. “How about that game last weekend? Can you believe when that umm, that quarterback did that thing with the ball and then umm… that other guy… that other guy ran around and…” Risking a peek at his face, she bursts out laughing; his expression—a strange mix of absolute confusion and wry amusement—driving home just how inane she sounds. Rory’s snort sets him off and they’re both doubled over, clutching one another for support when her dorm room finally comes into view. She sprints to it. “Oh, thank God.”

Rory tries several times to open the door—repeatedly waving off his help—before wordlessly handing him the key. Easily opening the lock in one try, Logan manages to curb her stumbling to a minimum as he leads her to her bed. He takes off her shoes. “All right, the trash can is in easy access. Just lean over, okay?”     

Nodding, Rory’s eyes are already shut. “My knight in shining armor rescuing me with a well-placed trash can. We’ll get you a steed in the morning.”

“I appreciate the sentiment. Night, Ace.” The door clicks as he leaves the room.

--

The next morning is horrible. The noise, the sunlight, the smell; they’ve all combined forces to dissuade her from ever drinking again. “Don’t worry,” Rory dramatically mutters to the room. “Next time, I’ll just jump off a cliff instead.”

She slowly sits up, resting her weight on her hands before quickly toppling down again. Why did she drink so much? Why did she—oh God, Rory quickly sits up again. She kissed Logan. And he kissed her back. Enthusiastically. But what the hell is she supposed to do with that?

A few minutes later, she finally makes it out of bed, listlessly dragging herself to the bathroom before falling short and settling for flopping into a dining chair instead. She rests her elbows on the table and cradles her head in her hands.  

“It’s a shame really,” Paris says, glaring at her with a cup of coffee in hand. “You could’ve stayed home and avoided the retching, the migraine, the overall crappy feeling. But no, anything’s better than listening to Paris go on and on about her problems.”

Rory groans loudly, knowing it won’t change a thing. “Not now Paris, please? Or you could keep going but I’m barely listening as is.”  

Paris looks at her slumped figure in disgust. “Fine, I’ll lay off for now. Just don’t make a habit out of this. I didn’t waste all this time on you so you could turn around and become some typical frat groupie. Remember when we tried the whole spring break thing? You were the one that ‘had no desire to feel that way again.’ Where did that girl go?”

“So I drank, big whoop. That’s what college is for.” A bolt of self-righteousness dissipates enough of the spinning for her to grab the Advil on the table. “It’s not like I do this every weekend. I’m sorry I stepped off of my pedestal for one night—"

“One night? Listen up princess. You’ve screwed up plenty of times. Everyone’s just conveniently forgotten when you slept with Dean while he was still married. Don’t fool yourself into believing that you’re as perfect as you’re implying.”  

Paris’ digs bring up feelings she’s consciously worked hard to suppress and now Rory is just plain furious. “Well I’m sorry I couldn’t follow your example and cheat with a professor, but I guess I have something to strive for now, don’t I?” The words burn leaving her mouth and she’s suddenly plagued with images of Paris coming at her with a chainsaw. “Wait, I’m sorry. I’m just taking it out on you and—and that—that wasn’t what I meant.”    

With daggers in her eyes, Paris stomps over and deliberately empties the mug of steaming coffee into the sink before loudly storming out.

--

Rory’s back in bed when Logan knocks on her door a couple hours later. “Hey, I come bearing gifts.” He waits as she slowly sits up before handing her a large to-go cup. Opening up the paper bag from his other hand, he says, “That’s the largest cup of coffee Yale was legally allowed to sell me and—” he pulls out a wrapped sandwich. “I wasn’t sure about your stance on solids during hangovers but, egg McMuffin?”

Rory doesn’t stop gulping down coffee but she immediately holds out her hand. “Bless you,” she says, once she’s put down the cup to unwrap the sandwich.

He smiles as he sits down beside her, pulling out another sandwich for himself. “Looks like you’re feeling better.”

She makes a sound of vague disagreement around a mouthful of egg before looking at him with renewed interest. “Hey, you’re rich. Can you check me into one of those rehab centers that’s in vogue with celebrities? I'm pretty sure I’m a detriment to society.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Beach view okay with you? And do you need an emotional support monkey?” Logan raises an eyebrow as he takes another bite. “I only left you a few hours ago. How could you possibly have managed to become a detriment to society already?”  

“Well,” she says, setting the sandwich in her lap to use her fingers to count off each infraction. “I’ve alienated Paris with an offensive comment about her last relationship and I’m pretty sure she’s going to murder me in my sleep tonight. I have about a week’s amount of homework to catch up on but I can’t do any of it right now because I’ve got the biggest migraine known to man and…" she trails off, trying to muster up the nerve to mention last night. “I have this feeling I did something incredibly embarrassing yesterday.”  

He keeps on eating. “What, that’s it? Man, I feel sad for your life before me.”  

She narrows her eyes at him as she reaches for her coffee. “I’m not in the mood to be mocked.”

“Irrelevant. No one is ever in the mood to be mocked.” Grinning, he shrugs good-naturedly when her expression remains unamused. “Listen, in a couple hours the headache will be gone. Then you’ll apologize to Paris for whatever you said and it’ll be nauseatingly remorseful and appropriate since you’ve been formulating this apology while having said argument. And then, you’re going to spend every minute in the library starting tomorrow.”  

She’s genuinely curious. “Why not today?”

“Studying with a hangover makes things worse, not better. Trust me.” 

Silence blankets the room and it becomes glaringly obvious that he’s avoided answering her last worry. “So,” she says, her mouth suddenly bone dry. She takes a giant sip of coffee. “Did I do anything incredibly stupid last night?”

Logan takes his time folding the empty wrapper into a square as he mulls over the question. He smiles warmly when he looks at her. “Not stupid per say, but not what I had defined as Rory-like behavior.” 

“Oh. And did this particular scenario have any rippling effects that I should be aware of? Just—” She has to take a deep breath. “I’d like to prepare myself for a counter attack or if I’m going to have to duck out of every room you enter.”  

Against better judgment, intentions and expectations have woven themselves into her question and she’s suddenly very aware of the butterflies emerging in her stomach.

“No.” Well. That was anticlimactic. “As I see it, the girl in this scenario was more than a little intoxicated and I’m pretty sure that accounted for any lapses in judgement. Right?”

A subtle letdown wrapped in a partial hypothetical.  

“Right.” Rory clears her throat as she struggles to hide her disappointment. “Right.”  

“Anyway,” he says, standing up. “I’ve got to get going. Finn crashed in my room last night”—he grabs the McDonald’s bag he had set on her desk— “and if a sandwich isn’t the first thing he sees when he wakes up, he’s going to bitch about it for the rest of the day.”

He’s made it to her doorway when she blurts out, “Logan? Are we—” Rory looks down at her hands, knowing full well that this is going to be embarrassing. Are we friends or— “We’re okay, right?”  

The grin lights up his face—reminding her of dorm hallways, of arguments and challenges and promises—and he says, “‘Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.’”

Chapter Text

February 2005

“Open up, Logan!” Several thumps follow as if she’s kicking his front door.

“Ace, as far as I know you still have hands,” he says loudly as he unlocks the door; then stands stunned when it swings open. “Or maybe not.”

Rory beams at him, both hands holding on to a stack of folders that reaches the bottom of her chin. “A little research for your article.”

Stepping aside to let her through, he follows behind as she bounds toward the living room, dropping the folders into piles on his coffee table.

"Man,” he says, “you are single handedly keeping Office Max in business.”

She shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m kind of a note freak.”

“You’re kind of something, alright,” he says, warily eyeing the folders.

“Anyway, I've divided them up into sections”—she points to each pile—“interviews, research, statistics. I wasn't sure what you already had, but I figured there's something here that can help you with your story.”

“And if not,” he quips, “I'm pretty sure they'll come in handy fending off any prospect of a social life.” Logan grins as she glares, sitting down beside her on the couch. “Have I mentioned how much appreciate you doing this for me?”

“Well, you’re welcome. I expect an award-winning article in return. No pressure.”

“Yeah.” He busies himself with opening one of the folders, scanning through her notes. “You and my dad both.”

He’s moved on to languidly turning the pages when she comments lightly, “My, your enthusiasm is downright overwhelming, maybe even bordering on embarrassing. Careful, I might have to leave soon from secondhand embarrassment."

"Sorry,” he says, flipping the folder shut and shooting her a conciliatory smile. "I know you put in a ton of effort into organizing all this, but forced participation doesn't really bring out the best in me."

Rory acquiesces with a slight lift of her shoulder. “So," she says, looking at him thoughtfully. "If you didn’t have the whole Huntzberger destiny thing weighing you down, what would you want to do?”

“Huh.” Logan looks at her in surprise. “I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that.” He tries to rack his brain for some lost childhood dream he had before having been told about his ill-fated future… and comes up empty. “Never given it much thought actually. I’ve always been too busy trying to dodge the dynastic plan. What do you think I should do?”

Folding her arms across her chest, Rory sizes him up. Snapping her fingers, she says cheerfully, “I got it. Car salesman.”

He emphasizes each word carefully. “Car. Salesman.”

“Any kind of salesman, really. Take your pick. You’d be great at convincing people to buy things they need. Or don’t need. I mean, the money might not be great in the beginning, but don’t give up. You could end up owning a few dealerships, have your face plastered on billboards, star in several low budget commercials with your very own catchphrase.” She nods encouragingly. “I believe in you.”

“Wow," he deadpans. "I don’t think shackling myself to my family obligations has ever sounded more appealing.”

She grins widely. “You’re welcome.”

“Alright, enough of this.” He gathers up all the folders and gets up to move them to his desk. “Arrested Development? We got through about half the first season last time.”

“Oh. But it’s Saturday,” she says matter-of-factly.

“So? You've got something else to do?”

"So, considering you haven’t spent a Friday or Saturday or even a Monday at home since we've started hanging out, I just assumed you were kidding when you said you wanted to finish Arrested Development tonight.”

“I don’t go out every Saturday.”

She scoffs loudly. “Two weeks ago, you had a 104 fever and you still managed to stay conscious for two rounds at that reggae club you dragged me to before fainting.”

“Men do not faint. Men pass out.”

“My point still stands.”

“Well, then it’s one for the record books. I told you we’re staying in and we are. Now what do you want to order? Chinese? Indian?”

“Well, that depends. Are we ordering from FuFu’s on Jefferson? I’ve been craving the wonton noodle soup from there.”

“Chinese it is.”

‘But then again, samosas from Sandeep’s sounds really good too…”

“You want both, don’t you?”

She smiles widely. “You know best.”

--

“I can't eat another bite,” she groans, leaning back on the couch as she clutches her stomach.

Logan reaches into the takeout bag to pull out a container of steamed custard buns and cocks his head at her.

Rory looks at him sheepishly. “Okay, but just note, dessert goes in a different part of my stomach.”

Nodding placatingly, he passes her a bun. Grabbing one for himself, he says, “I talked to my mom today. She mentioned I'd been formally invited to Richard and Emily Gilmore’s vow renewal. That your doing?”

“Mmm, not so much,” she says, neatly splitting her bun in half. “They asked me if you should be invited and I said it was their party so they should get final say on the guest list.” Finishing her bite, she says, “Though I’m eighty five percent sure they think something’s going on with us after I asked my grandpa to help me with that prank.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “You didn't want me to come?”

Confusion lines her features. “Sorry? I thought I was doing you a favor. Didn’t know fortieth wedding anniversaries with your parents’ friends would be your type of scene.”

He takes a big bite of the bun. “Please, I can have a good time anywhere. Plus, I’m assuming there’s an open bar.”

“Yes, quite a draw for a guy with an American Express black card," she says, eyeing him curiously. “You’re not really thinking of going, are you?”

He shrugs, grinning widely. “Maybe. Finn’s already clamoring to be my plus one. He loves weddings for the networking opportunities so that should be entertaining.”

“Networking opportunities?” A look of understanding dawns on her face. “Let me guess: vulnerable middle-aged women who are afraid they’re going to die alone.”

He looks genuinely impressed. “You’re getting better at this.”

“Now I can die happy. Hey, that last bun is mine. No touching!”

--

“You did good, Ace.” Rory turns around at her grandparent’s vow renewal reception to see Logan with a grin on his face. “No stumbling down the aisle as far as I could tell.”

“Thanks,” she says, eyeing the drinks in both his hands. "And no surprise you’ve already been to the bar.”

He holds out one of the champagne flutes. “French 75 for the lady. Man?” He slowly looks her up and down. “Lady?”

“A regular comedian, ladies and gentlemen.” She rolls her eyes as she takes the flute from his hand. “By the way, thanks for making faces at me throughout the ceremony. Now there are at least five hundred photos committed to film of me looking like I’m trying extra hard not to pee in my pants.”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he says, the smile reaching his eyes as he clinks her glass with his. “But I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. You're gorgeous.”

Rory’s grown accustomed to Logan dropping compliments as often as he breathes. But still, she finds herself feeling some kind of way about the surety in his tone and hastily changes the subject. “Where’s your date?”

“I left him waiting at the bar for his drink,” Logan says, peering around. “There he is.”

“Rory, love,” Finn says, once he's joined them. “I need you to put in a good word to your grandparents for me. I tried to get on stage to sing 'Endless Love,' but the deejay said he’s not allowed to take any requests.”

“Well,” Rory says delicately, “while both Logan and I can vouch for your rather enthusiastic performances—” She shoots Logan a look and once he picks up on the hint, they’re both nodding reassuringly at Finn. “Unfortunately, my grandparents have implemented a strict no karaoke ban for the night." She pats Finn on the shoulder. “But I know they’ll regret it once I tell them how well received your performance had been at the zydeco club."

Looking forlorn, Finn suddenly zeroes in on something over her shoulder; visibly perking up, his expression turns to one of interest. Finn throws back the rest of his drink with renewed vigor. “There’s my cue, kids. That woman near the dance floor looks ready to bawl her eyes out.”

They both watch as Finn approaches an older woman and start to literally wipe the tears from her cheeks. Sliding his hands down to hold both her arms, he begins coaxing her onto the dance floor. Rory quickly looks away when the woman starts edging her hands up Finn’s jacket.  “So…” she says, after exchanging vaguely horrified glances with Logan, “should we dance?”

Logan gives her the once over. “I’d feel like I’m dancing with a guy.”

Huffily, she says, “Never mind, I—”

“Just kidding, Ace. Let’s go.” Placing his hand on her back, he leads her to the dance floor. “Now, do you want to lead or should I?” He laughs when she narrows her eyes. “Come on, let me get in a few of these. You’re wearing a suit at a wedding where you just served as best man.”

She continues looking at him with mild reproach.

“Alright, alright.” Logan pulls her close, placing one hand on her back and grasping her right hand in his. “Let’s give this the old college try, shall we?” 

They’re actually gliding across the dance floor instead of the usual in-place side shuffle. She’s begrudgingly impressed. “You’re good at this. You’re making me look good at this.”

He looks embarrassed. “My mom made me take dance lessons back when everyone was having cotillions. It’s not something I like to advertise.”

“No, no, no. You say that proudly. Ow!” She drops her hands, stepping out of his reach. “Logan, you stepped on my foot!”

“Oops,” he says, the picture of innocence as he steps forward to put his arm around her waist again. “You were saying something?”

“My foot begs me not to answer any more questions.”

“Smart girl. Ow!”

--

“Having fun, kiddo?”

“Dad,” she says, as Chris appears next to her. “You’re... looking a little worse for wear.”

He takes a swig of his drink. “Honey, if you learn one thing from me, it is that you should always take advantage of an open bar.”

“Duly noted. So—” She shoots him a concerned look. “How you doing?”

“Can’t complain.” He takes another swig and blearily looks at her face. “Did your mother ever tell you about our first kiss?”

She shakes her head. “No, can't say I've heard that one.”

“Well, we were fourteen and she walked right up to me in the parking lot after school and kissed me. Said she wanted to know what it would be like. Who does that, you know? It would never have crossed my mind to just go up and kiss someone. But that’s Lorelai," Chris says wistfully. "Once she knows what she wants, the best thing you can do is fall in line.” Sighing deeply, he says, "She really likes that diner guy, huh?"

“Dad,” she says softly. It’s not hard to read the pity in her voice.

“Hey Ace, got you another.” Logan appears on her other side, handing over her drink before turning to hold out his hand to Chris. “Logan Huntzberger, nice to meet you.”

They shake hands as Chris says, “Christopher Hayden, Rory’s father. So, do you go to Yale with Rory?”

“Yeah, we work on the paper together.” Rory raises an eyebrow at Logan and he amends, “Well, mostly she works and I show up the minimum amount of times it takes to keep my dad off my back.”

Chris holds out his glass for Logan to clink. “A man after my own heart. I’ve been pissing off my own dad since ’68. I’d be happy to share a few pointers. Got kicked out of multiple boarding schools back in the day.”

“Oh don’t worry, dad,” she interjects, smiling widely. “I’m pretty sure Logan’s got it covered. What was that story you told me again? With the goat?”

Logan shoots her a look of wry amusement before turning back to Chris. “I’ve bounced around several schools myself before my dad finally wised up and sent me to Woodberry for my senior year. The no girls allowed thing really sped up my motivation to graduate."

"An all-boys school?” A look of relief settles on Chris’ face. “I’m glad my father never thought of that."

Logan grimaces. "Let's just say driving Dean Eldon’s Miata into the lake and getting kicked out of Rivers wasn’t my smartest move."

Chris looks impressed. "You got kicked out of Rivers? I didn't think they kicked anyone out." He swigs the rest of drink. "So what's the deal with the goat? You’ve got to tell the story now or I’ll be left imagining a far worse scenario."

Logan chuckles as he starts to fill in the details; just as he’s nearing the end of the story, Lorelei suddenly appears between Chris and Rory.

"Hi, sorry to interrupt,” Lorelai says before looking in Rory’s direction. “Your grandmother wants a picture of the wedding party."

"Lor," Chris says excitedly, turning his attention to her. "Do you remember the time your parents considered sending you to boarding school and invited that dean to dinner? And you scared him off by pretending to be a satanic worshipper for the night?” He claps a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “This guy drove his car into the lake!”

Lorelai looks at Christopher bewilderingly before holding her hand out to Logan. "Lorelai Gilmore, friend of Beelzebub."

Logan shakes her hand ruefully. "Logan Huntzberger, non-practicing Protestant. Nice to finally meet you."

“Likewise. Sounds like I’ve been missing out on some amazing tales.”

"I don’t know about that." He smiles at Lorelai. “Rory’s told me some pretty legendary ones of yours.”

“Ah, hey. We’re all born with natural gifts. And pissing off my mom is a specialty of mine.”

They share polite smiles before a lull descends on the group.

“Well,” Lorelai says, cutting through the silence. “Hate to break this up, but we should probably go take that picture. It was nice to meet you, Logan.” Logan nods as Lorelai starts dragging Chris away. “Come on, Chris. Let’s get you some coffee, huh? I’ll see you in a few minutes, Rory.”

Rory nods at her mom before turning to Logan. “You want to hang out here or come with? It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Actually”—he takes a quick peek at his watch—“I think I’m going to head out.”

“Oh.” She’s taken aback for a second. “Yeah, of course. You’ve probably got other plans.”

Grinning at her, he says, “I just realized that woman Finn was dancing with is a married friend of my mom’s. I figure I should probably extricate him from that situation.”

She smiles back at him. “Probably a good idea.”

“Colin called earlier about checking out some new tiki bar tonight. Want to join us when you’re done here?”

Rory shakes her head. “I’m not sure when this is going to end, plus it's been a long day. I'll probably just go home and crash.” She shoots him another smile. “I’m glad you came, though.”

“Me too. Thanks for the dance, Ace.” He leans in to kiss her cheek, fingers lightly gripping her wrist as he moves closer to murmur, “Really digging that suit on you.”

As he pulls away, Rory feels the tell-tale signs of a blush coming on. She sees him grinning as she stammers a hasty goodbye and then she’s quickly turning on her heels, hurrying to find her grandparents. 

Chapter Text

“Mmm, shove over Ace. You’re not even big enough to take up half the bed.”

Rory blearily opens her eyes as she feels herself being pushed to one side. “Logan?" She scoots over absentmindedly, still half asleep and convinced she’s dreaming. "How did you get in here?”

Logan clumsily climbs into her bed. “Paris let me in.”

This immediately wakes her up. “You woke up Paris?”

"The light was still on when I knocked," he says, impatiently tugging at the covers twisted beneath her. “Look, if Paris is standing over the bed tomorrow holding a frying pan, I promise to hurl myself in the line of fire.”

She huffs in annoyance as she wiggles around, trying to free the comforter. “You have a perfectly nice, open bed in your own room. Why are you here fighting for space on mine?”

He grabs a decent amount of blanket to pull over himself before shifting to face her. "Was passing through on my way home from Robert's and thought you might still be up. But now that I'm comfortable"—he pats the bed—"I might as well stay."

Grabbing back some of the blanket he’d taken, she says, "Not sure the girl you're dating would agree with that sentiment."

"Nah, she wouldn't care," he says easily, "but I called it off with her yesterday anyway." Logan yawns loudly. "Hey, how did you know there was a girl?"

"Well, the last time I hadn't seen you in a couple weeks was because of a girl. Plus, it's been a while, hasn't it?"

He pauses from rearranging the pillow beneath his head to quirk an eyebrow at her. "Wait. Are you calling me slutty or making fun of me for not being slutty enough?"

"Both?" She watches as his eyelids flutter, losing the battle to stay awake. "Are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable in your own bed?"

"Okay, enough talk. Good night," he says, leaning over to lay a sloppy kiss on her jaw before turning his back to her, blissfully dead to the world.

--

The next morning, Rory wakes up with a stiff neck and a very noticeable lack of covers. Glancing over at the lump beside her, she rolls her eyes when she can barely distinguish his head from beneath the crush of blankets. She awkwardly cranes her head to read the clock on her nightstand and her eyes widen in alarm.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up, " she says, punctuating her words by shaking him. "You've got to leave. Now."

He hazily squints at her as he starts to stir. "What? What's going on?"

Rory's already off the bed and opening her wardrobe. "My mom's going to be here in half an hour so you need to be out in five minutes."

Frantically shuffling through her hangers, she hears the sound of blankets being tossed aside and the bed squeaking as he starts moving around. He's yawning when he says, “You're making me feel cheap."

Glancing over her shoulder, she’s thankful to see him already pulling up his jeans. "If it makes you feel any better, you were definitely not taken advantage of last night."

"Fantastic,” he says, drawing out the word. “When did you say your mom was coming again?"

"About twenty-five minutes now?"

"Guess I should get ready then," he says before practically running out of her room.

“Logan!” She races after him and reaches the bathroom just in time for the door to close in her face. Knocking loudly, she says, “This isn’t a frat house. It’s my dorm! I should at least get to use the bathroom first.” After a couple minutes, she pounds on the door again to no avail. “Logan!”

Paris’ voice rings out from her bedroom. “Keep your relationship in the bedroom! Some people are trying to study!”

The bathroom door opens abruptly and Rory's head snaps back in surprise. “She’s right, you know," Logan says admonishingly. "Don’t you ever think about others?”

"Says the guy who woke me up in the middle of the night to hog all my covers."

Smiling gallantly, he steps out of the bathroom to gesture her in. “The bathroom's all yours. Shall I make us some coffee?”

--

“See?” he says, handing her a mug when she gets out of the bathroom. "You've still got ten minutes to change. We’re swimming in time.” Logan gulps down half his coffee as he's reaching into his back pocket.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says grumpily. “You’ve made coffee. Now get out.”

“Wait, give me a sec. I think I left my wallet on your desk.” A knock diverts her attention as he walks back into her room.

Warily approaching the front door, she calls out, "Mom?"

"Open the door and find out." Mom.

Quickly assessing her options—she could force Logan to stay in her room until they leave… but what are the chances he'd actually stay quiet? Or she could hurry her mom out the door in the guise of needing caffeine… but that’d be odd when she's still in her pajamas—reveals she has none. Resigned, she opens the door. “Mom, you’re early.”

“Why?” Lorelai sticks her head in and peers around. “Is Paris having another session?”

“I’m not going to a shrink! Terrence is a life coach!”

“I was just kidding Paris!” Lorelai proceeds to mouth, “Good ears.”

“She says it makes up for her lousy eyesight.” Rory slowly widens the door. “Come in.”

“So," Lorelai says as she's stepping into the apartment. "I have this crazy story about Michel trying to teach Sookie, of all people, how to improve her beef—”

“I finally found it.  Not sure how it got behind the headboard..." Logan trails off as he steps out of Rory's bedroom and spots Lorelai.  Quickly adopting a guileless smile, he says cheerfully, “Lorelai, hi. How goes the satanic worship?”

Lorelai fixes him with a sharp look. "Peachy keen,” she says evenly. “Plenty of souls to damn."

Logan clears his throat. "I left my wallet here last night”—his eyes widening at the implication—"which was in the room where we were hanging out—since Paris was in the living room—and she says she'd prefer to be where I'm not."

"He speaks the truth!"

"Thanks, Paris," Logan says loudly in the direction of Paris' room.

Giving him a knowing smile, Lorelai says, "Uh huh. Well, I'm sure glad you were able to come over early to find it."

The silence grows exponentially awkward in an extremely short amount of time.

“Well,” he says artlessly, grinning apologetically at Rory as he starts walking toward the door. "This has been fun. Good to see you again, Lorelai. Call you later, Ace."

As the door slams shut, Rory hesitantly meets her mom’s gaze.

Lorelai shoots her a purposeful smile. “I guess you would have preferred it if I hadn’t been speeding on the way over this morning.”

Walking to the counter, Rory goes to pour more coffee into her mug. “It was nothing, mom.”

“Having boys come out of your bedroom in the early morning is nothing?”

“I didn't sleep with him.”

Lorelai clamps her lips together as if to physically halt her words but then blurts out, “You didn't?”

Rory doesn’t even flinch at the implication that she'd lie. Trust doesn’t ebb quite as well between them as it used to in regards to her love life. “Not in the biblical sense. We’re just friends.”

"Well, no offense to your top-rated education,” Lorelai says gently, “but are you sure you know what that word means? Because I feel like you've got it confused with what's that? Oh, right. Dating.”

“No, I don’t,” Rory says definitively. “Nothing happened last night. He crashed here after a party”—hurries her words as she sees her mom opening her mouth again—“and then he woke up, saw you, and left. Not exactly what I'd classify as boyfriend behavior.”

Lorelai tips her head in concession, yielding as she sighs reluctantly. “Okay, I know I'm prying into things that aren't really my business, but it's never going to be easy for me to see boys waltzing in and out of your room. Honestly, no judgement here. Did you want something to happen?”

Rory shakes her head. “Mom, Logan's got about a hundred girls on speed dial and he keeps spare overnight robes for guests. I would be really, really stupid to get involved with him in that way.”

“Sense usually has very little to do with matters like this. Kid, I know I’m being a square here, but I don’t want you to get hurt. Are you really sure you’re okay with just being friends?

“Yes. I am totally, totally fine with that.”

Her mom remains unconvinced. But this time, all she says is, “Uh huh. I’ll drop it for now but you might want to know that repeating words does not make you sound totally, totally fine.”

“Thank you for the lessons on being cool, Fonzie. Now can you please let me get dressed so we can go before I’m subjected to seeing Doyle in Paris’ tiny robe again?”

“Ahh, ahh! I did not need that mental image. You’re paying for breakfast.”

Rory is desperate for anything that’ll get them off the topic of Logan. “Done. You can tell me more about Michel and Sookie. Did she wallop him with a frying pan?”

“No, but she was very close to stabbing him with her favorite steak knife… which could be taken as a compliment when you think about it.”

--

She's sitting at her bedroom desk later that night when she’s startled by several sharp raps on her window. Her bewilderment grows until the knocking morphs into the chorus of “Gimme Shelter.”

Slowly making her way over, Rory pulls up the blinds to see Logan energetically tapping on the window with both fists. Pausing them in mid-air, Logan shoots her a sly grin before lifting his chin toward the window latch, silently asking to be let in. She undoes the latch to let the window swing open. “No longer feeling brave enough to face Paris at the front door?”

“Being stone cold sober has its pitfalls,” he says as he climbs into the room. She's walking back to her desk when Logan barrels past to easily beat her to the chair, effectively cutting off all her attempts to continue working. Lazily leaning back as he rests his hands behind his head, he says, “Hope I didn’t get you into too much trouble with your mom this morning.”

"Uh huh, I’m sure," she says, looking bemused. "That’s why you decided to forgo the clean exit to linger around and make coffee instead.”

Logan grins and holds his hand up in the Boy Scouts salute. “'I cannot tell a lie.’”

“You are aware he never actually said that, right?”

“Can’t get anything past you, Ace.” He claps his hands together. “So, how many rules am I breaking by being in your room right now? Or is it a blanket ban from seeing me at all hours of the day?”

Stonily, she says, “Contrary to what you think, I’m not twelve and the decision is mine if I want to see you or not. Right now, not is winning by a mile.”

She sees Logan very obviously trying to tamp down a smile. “I know I haven’t been around lately which means your social life has”—he suddenly changes his tune after glancing at her face—“I mean, I’m sorry I woke you last night, but I had the noblest of intentions," he says, looking completely innocent. "I figured I would treat you to breakfast in the morning since it’s been a while since we hung out. But then your mom showed up. I’ve missed you, Ace. I just wanted to see you. Honest.”

Rory’s seen him use that look too many times—that picture-perfect amalgamation of contrition and sincerity—to be completely swayed. But still... it’s Logan and she’s used to giving in when she knows she shouldn’t. Rolling her eyes, she says, “Cary Grant’s got nothing on you.”

He gifts her with a disarming grin before swiveling around to face her desk. And then swivels right back around. “So, I see you’re doing something boring and studious. Study break?”

“No,” she says firmly, shaking her head. “No breaks, no sleep. I’ve got an article to finish and Doyle nicely reminded me that it’s got to be sent in by noon tomorrow for proofing or it’s not getting in.” Successfully hustling him out of her chair, she plops down in the vacant seat.

“Come on,” he wheedles. “It’ll be good for you to recharge. Judging by the number of coffee cups on this desk, I can tell you've been at it for hours." She ignores him. “I’m serious, I will drag you out of this room if I have to.”

Already flipping through one of the many opened books on her desk, she says absentmindedly, “Then it’s a good thing for you that I switched to Diet Coke.”

“You’ll be first in line for Cocoa Puffs.”

“Been there, done that.”

“I’ll even let you use the expresso machine this time.” 

Now that gets her attention. She quickly turns to face him, a smile already on her lips. “Really?”

He shrugs. “Sure, why not?”

--

They’re sitting across from one another in the dining hall, each equipped with a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee. She idly skims the surface of her milk with a spoon, waiting for it to turn brown. 

Logan says, “My mother asked me why you couldn't make it to the last soiree.”

Rory looks up at him in disbelief, waiting for the punchline. By now, she’s accompanied him to exactly three Huntzberger functions; the novelty wearing off more and more each time. By the last, it was made clear to her—in a very refined, dignified manner, of course—just how little Shira cares for her and Logan's friendship—or, according to Shira, ‘a classless, unacceptable romance.’ Consequently, Rory has refused every subsequent invitation and Logan has brought a stream of categorically unsuitable dates who've all driven Shira crazy. It was a win-win in Rory's opinion.

He grins. "Let’s just say my mother wasn’t too taken with my date when I had to piggyback her to the car after she drank her way through dinner.”

Rory shakes her head ruefully. “I think that means your mother’s interest has more to do with your recent string of well-chosen dates than it does with newfound appreciation for me.”

“Did you not enjoy the mountain of food I dropped off last week? She had it wrapped up personally for you.”

“But ‘Logan, whatever happened to that Fallon girl. I loved her. Do you talk anymore?’” Rory asks, trying her best to imitate Shira's affected manner.

Logan bursts out laughing. “I’m serious, I think she’s warming up to you.”

Smiling sardonically, she says, “More like she finally realizes I’m just a friend. Ergo, I make a preferable date to the one who fell asleep during the reading or the one who kept going to the bathroom to 'freshen up.' Or apparently, the one who drank too much.”

Logan gives her a salacious look. "Say the word and we’ll break my mother’s heart tomorrow."

“Uh huh. Tread lightly or I'll be forced to sic my grandpa on you again,” she says. They grin at one another as he raises his hands in defeat.

A comfortable silence settles between them, interrupted by the occasional slurp or scraping of a chair when someone goes to refill their bowl.

When Logan’s finished his cereal, he lets his spoon clatter into the bowl before pushing it aside. “Astronaut.”

Imagining farfetched futures for each other has become a thing they do; each suggestion more ludicrous than the last.

Rory slurps a spoonful of milk, raising her eyes to meet his. “Why?”

“Because you love to travel and this will take you to a galaxy far, far away.”

“Any kids?”

He pretends to think this over, alternately counting on his fingers, one or two. “Six. Four girls and two boys.”

“Married or divorced?”

“Married. You guys drive around in a minivan and have three dogs.” She’s always married with an insane number of kids.

“And what are you doing?”

Logan stacks her bowl on top of his, grinning as he says, “I’m on the spaceship with you.”

--

The light drizzle that had begun when they entered the dining hall turns into a downpour when they’re about to leave.

“Well,” he says, peering out the door's singular window pane. Outside, a bolt of lightning lights up the sky. “This looks grim.”

Rory groans as she peers out from behind his shoulder. "Look at that, it could last for hours! There’s no way I’m going to be able to finish that article by tomorrow.” He can feel her eyes drilling holes into his back as she says, “This is all your fault.”

Logan turns around to face her. “Don’t act like you didn’t just have two more cups of coffee. You’ll be fine.” She narrows her eyes and he relents. “Alright, alright, don't look at me like that. I'll help you with the research when we get back. Deal?”

Holding out for a few seconds longer, she finally nods in acquiesce and slumps down beside the door. “Fine, I guess we’re waiting it out.”

Sitting down next to her, Logan purposely bumps into her knees as he stretches out his legs. “Truth or dare?”

Shooting him a puzzled glance, she says, “I’m sorry, are we twelve and at summer camp?”

He nudges her shoulder playfully. "Play along. What else is there to do right now?”

“Well, I’m not moving from this spot so that’ll severely limit your options for a dare.”

“Truth it is.” Logan mulls it over. “Do you think anal retentiveness is an innate or learned trait? Asking for a friend.”

“On second thought—" Rory makes a move to stand. “Braving the storm sounds like the better idea.”

Logan quickly pulls her back down. “Settle down, Dr. Jo. I’m kidding. Let’s see... have you ever skipped class?”

“Please, that’s kid stuff,” she scoffs, looking quite pleased with herself. “I skipped a whole day in high school and went to New York.”

“A whole day?” Logan widens his eyes. “Say it ain’t so, Bueller.”

“Yep,” she says proudly. “I mean, I didn’t lip sync in a parade but I did get mistaken for a native.”

“Next time, I’ll have you on top of that float.”

“It wasn't all great, though,” she says, her expression turning somber. “I ended up missing my mom’s business school graduation and tried to ground myself for six months. But my mom told me I was being too hard on myself.”

He groans in disappointment. “Of course you did.”

“So,” she says brightly, turning to look at him. “What’s the craziest thing you’ve done while skipping class?”

The choices are endless but—"There was this one time I convinced Colin to go skiing instead of econ when I heard the Rockies had gotten a foot of snow. We flew back two days later for midterms."

She shakes her head, smiling amusedly. "You guys are ridiculous."

"Hey, at least I didn't miss anyone's graduation." Logan grins sweetly at the face she makes. "First boyfriend?"

“Oh. Um, do you remember that guy who showed up at my grandparents’ house during that male Yale party?”—she waits for his confirmation nod—“That was Dean. We dated when I was sixteen.”

Taken aback, he says, “Jeez, you guys had been together that entire time?”

“No, no. That was our second go around. We broke up the first time sometime during my senior year.” She tucks her hair behind her ears. “Anyway, I’d ask you who your first girlfriend was but I’m guessing you’ve never had one.”

"Then you'd be wrong,” he says, not missing out on his chance to look smug. “Shannon Fitzgerald in the fifth grade. I asked her to be my girlfriend at recess and then she dumped me the next morning for someone else.”

Rory lets out an overzealous gasp. “That bitch!”

Putting a hand to his chest, he tries to appear wounded. "Never had another one since. I couldn't get over the betrayal.”

She laughs loudly in his face.

“What can I say? I'm tenderhearted.”

"Yes, that must be it," she says dryly, before her eyes light up. "Oh! If you had to kiss Finn or Colin, who would it be?”

Logan grimaces at the mental imagery. “Great, now I have to bleach my brain.”

In a sing-song voice, she says, “You have to pick one.”

“If I have to pick… I guess it’d be Colin,” he says. And immediately shudders. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure Finn would try to stick his tongue down my throat.”

“Gee thanks,” she says, shuddering a bit herself. “Now I have to bleach my brain.”

“You brought it up!"

“And I regret it more than you do.”

"Not. Possible," he says and they start laughing.

As they fall quiet, another thunderbolt makes itself known in the distance.

A few minutes later, Rory says, “When I was younger, my favorite movie was ‘Singing in the Rain.’ I must have watched it at least thirty times. Being young and unaware at the time that I was born with two left feet, I made my mom practice the choreography with me out in actual rain. We would spend hours out there.” A nostalgic smile tugs at her lips. “Never even learned a single song.”

Logan smiles softly at her. “Wow, you and your mom are the real deal, huh?”

She shrugs self-consciously. “I know you think it’s lame, but she’s my best friend.”

“Not lame just… not a concept I’m familiar with,” he admits. “All communication with my parents basically boils down to two conversations. ’Logan, you're not living up to your potential’ and ‘Logan, when you're sailing close-hauled, wait until you gain that last bit of boat speed before you pull in the jib sheet.’ Or with my mother, it’s ‘Logan, please stop upsetting your father because then I have to hear about it’ and ‘Logan, don’t forget you are carrying on the Huntzberger legacy so don't do anything to make us look bad.’ I’ve never, for one second, forgotten they were my parents.”

Nothing he's sharing is revelatory. Or even particularly interesting. In fact, he’s sure she's been able to glean as much from his past quips and offhanded remarks about his parents. But then again, Logan’s also sure he's never sounded like this before: a peculiar combination of wistfulness and resentment that makes him feel way too fucking exposed. Leaning his head back against the wall, he says, “Sorry, don’t mind me. All this whining reeks of poor little rich boy.” 

Feeling a slight pressure, Logan glances down to see her hand on his arm. “Hey,” she says kindly, squeezing his forearm lightly. “They’re the ones missing out.”

He shrugs halfheartedly, his eyes moving to her face. “Yeah, well.” Smiling wryly, he asks, “What’s the worst thing you've done to disappoint your mom? Bet I can top it." Rory tenses up something fierce, her hand spasming on his arm and his smile turns gleeful. “Now you have to share with the class. I can tell this is a good one.”

She pulls back her hand, nervously going to push her hair behind her ears. The hesitation in her face is obvious; but then all of a sudden, a look of resignation settles over her features. “Alright,” she says reluctantly. “But it’s also pretty much my worst moment”—she takes a deep breath—“Okay, so, my first year here was… rough. I was floundering and spreading myself too thin and Dean… Dean had gotten married out of high school. But that hadn't worked out so well for him. We managed to keep in touch that year and we… uh—we—we ended up sleeping together by the end of it.” She smiles derisively. “And because I hadn’t made enough idiotic choices for the night, we did it in my childhood room at my mom's house where she could walk in at any time. When she did just that, my mom and I didn’t speak for two months afterward because she tried to get me to own up to the fact that I had been the other woman and I… just couldn’t.”

Damn. He had not been expecting that to come out of her mouth. He’s reeling from trying to reconcile her story with the Rory he’s known all these months and… he just can’t. But when he realizes she’s obviously trying hard not to cry, he stops his efforts altogether; feeling like a jerk for pushing her into sharing.

Logan goes to put a comforting arm around her shoulders, relief flooding in when she shifts her body into his. “Hey,” he says loudly, making himself heard over her sniffling. “You’re okay.” He squeezes her shoulder. "Maybe that wasn't your best decision, but everyone makes mistakes. So you learn from it. Continuously beating yourself up now isn’t going to change anything.”

“I know,” she says, barely able to keep her voice from breaking. “But sometimes—” She slants her body away from his hold. “God, this might be even more embarrassing than what I just told you but... sometimes I find myself buying into the narrative of perfect Rory Gilmore, good kid extraordinaire. When my mom confronted me, I found myself justifying sleeping with him. And then I went on to date him thinking that’ll prove I hadn’t done anything wrong.” Rory closes her eyes tightly as she confesses, “So was that me making a mistake or is that just who I am but I don’t want to admit it?”

Fuck, he is not equipped for this. But it's clear her guilt has already spiraled into ludicrousness and his natural flippancy takes over before he’s really thought it through. “You mean, are you a habitual homewrecker who’s currently between husbands at the moment?”

Rory rears back in surprise and as he watches her eyes roam across his face, he’s desperately hoping his sheepishness reads as sincere instead of mocking. Thankfully, her eyes soften as they meet his and she mumbles, “Well, when you put it that way, yes, exactly that.”

Feeling his stomach unclench as she leans in again to burrow herself into his shoulder, Logan pulls her even closer. “No, Rory. I think you’re safe on that charge. And not that I’m some paragon of virtue, but even I know amoral people don’t sit around trying to figure out whether they’re a good person or not. Which you have obviously done. Often.”

"Well, when you realize mid-argument that Paris has every right to call you out on your hypocrisy… it’s kind of hard not to reevaluate some things in your life." Her words linger as he gives her shoulder another silent squeeze. A few minutes later, Rory’s sitting up straight. "Anyway,” she says, her voice brokering no room for disagreement as she swipes at the lingering tears on her face. “Enough of that. Do you think the rain has subsided enough?”

They engage in a staring contest before he decides to drop it, letting her win the subject change. Popping up for a better look, Logan peers out the window. “Looks pretty light. Want to make a run for it?”

Rory nods rapidly as she gets up and he leans back against the door push bar, ushering her through. They’re hurrying across the courtyard when suddenly, a loud rumble of thunder is heard overhead. In an instant, they’re drenched as the rain becomes a downpour.

It’s every man for himself as they both start dashing for cover. Logan's a few paces ahead when he loses his footing, slipping to the ground.

He hears laughter ring out behind him before she catches up as he’s still on the ground. “Are you okay?” she says, traces of amusement lingering in her voice.

He cocks an eyebrow as he looks up at her. “You think this is funny?”

She bites her lip as a smile threatens to break through. “No, of course not.”

Getting up, he starts advancing menacingly toward her as she wisely backs away. “Logan, no!”

“Come on, it’s funny,” he goads, their laughs echoing loudly as he chases her the whole way back.

The rain stops right as they make it into her building.

Chapter Text

(Late) April 2005

“We’re leaving for Chicago in two weeks,” he announces, letting his bag thump loudly to the floor of Rich Man’s Shoe before sitting down across from her. 

Logan realizes Rory’s grown too accustomed to his grandstanding when she merely takes another sip from her steaming mug, waiting for him to continue.

To compensate, his voice becomes even more boisterous than usual. “My father just bought a small newspaper there and he wants me to put in time, see how he works. As usual, I declined his generous offer—” He holds a hand up as she opens her mouth. “Hold the lecture, you want to let me finish.” 

She shoots him an annoyed look, but complies by remaining quiet.

“I told him thanks, but no thanks. However, I did know someone who would be thrilled at having such an opportunity and that if he hires you for the internship, odds are I'd show my face around the office more.” Leaning back contently in his chair, he waits for her reaction.

Her mouth drops open. “I—wait… what?”

The girl never disappoints. He leans forward again to rest his elbows on the table and says, “You have the option of coming with me to Chicago this summer instead of dawdling in Stars Hollow. What do you say, Ace?”

Her face breaks into a grin. “I say yes! What does it entail? And for how long?"

“Six weeks. Mostly shadowing him, I think. Sort of like an assistant slash secretary.”

Her smile growing even wider, she says, "I knew putting up with you would come in handy someday."

--

A week later, he's ushered into her dorm by Doyle (who’s thankfully wearing pants this time) and finds her pacing in her room, a phone cradled to her ear.

“No, nothing’s changed. We’re still just friends,” Rory says into the phone, her cheeks reddening as she turns and spots him in her doorway. He bawdily winks at her, throwing in a wolfish grin for good measure. 

She smiles even as she rolls her eyes. Looking at him square in the face, she says, “Yes, mom, I’m sure.”

Logan makes a face as if particularly aghast—even going so far as dramatically placing a palm over his heart—before just as quickly shrugging it off. Making a beeline for her bed, he flops down and closes his eyes as she continues talking into the phone.

“Uh huh,” she says, “well don’t forget Al’s bringing back pancakes for a limited time in May so we can’t miss that. Okay, that sounds good. Alright, I’ve got to go. I want to pack up most of my stuff before exams. Call you tomorrow? Okay, love you. Bye.” She hangs up and then directs the next question in his direction. “What are you doing here?”

Sitting up, Logan yawns, stretching his arms above his head. “Wanted to see if you want to grab dinner." But before she can answer, he asks, "What does your mom think about us living together for the summer?"

"Half the summer," she says reflexively, turning to face her bookshelf.

"Semantics. What does she think?"

For a second, Rory's outstretched hand stills on a book spine. Then she clears her throat, her fingers stirring to action as she pulls the book off the shelf. Placing it into a box, she says diplomatically, "I think my mom’s trying to focus more on how this is a great opportunity for me and less on the fact that I'll be living with a boy."

"Right.” And he continues prodding because it’s fun. “Is she not thrilled because it's me or would any guy trigger the same concerns?"

Rory whirls around to shoot him a searching look, as if trying to snuff out his motives. "Any guy," she says, but admits, "Although it definitely doesn't help that the last time you two met, you had just walked out of my bedroom."

He grins at the memory. "So, dinner?"

She glances around the room and as he takes in the half-full cardboard boxes scattered about, he feels his chances of convincing her start to dwindle. Pointing in the general direction of her desk, she says, “I want to finish clearing my desk first.”

Logan groans. “Come on, that’s going to take forever. Hire student movers. I’ll pay.”

Reaching down to grab an empty box, she holds it out to him. “This’ll be much quicker if you help me instead of complaining.” 

He doesn’t move a muscle.

“Please?” Shaking the box in his direction, she says, “I promise I won’t touch your fries at dinner after I’ve finished mine.”

Dubiously eyeing her outstretched hand, he finally relents. He walks over to grab the box from her. “I don’t believe you, but fine.” A few minutes later, he turns to her from where he’s packing up the books underneath her desk. “By the way, my dad told me he’s found an apartment close to the paper. Fully furnished, two bedrooms, two baths. Complete with servants and a crystal chandelier in the ballroom.” 

“Oh good, I was afraid I’d have to do without a lady’s maid this summer. So—” Rory suddenly becomes very focused on smoothing out the label she’s just affixed to a packed box. “Should we set up some ground rules?”

“Ground rules about what?”

“You know, as roommates. Standards of cleanliness, chores, and uh—rules about overnight guests.”

“Overnight guests?” He sees her still needlessly smoothing out the label and grins knowingly. “Overnight guests. You have plans for this summer I need to know about?”

Rory scoffs indignantly, finally dropping her hand from the label as she looks up at him. “This conversation is more for you than me, I’m sure. I just don’t want to walk into the living room and see something I shouldn’t.”

"Right, you're the one that brought it up. I hadn't even thought about it.” He smirks innocently at the face she makes. And then says matter-of-factly, “Look, how about we agree to keep whatever overnight guests implies to the safe confines of our bedrooms? Then no one has to see anything.”

Rory quickly nods in agreement, looking eager to be done with the topic. “Settled.”

“But wait a minute—” He pretends the thought just occurred to him. “Should we define what whatever means? We wouldn’t want there to be any confusion about the rules.”

Irked, she declares, “That’s it. I’m so eating your fries.”

--

Over the next week, they argue every time Chicago is discussed. Logan suggests doing a road trip for the way there and the conversation about who will drive drags on for days. 

“Try none, Ace. You’re dangerous behind the wheel.”

“Oh yeah, so why am I always designated driver when we go out?”

“Okay, fine. Correction: you’re a slightly better driver than someone who’s intoxicated. Happy?”

“I’m a good driver! Just because I don’t weave in and out of traffic to get somewhere a few seconds earlier like you do—"

“At least I’ve never hit a deer.”

“It ran into me!”

It’s settled when he brings up the ridiculous notion of how the deer’s family might come looking for revenge and she caves just to end an argument she didn’t particularly care to win in the first place.

--

Subsequently, the next fight revolves around rent and this time, she isn’t backing down. They’re glaring at one another from opposite sides of his living room; her eyes flashing as his hands are balled into fists.

“I’m paying half the rent, Logan.”

“That’s going to be most of your paycheck, Rory.” 

“I don’t care. I’m not going to sit back and let someone else pay for everything.” 

She sees him working his jaw, his voice dangerously low when he asks, “You mean like me?”

Studying the carpet beneath her feet, she mutters, “You said it, not me.” A sharp stab of guilt takes hold in her chest but she’s furious enough to keep walking steadily past him out the door. 

They don’t talk for the next couple days and she convinces herself it's for the best; that this is one thing she can’t give in on. But despite knowing this, the ugly feeling of shame refuses to leave her alone. Logan’s always done everything humanly possible to avoid showing interest in his preordained future. But this time, he willingly gave in just for her to have this opportunity. And then she threw it in his face. 

On the third day, she picks up the phone to call him and relief floods her body when he actually picks up. But the feeling is short-lived when she’s met with flinty silence. Taking a deep breath, Rory says, “I’m sorry. I was being a hypocrite and so incredibly rude and I shouldn’t have—”

“People have said worse,” he says, effectively cutting in; his voice dripping with resigned reluctance. “You do what you have to and let’s just move on.” 

Stunned by the fact that she hadn’t even finished apologizing, Rory can’t help asking, “That’s it?”

“I already know I’m a rich trust fund kid. How can I be ashamed of it when I’ve used it to my benefit at every turn? Besides—” He lets out a noisy breath that echoes through the phone. “Besides, I'm no good at holding grudges.” 

“Well, I really am sorry.”

“I know, Ace.”

(Mid) May 2005

"Last week you said you would go to Colin's party.”

“I know I did,” she says, switching the phone to her left hand as she empties the contents of her backpack onto her desk. “But I didn’t think I’d get into Stars Hollow this late. Now all I want to do is take a shower, watch bad television and do laundry. My last exam was brutal.”

“All the more reason for you to blow off some steam,” he says confidently. “Besides, Finn’s planning to unveil his rendition of the Napoleon Dynamite dance tonight. He slept over yesterday and now I’ve got ‘Canned Heat’ seared into my brain. Are you really willing to miss that?"

She laughs at the imagery. "Seriously?"

"Get ready,” he says, his tone definitive. “I’m about to leave my place.”

“Logan, I said no," she says, but the protestation sounds weak even to her ears.

She hears a door creak open on his end. “Alright, I should be there in thirty minutes.” 

“Logan—” Click. Pulling the phone away from her ear only confirms he’s already hung up. Huffing in annoyance, she abandons the backpack and hastily rummages through the rest of her bags for suitable party clothes. Entering the kitchen where Lorelai is toasting up Pop-Tarts, Rory offers up a hurried, almost unintelligible explanation—"forgot about this party", “Brady Bunch marathon starts tomorrow”, "remember how Pedro had to have a skit", "I'm so sorry"—as she rushes to shower.

Rory’s still in the bathroom when the doorbell rings but picks up the pace when she hears Lorelai yelling, “Get out here before I start pulling out the baby pictures” and the unmistakable sound of the front door being opened.

When Rory finally emerges in the entryway, it's a toss-up between who looks more relieved to see her. Hurriedly kissing her mother on the cheek, she reassures her she’ll be home early as she pushes Logan out. Turning back to close the front door, Rory catches a glimpse of her mom absently rubbing at the lipstick mark she left as the door clicks shut. 

--

When Logan pulls into Colin's driveway, her eyes are immediately drawn to the gaudy stone fountain dominating the front of the house. Entranced by the enormous winged monstrosity sitting on top, she sits dumbfounded even after he’s pulled her door open.

"Is that—” Rory leans closer to the windshield. "Is that a gargoyle holding a baby?"

He laughs out loud as he holds out his hand. "Come on, it's even better inside." Blindly letting him pull her along the walkway, her eyes remain glued to the fountain. Logan says, "Colin’s latest stepmom became inspired by gothic architecture on her last trip to Europe and has been redecorating for the past year or so." He pets the chimera next to the front door when they reach the entrance. "Amazing, right?"

"That's one way of putting it," she deadpans.

He opens the front door and gestures her through the pointed archway. As they cross the threshold, they're immediately swallowed up by the crowd of people inside. She thinks she spots a statue of Mr. Tumnus (how is that accurate to the era?), and turns to tell Logan; only to discover he's no longer by her side. People slip past in all directions as she tries to keep her footing, scanning the room twice before spotting the familiar flash of blond hair; and of course, already surrounded by a gaggle of girls.

Narrowing her eyes, Rory purposely stalks over to the group. She delicately lays a hand on Logan’s arm. "Sorry to interrupt. This will only take a second," she says to the group, offering up an apologetic smile that turns hard once her focus lands on Logan. "Just wanted to let you know, the doctor says the loss of brain cells was inevitable in your case. And highly contagious." 

Then she turns around to stomp off as she hears Logan let out a surprised bark of laughter behind her. Inwardly seething at one of the makeshift bars scattered around the room, she feels someone sidling up beside her a few moments later.

Logan slings an affectionate arm around her shoulder. "I gotta say, that was one of the most diplomatic ways anyone has ever called me an idiot."

She immediately shrugs it off. "If you were just going to ditch me the second we got here, why did you want me to come in the first place?” she spits out vehemently. “I was perfectly happy staying at home tonight"—she sees him intently studying her face—"What?”

He shrugs carelessly. “Nothing. You’re right.”

"I am?" She didn’t expect him to give in so easily. “I mean, I am.”

He nods. "So, okay."

"Um. Okay?" 

He grins, not bothering to fill her in as he signals for the bartender. Changing the subject, he says, "Did you notice Aslan in the backyard yet?" 

"No,” she answers absentmindedly, her mind still trying to figure out what they’ve just agreed on. “But I guess that explains Mr. Tumnus in the foyer earlier.” And then she lets it go, her enthusiasm about the décor abating her anger. “So is Colin’s mother going for some kind of fusion fantasy gothic style? Or is she just clueless?" The bartender comes back and hands Logan two glasses, one of which he tries to pass to her. She eyes it warily. “What is it?”

“7 & 7.” When she doesn’t make a move to grab the drink, he holds it out further for her to take. “Come on, Ace. We’re celebrating the end of the semester. Live a little.” 

As her gaze shifts from the drink in his hand to the look on his face, the spark of challenge in his eyes makes her remember that night in January when they hid in his room with the music blaring outside the door and drank and kissed and. Brushing these thoughts aside, she thinks, that was a long time ago. Hastily grabbing the drink, she clinks it against his and then downs the whole damn thing.

“Whoa,” he says, still holding a full glass in hand. “Is that how tonight is going to go?”

She sets her empty glass on the bar, turning to grin impishly at him. “You’re designated driver tonight, right?”

“Yes…” he says, delighted curiosity dancing across his face.

“Then yes.” She turns back to flag the bartender for another. 

--

Logan finds her hours later in one of the upstairs lounge rooms. “There you are,” he says, looking amused.

Rory’s head drunkenly sways up at the sound of his voice; her face lighting up at the sight of him. “Hey,” she says eagerly, “you’re here.” She blearily looks around at the other people occupying her table and he notices Stephanie sitting beside her, quietly whispering to the guy next to her, and a random couple sitting across from her, heavily making out. “Have you met everyone? Everyone, this is Logan.” 

No one stops what they’re doing.

He bites back the snort of laughter. “So this is where you ended up after declaring Finn 'the winner of all elections in the world for all time.'” He gives her the water bottle he’s been holding. “I think it’s time to get you home, Ace.”

As he helps her up, Rory says, “Well, after I made that toast, I was on my way to the bathroom. I think?” She nods to herself in confirmation. “Yes, I was on my way to the bathroom when Stephanie dragged me up here to meet the exchange students from Spain who speak very little English.” 

“Uh huh,” he says patiently, taking back the bottle to open the cap before handing it back to her. “Drink the water. And where’s your purse?” he asks, taking a look around the room. Finally spotting it beneath the couple making out, Logan gently leans Rory against the nearest wall. “Give me a second.” 

As he’s cursing and awkwardly trying to maneuver around the couple (who uncooperatively refuses to separate, even for a second), he hears a male voice calling out Rory’s name.

“Rory, you are leaving?” The Spanish guy looks confused as he walks over to Rory who’s taken to swaying languidly against the wall. When the guy gets close, he holds up the shot glasses and a bottle of tequila for her to see. “I thought, we play?”

“Nope, sorry buddy,” Logan says as he’s straightening up, purse in hand. With a razor-sharp smile, Logan strides over and claps his other hand on the guy’s shoulder. “She’s leaving.” 

Logan trades her bottle of water for the purse, slinging it across her body before putting a supporting arm around her waist. As Rory clumsily shifts her weight onto him, the other guy raises both hands in the air, backing away. 

Once she’s regained enough equilibrium, Rory looks up at the other guy, chirping, “Bye Julio, it was nice meeting you—” as Logan’s whisking her out of the room. “Are you sure we have to go?” she asks wistfully as they’re walking down the stairs. “I was just about to show Julio how to play quarters so I could beat him.”

“Well, considering you can barely stand on your own, yeah, I think it’s time to go.” He grips her waist tighter when he feels her stumbling on the steps. “But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to have easy marks available for you at the next party. As an added bonus, they’ll even speak English.”

“Okay,” she says, happily yielding as they make it to the first floor. “Oh, I do have a question though. Earlier when I was playing quarters against you, why did I have to keep drinking when you were the one who kept losing?” 

Logan bursts out laughing. “Ace, I think the real question is, why did you keep grabbing the drink out of my hand after crowing about how you had won?” 

They’re almost to the foyer when Finn appears in front of them. Logan feels her gracelessly swaying to a stop seconds after he has. “Why, this can’t be the studious Rory Gilmore,” Finn says, a scandalized look on his face. “Huntzberger, what did you do to her?”

Rory squints at Finn, now looking visibly annoyed. “I’ve drank around you before, Finn.”

Finn smiles broadly. “Yes love, you have. But you have to let me have my fun. Unlike those previous times, this is the first time I get to call you the drunker one.”

Suddenly, Colin appears beside Finn, grinning delightedly at her. “Miss Rory, you’re looking absolutely smashing.” 

She’s out of his arms with far more speed and dexterity than he thought capable at this point. “Hi Colin,” she coos, wrapping an arm around his neck as the other hand rests on the collar of his shirt. 

Colin shoots Logan a quizzical look over her shoulder, suddenly looking out of his depth.

“Do you remember that time you came to my class to profess your undying love to me?” Rory says, taking to smoothing out the collar. “I was just wondering if any part of that speech was true because I’m seriously reevaluating my decision on choosing Logan over you.”

“And on that note”—Logan steps in to gently extricate her from Colin—“we’re going to say goodbye to Colin and Finn.”  

She grins, immediately snapping out of the act as she leans back on Logan. “Night, boys,” she says, waving to the grinning duo as Logan leads her out the door. “Now that,” she proclaims loudly once they’re under the night sky, “was fun.”

--

Rory and Lorelai cram every one of their rituals into one week; rounding out Saturday night with an actual pancake feast from Al’s Pancake World—“Can you believe how lucky we are to experience this in the flesh?”—and finishing every adaptation ever made of Romeo and Juliet—“Can you believe they died in every one of these versions?”

The next morning, Logan knocks on their back door at six a.m.—“You really told him to be here at six?” “Well, I didn’t think he’d actually be here on time!”—and the three of them pile Rory’s things into the bright yellow Xterra he’s rented for the summer.

He climbs into the driver’s seat, pointedly fiddling with the radio presets as Rory finishes saying her goodbyes to her mother. When he looks up again, they’re hugging and laughing and he sees Lorelai let go first, pushing Rory toward the car. 

Lorelai leans against his door and as Rory is distractedly pulling the seat belt across her lap, she says quietly, “Take care of her.”

He has the good sense to keep his mouth shut as he nods; gives her his best reassuring smile.

Once they’re on the main road, Logan glances over to see Rory looking a little glum. “Hey,” he says, waiting until she looks at him. “You want first pick of the music?”

“Yeah?” She perks up at this. “Okay.” But the car stays quiet and when he looks over again, she’s still rooting through her bag, the mountain of CDs on her lap growing higher and higher as she continues pulling out one case after another. Finally, a CD is jammed into the stereo and Bjork comes blasting through the speakers.

Logan instantly groans. “No, no, no, no. This is not going to work.”

Rory’s laughing hysterically, shoveling the rejects back into her bag. “Them’s the breaks. What did you say about Bjork again? That you ‘hate her with the passion of a thousand suns?’”

Now visibly grimacing, he says, “This is how you want to play it? Fine, just wait until it’s my turn.”

“That’s okay”—she’s grinning widely when he looks at her—“You’re way pickier than me when it comes to music.”

Rolling his eyes, he can’t help smiling when he sees her head bopping along to the music in his peripheral. His inflection comes out all wrong when he says, “I’m glad you’re coming with me this summer.” The words are not at all practiced and slightly mocking like they normally are.

Before he has a chance to feel self-conscious, Rory reaches over to grab his hand, squeezing it once before letting go. “Nice try,” she says, “but Bjork stays.”

Chapter Text

(Mid) May 2005

“Vermont,” Logan says, pointing out the windshield at the car to their right.

“No!”

“Man, I am excellent at this game.”

They’re about two and a half hours away from Chicago and have been playing the license plate game to whittle away the time.

“It’s not a skill,” Rory grumbles. “You’re just looking at license plates. Anyone with eyes can play.”

He grins. “What’s your excuse then? You’re terrible at it.”

“Quiet, Huntzberger,” she says, dejectedly slumping down in her seat before excitedly sitting up again a few seconds later. “Ohio! One more for me.”

“Nice job, Ace. That’s what? One for every five I’ve called?”

“I hate you right now.”

“Maryland!”

“Dammit.”

--

Once they’re within Chicago city limits, Rory’s odds in the game have grown even worse. Stonily staring out the window, she tries to ignore Logan's smug chuckling—and equally annoying throat clearing to hide the fact. When their car passes by a grocery store, she imagines the damage she could inflict in the junk food aisles and finally perks up. Plus, grocery shopping with Logan was like letting a kid have free rein in a candy store and let's face it, it’s basically his only saving grace at the moment. Rory makes him stop at the next market they see, spitting out rapid fire instructions as they cross the automatic sliding doors. “Don’t forget the artichoke dip. And Bagel Bites. And New York Super Fudge Crunch!”

He gives her an exaggerated salute as he walks backward toward the frozen foods section. “Aye, aye captain.”

Fifteen minutes later, she's deeply engrossed with inspecting the labels on two different jars of pasta sauce when a hand lands on her elbow and a low voice murmurs in her ear, “Cooking dinner for someone special?”

Balking hard at the initial contact, she instinctively relaxes once recognition sets in. Heart still beating irregularly, she turns around slowly, making it a point to catch his eyes. “Oh, very special,” Rory says, smiling cloyingly at the skeptical look that crosses Logan’s face. “Like stop eating the paste special.”

Grinning, he reaches out to tap her nose. “Cute.”                                              

Her smile turns genuine at his touch. “I try.” She tosses both jars into the cart. “Are you finished? I think we’ve got everything we need for now.”

Logan shudders as he eyes the enormous mound of junk food in the cart. “Definitely.” Handily sidestepping her attempts to drop in a couple cans of Chef Boyardee, he starts pushing their cart to the checkout lines. “Oh yeah, did I mention that Colin and Finn decided to stay for the whole week? Finn says you should prepare yourself for major debauchery after he witnessed your wanton ways at Colin’s party.”

“Huh, so I guess me being here for an internship really doesn’t resonate with him.” She’s finally victorious as an errant shopping cart breaks Logan’s stride and the cans from her hand clang loudly into the cart. “They miss you already?”

“It’s for the good of humanity, Ace. Colin and Finn left alone is a bad idea. I told you about that chimp incident at the debutante ball, right?”

“Are you implying you’re the rational one out of the three?”

“Have you met them?”

She stares at him incredulously. “Have you met you?”

“Cute.”

--

Colin and Finn arrive before dinner the next day and they spend an hour walking around before settling on a bar that looks remarkably similar to Rich Man’s Shoe.

Completely starving at this point, Rory quickly doles out the menus once she’s slid into the booth. “So we traveled 900 miles to hang out at the local pub. Golly gee guys, I don’t know if I can handle all this excitement in one night.”

Finn idly scans the menu. “I wonder if they’ve instated folk night here too.”

Colin’s head pops up in alarm but visibly relaxes as he peers at the stage. “Oh good, there’s an actual band is setting up.” Looking around, he says, “Now where is the waitress? Celebratory drinks are in order.”

On cue, the waitress materializes at their booth. “Welcome to Watson’s. I’m Amber. Would you guys like to start with something to drink?”

It takes an hour—marked by several unsuccessful attempts by Colin to get Amber’s number—but finally, everyone’s got a drink in hand and food in front of their faces.

Logan holds up his scotch. “To another great summer.”

Colin raises his drink. “To no folk night.”

They all clink glasses and proceed to ignore each other, hungrily digging into their meals.

--

Wiping her mouth delicately with a paper napkin, she drops it on the plate before slumping back against the booth. “I can’t eat another bite.”

“You sure? I bet you could polish off the other half of that cow if you really try.” Logan makes a big show out of countering her dirty look with one of his own as he slides out of the booth. “I’ll get our next round.”

Her eyes follow him as he walks away before she turns her attention back to Colin and Finn. “So, what do you boys have planned for the week?”

Colin feigns a thoughtful pose. “Oh you know, visit the Art Institute Museum, catch a game at Wrigley Field, maybe visit the ol’ water tower. Gotta soak in the local culture while we’re here.”

“By local culture, I’m sure you really meant to say girls. And—” she continues quickly as Colin opens his mouth. “I know what you’re going to say next so really, you can stop there.”

Finn chimes in, a faraway look in his eyes as he rests his chin on his hand. “I think we should go to that art museum. I’ll spot a cute girl from across the room. Our eyes meet. I’ll go to her and we’ll discuss our mutual admiration for the portrait in front of us.” He grins lasciviously as he wags his eyebrows at Rory. “Then I’ll tell her I painted it and she’ll believe me because I have an accent.” 

Colin shakes his head. “Your logic never fails to astound me.”    

Tilting his head in Colin’s direction, Finn says, “Exactly what part of my story did you have a problem with, Colin?”

“Just because you have an accent does not mean you can convince a girl you painted a portrait hanging in a museum.”

“I can be very persuasive when I want to be. Rory, darling, tell Colin I’m charming.”

There’s a lull in the conversation as both boys glance over at Rory. She’s staring in the direction of the bar but suddenly snaps out of her daze when she feels their stares. Glancing between the two, she gives them a patronizing grin. “Colin, Finn can be very charming when he wants to be.”  

Finn immediately pounces on her declaration. “See, I told you,” he says haughtily to Colin before winking at her. “You’re quite bewitching yourself, love.”

“You’re not the only charming one in this bar,” says Colin, his gaze fixed away from their booth.

Puzzled, Finn follows Colin’s line of sight and gives a low whistle. “Well, that was fast.”

Halfheartedly glancing back at what had drawn her focus a few moments prior, she sees Logan still standing at the bar, animatedly flirting with the blonde, buxom bartender. As the three of them continue watching, the girl invitingly shifts her position; reaching a hand across the bar to touch Logan’s arm. She whispers in his ear and smiles demurely when he pulls away. Logan gives her a wink before grabbing the drinks. Walking back to the table, he only spots their stares when he is a few steps away.

Logan ignores Colin and Finn’s catcalls as he sits down, giving Rory a rueful smile. “So, what’d I miss?”

--

The next morning is not kind to any of the boys, but it's especially unkind to Finn. He’s always claimed to be allergic to the sun and the long night of boozing leaves him in a vegetative state on the couch. He finally gets up to open the front door when the doorbell rings after Rory suggests it could be a beautiful redhead delivering the pizzas they ordered on the other side—though the irony is lost on him when it turns out that the big burly delivery man has bright curly red hair. All through lunch, Rory eagerly chatters on about the sightseeing she plans on doing in the afternoon to a very rapt audience of one; Colin's peppering her with questions about each place mentioned, his enthusiasm clearly fueled by his two breakfast bloody marys. Once lunch is done, Colin rouses the other two to tag along and with his head resting on one arm at the kitchen counter, Logan reluctantly gives in on the condition that everyone shuts the hell up. Rory hands him the aspirin.

Once everyone’s filed out of the apartment and into the car, Rory fervently reassures them one too many times that they’ll only be visiting a few attractions that afternoon. Warily, Logan plucks the notebook from her hand and discovers a to-do list two pages long (front and back). Before he can even contemplate jumping out, she’s pulling out of their designated spot and onto the road. For the rest of the afternoon, they’re dragged all over town and predictably, Colin fades after their fourth stop. Rory cracks a window open for him to sleep in the car, reassuring the other two he’ll be just fine as she locks the doors. At the Buckingham Fountain (their seventh stop of the day), Finn and Logan exchange nods before Finn throws Rory over his shoulder and Logan swipes the keys from her purse. Despite her protests that she’s got two perfectly functioning legs, Finn plays it safe and carries her all the way to the car.

When they get home, Colin catches his second (third?) wind (once again aided by bloody marys) and eagerly starts planning their evening out. Rory fervently protests, saying she just wants to stay in, but Logan lays it on thick—what kind of friend was she if she left them to their own devices after they had accompanied her all afternoon. Despite repeatedly pointing out how she hadn't even asked them to tag along, her arguments are no match once Colin and Finn join in.

This time, they end up at a diner that has no resemblance to Rich Man's Shoe but has a jukebox that plays everything from Elvis Presley's "Hound Dog" to Salt-N-Pepa's "Push It." Once they get sick of playing “What’s New Pussycat?” on repeat (and subsequently, so do the other diners), they move onto a disco club that features ABBA night every Saturday. And once they were sick of hearing "Dancing Queen" every half hour, they find themselves in a jazz club ordering rounds and rounds of sidecars. The night becomes significantly blurrier after that.

The next day, Rory is not quite as hungover as just plain exhausted; she alternates between staying in her room to prepare for her internship and coming out every hour to admonish them for making her go out at all last night. Needless to say, the day is a lost cause for all four of them.

Then suddenly, it’s Monday morning and Rory’s guzzling down her morning coffee before running out the door.

--

“Hi, I’m Rory Gilmore. I’m supposed to start my internship today.” The receptionist motions for her to sit in an empty chair before making a call to the editor-in-chief.

A few minutes later, she hears her name being called as a bespectacled dark haired, middle-aged man walks toward her. Shaking her hand, he says, “Keith Cunningham. Let me get someone to show you around before Mitchum arrives for the general meeting.”

Smiling gratefully, she follows him past several rows of cubicles, trying to contain the surge of nervousness that's been threatening to spill over ever since she stepped foot in the building.

“Matt,” says Keith, stopping at a cubicle near the back of the room. Rory peers beyond Keith’s shoulder to see a very good-looking guy with dark blond hair. “Rory here is going to be interning for us this summer. Can you show her around the office?”

“Sure, just give me a second,” Matt says, frantically typing while he speaks. A few seconds later, he stands up, flashing her a smile as he holds out his hand. "I’m Matt.” She shakes his hand nervously while very subtly giving him the once-over. “Follow me, Rory. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

Quickly saying her goodbyes to Keith, she hurries to keep up with Matt’s long strides. “So,” she says, the couple of minutes they’ve spent walking in silence only serving to make her more anxious. “How long have you worked here?”

Matt glances over at her. “Two years now. I started as a junior copy editor out of college and haven’t left since. Are you still in school?”

“Yeah, I’m starting my junior year at Yale in the fall.” Critically looking down at her outfit, she mutters under her breath, “I knew this dress was too college-y.”

“What’s that?”

Her head snaps back up. “Oh, nothing, I just… had a hard time picking out my outfit this morning. I mean, I wanted to look professional but not too Lois Lane-y and I was worried about looking like a college kid…” She trails off at the amused look on his face. “Sorry, I tend to babble when I’m nervous. So, where’s that copy room?”

Matt wisely sidesteps her jabbering, his green eyes shining with laughter. He points to the room on his left. “Right here. I’ll give you some pointers. That copier’s a bit tricky.”                                           

--

Logan hears the door slam close before the unmistakable click-clack of heels echoes loudly into the kitchen. Without looking up from his laptop, he calls her over. “Hey, come check this out. This video is hilarious.” He replays it, laughing to himself as she rounds the counter to the pantry. When Logan finally looks up, he sees her frantically combing through the pantry shelves. “Ace? What are you looking for?”

Rory straightens up, turning around to address him. “Did we end up buying that package of doughnuts from the market? Or did you make me put them back in favor of the Twinkles? I could have sworn we bought both but now I can't find either.”

“Ace—”

“Anyway, it’s fine. I’m going to pick some up right now. Want anything?” She’s in the midst of retrieving his keys from the counter when he places a hand on top of hers, stilling her jittering.

“Rory.” Tugging at her fingers, he tilts his head to the barstool next to him. She makes a half-hearted attempt to rescue her hand, but he doesn’t let go and she sighs as she sits down beside him. He asks pointedly, “How was your first day?”

Rory doesn’t say anything at first; just avoids looking in his direction as she idly fiddles with the keys in her lap. But when she does speak, her voice is ripe with frustration. “I had no idea what I was doing all day,” she says flatly. “I didn’t know where I was supposed to be and if I was miraculously in the right place, I didn’t have anything relevant to say. Not one single thing. I mean sure, I managed to cobble together a decent argument for Bic versus Paper Mate to fill in the silence but all day, it’s like I was walking around with my brain devoid of any substantial thought.” She looks up at him, a pout forming on her face. “And I walked straight into a file cabinet.”

Logan unsuccessfully muffles his snickering at this last confession and he sees her eyes flash in ire. “Come on,” he says, nudging her shoulder with his. “Laugh. That last part was funny.”

“Tell that to my bleeding big toe,” she says spitefully. But he sees the corners of her mouth twitching upward.

“Look,” he says, plucking the keys from her hand to stop her fidgeting. “It was your first day. It was bound to be a little rough. You just have to get the lay of the land, learn my father’s habits.” Sighing reluctantly, he wracks his brain for any scrap of information about his father he hasn’t actively expunged from memory. “And my father… my father tends to let people go at seven, but he keeps going ‘til eight thirty or nine. He always notices the people who stay. He hates double talk, but he’s really good at it.” Logan rolls his eyes as Rory holds up a hand for him to pause, hastily digging in her bag to pull out a pen and paper. “Uh, he has high blood pressure so he switches to decaf after four. And… he doesn’t like peas,” he finishes lamely.

He watches as she scribbles a few more notes on the page and then she's lifting her eyes to meet his, all doe-eyed and adoring. “Thanks, Logan. I really, really appreciate this. I know how much you hate talking about your dad.”

"Yeah, yeah," he says, almost reticent as he shifts his gaze from hers. “Anyway, we went to that museum you guys were talking about the other day.”

“You three? What for?” Once the realization dawns on her face, a huge grin spreads across his. Smiling, she says, “Don’t tell me Finn actually tried to pick up girls by way of being a starving artist.”

Still grinning, he nods rapidly. “Come on, you should have known it was bound to happen the moment he brought it up. And it worked,” he declares, pausing for her noises of disbelief. “The first two walked away immediately but then he latched onto some budding artist. She’s studying at the University of Chicago and they ended up ‘experimenting with body art’ all afternoon.” At this, he glances at the clock above the sink and realizes he’s late. Logan jumps up, grabbing his wallet and keys from the counter. “We're meeting at Watson's. Wanna come? Colin’s convinced Amber will be his if he shows his face enough. And Finn’s bringing along the artist.”

Rory shakes her head. “I’m going to stay in tonight. Do a little more research.” She must have clocked his look of concern because she reassures him, saying, “I’m fine, promise. I just want to be prepared for tomorrow. Plus, I owe my mom a phone call.” Getting up from the stool, she shoves him toward the door. “Go, I’ll be fine.”

"Fine," he says, allowing himself to be pushed. "Text me if you want me to bring you something back. And donuts are on the counter to the right of the fridge.” Then he abruptly spins in place, letting Rory’s hands drop from his back. He hugs her and lets go before she has a chance to move. “Pass along my regards to Lorelai. Tell her I’ve yet to proposition you, even in my weakest moments.”

She grins at him as he backs out of the kitchen. “She’ll be impressed by your virtue.”

--

A week later, Logan’s wandering around the newspaper office, trying to remember exactly where the receptionist said to turn after the first right. After several wrong turns, Logan finally spots her cubicle and knocks loudly on one of the walls.

Startled, Rory looks up. “Logan? What are you doing here?” Rory asks, eyeing his fancy blue suit. “Looking all spiffed up.”

Before he has a chance to respond, a young man appears beside him, resting a stack of folders on the top edge of the cubicle. “Hey, these need to go to Catherine. And can you make me ten copies of this?” 

Rory nods, grabbing the stack and rifling through the folders as she listens to his instructions. “Will do. Keith wants to see you when you have a minute. Something about the photo on page four not being ‘pleasing to anyone with eyes.’”

The other man groans. “Great. There goes my lunch hour.” Turning to face Logan, the guy extends a hand. “Hey, I’m Matt.”

A careful expression flits across Logan's face before he smiles pleasantly, reaching out to meet the outstretched hand. “Logan. Nice to meet you.”

Nodding a farewell, Matt winks at Rory as he walks away. “By the way, not too college-y today.”

Once Rory turns back to Logan, he notices the smile on her lips. “So,” she says, “What are you doing here?”

He ignores her question. “Looks like things got better after that first day. Do I need to start loudly announcing my presence before entering any rooms at the apartment?” He glances around as she starts sputtering indignantly. “By the way, have you seen my dad? I can tell he’s close by. The flurry, the frightened, the shuffle of sycophants—”

“Logan, there you are.” Mitchum appears behind him. “Did you memorize those profiles I sent over yesterday? We should go over some talking points before the investors’ meeting.”

“Yeah, I did. Had to make some room between my extensive knowledge of Three’s Company and Seinfeld but I managed.” Mitchum nods, clapping him on the back once before walking away. Throwing a pathetic look over his shoulder as he follows his father, Logan noiselessly pleads with Rory to save him.

Mitchum’s voice rings out. “We’re going to four if you want to join us, Rory.”

Her eyes still on Logan, she chirps her affirmative as she offers him a shrug before bounding out of her cubicle to fall in step beside him. They’re rounding the corner to the conference room when she starts bumping her hip against his, successively harder each time until he’s rolling his eyes. But his lips curve into a reluctant smile and when they reach the doorway, Logan gestures her through before following closely behind.

--

“Nice seeing you again, Logan. Stop by the house when you get the chance.” The older man clasps Logan’s shoulder as he walks out of the conference room. “Diana’s staying through the summer until Berkley starts up again. She was just asking about you the other day.”

“I’ll be in Martha’s Vineyard at some point next month. I’ll be sure to stop by then.” Logan smiles politely at the man before nodding at his father who has just joined them. As they walk toward the elevators, Logan ducks back into the conference room. Rory's circling the table, gathering stray papers into a stack. “Hey, let’s grab some lunch. I’m starving.”

“Of course you are, superstar.” She beams at him, her eyes shining proudly. “You did so well,” she says, her voice effusive with praise.

“You sound incredibly surprised.” He points at his head. “Did you really think I had nothing going on up here?”

Dialing back the grin, she coolly shrugs her shoulders. “I had my doubts.”

“Damn,” he says, looking crestfallen. “I knew there had to be at least one drawback to my dashing good looks.”

She rolls her eyes good naturedly before dropping the nonchalance and shoots him another warm smile. “Seriously, Logan. You were great in there.”

Suddenly feeling abashed by her words, he says, “Careful now, you don’t want to feed my ego too much.” He grabs the stack of papers from her hands. “Let’s go. I’ll even buy you lunch.”

“Deal,” she says, letting him lead her out. “You know I was just buttering you up until you offered to pay, right?”

June 2005

They settle in quite easily as roommates over the next month. Every weekday morning, she leaves for work by 7:30 and comes straight home most nights so they can grab a late dinner. At other times, he’ll tell her to meet him at the bar; though she begs off when it’s been an especially draining day—when the thought of ice cream and a good book is too tempting to ignore. Rory very casually starts dating Matt while Logan very casually starts dating… several women. Sometimes he doesn’t come home for days and she only knows not to worry by the drunken voicemails he’s left on her phone. Or there are some mornings where he'll stroll into the apartment after a night out and by the time she’s out of the bathroom, the coffee is made and he’s sitting at the counter, reading the paper.

They tacitly fall into a pattern of spending Sundays together. She likes to drag him to new brunch spots around the city and he spends the rest of the afternoon trying to get her to do anything remotely active (“I know you know how to bike. Just a short ride”). More often than not, he calls it quits after a few hours and they end up lounging in front of the tv.

On this particular Thursday, she makes it into the kitchen in record time and has the luxury of enjoying her breakfast at home. Grabbing her third pop tart from the toaster, she sits back down at the kitchen counter, eagerly skimming through the events section.

“Hey, Rory right?”

She looks up to see Jessica, the bartender from Watson’s, standing in the kitchen doorway. Rory’s met her several times this summer, but Jessica’s never quite seemed to master her name. “Right,” Rory says, a bit of irritation slipping into her voice.

Jessica smiles wide. “Do you mind if I have some coffee? My shift starts soon and I can’t function in the morning without caffeine.”

Shooting her a small smile in sympathy, she says, “Sure, help yourself.”

Jessica pours herself a full mug and leans against the counter’s edge. “So, how long have you and Logan been friends?”

Rory looks up distractedly from the paper to meet Jessica’s gaze. “Um, well we met at the beginning of my sophomore year so… about a year now?”

Nodding, Jessica takes a sip from her mug. “Did you guys ever hook up?”

Stunned, Rory regretfully pushes the newspaper aside, a frown appearing on her lips. “I don’t know if that’s any of your business.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t implying anything,” Jessica says with a saccharine smile, obviously trying to backpedal. “I was just wondering how you guys managed to be friends without any of the sexual tension getting in the way.”

Unimpressed, Rory gives her a look. “We make it work.”

Smiling wider, Jessica says cheerfully, “Well I guess that’s better for me. Logan's so great, isn’t he? I mean, I know his type. He was pretty straight forward about our relationship at the beginning but I feel like we’re getting along really well. And I know there are other girls but I’m willing to stick it out.” The smile unceremoniously drops from her face, all signs of affability gone as she narrows her eyes. “No matter who the girl is.”

Rory just shakes her head in disbelief, refusing to be baited into whatever this is at 7:30 in the morning. “Good luck with that,” she says, getting up from her stool. “And feel free to have some more coffee. I have to get to work.”

Then she walks out the door, her sunny disposition perfect for the oncoming day.

--

Rory’s watching American Psycho when Logan comes home that night. He tosses his keys on the coffee table before flopping beside her on the couch. Putting his hands behind his head, he says, “I love this movie.”

“You two are remarkably similar," she remarks, "both business men and narcissists. Though Patrick Bateman’s got the better music collection.” She relents after he glowers at her. “Okay, okay, yours is just as good.”

Stretching out on the couch, Logan purposefully shoves her with an outstretched arm as his gaze moves back to the movie. “How was work today, dear? Did you crack open corruption from within the ranks yet? Find out who keeps taking your secret stash of Red Vines?”

“No one’s cracked yet, but I’m on the case.” Rory brusquely pushes his feet off her lap. “Your father told me to remind you about the meeting tomorrow. You need to be there at 8:30 this time.”

Logan’s eyes stay firmly fixed on the tv. “Don’t think I’ll be able to make it tomorrow.”

Wrinkling her forehead in confusion, she asks, “You have other plans at 8:30 in the morning?”

He clears his throat. “Not really, but I figure I’ll catch up on my beauty rest. Besides, I’ve been to three meetings in the last month.”

Disappointment replaces her bewilderment. “So,” she says flatly, “you’re just not going to go.”

Shrugging, he looks over at her. “Yeah, it’s not a big deal. My father can handle it. I’m only there to chime in when he’s tired of listening to his own voice. Which, believe me, does not happen very often.”

There’s silence as she repeatedly opens and closes her mouth and Rory's more than aware she resembles a goldfish at this point.

“You have something to say, Ace?”

It’s easy enough to spot the caution beneath his words, but her frustrations from this morning spill over and she’s far too annoyed to take heed. “Nope, nothing important,” she says flippantly. “I’m sure you need that extra rest. It’s got to be exhausting having people fawn over you all the time instead of actually doing something beneficial with your life.”

He doesn’t even blink. “What are you getting at?”

Warning bells ring loudly in her head but apparently, she’s in a fighting mood. “Nothing,” she says, innocently. “I’m just making an observation about how and who you like to spend your time with.” She sweeps her hair over one shoulder and dramatically bats her eyelashes at him. “Oh Logan, you’re so amazing. I’m going to constantly cling onto your arm and push my boobs together every time you look at me.”

“Careful”— his voice calculating as his eyes flash dangerously—“Jessica mentioned you guys had a chat this morning. Someone might get the impression you’re jealous.”

“What? No! Is that what she said? It’s not about that.” And it really wasn’t. “Look, I don’t care who you go out with, go out with every girl in Chicago. But you have every door open to you. You have endless opportunities, opportunities anyone would kill for. How can you not take advantage of that?”

She can tell when the hits land because he finally drops his careful composure. He's practically sneering as he says, “I’m the one with all these open doors? What about you? You can do anything you want. Go into journalism. Go into politics. Be a doctor. Do whatever you want.” Logan’s voice rises even further. “All I see is one door and I’m being pushed through it. I don’t want that life! It’s forced on me.”

“And how hard are you fighting it? Drinking and partying any chance you get.” She scoffs derisively. “You’ve really made a valiant effort to change your lot in life.”

Neither speak for the next few minutes; the deafening silence dragging on as they continue glaring at one another from opposite ends of the couch.

“Thanks, Rory.” His words are dripping with mockery. “But I’m not sure you get to pass judgement when you're reaping the benefits of me not sticking it to my parents.”

She immediately recoils in hurt but before his words can dig in further, the look on his face makes her stop short. The anger is practically crackling off his skin but he’s having a hard time hiding those quick glimpses of hurt that keep filtering through. God, she really had been spoiling for a fight. “Look I’m—I’m sorry. I’m having a really crappy day and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” She noisily exhales as the realization of her hypocrisy starts to deflate her anger. “I just don’t like seeing you take the easy way out.”

"Meaning you expect me to change," he says, his tone full of righteous indignation. “Cut out the drinking, the partying, the stunts, grow up to be boring and responsible.”

“No. That’s not it.” She hears him scoff in disbelief, but she’s steadfast in her denial. “Really, I don’t want you to change. It’s just… I know you’re capable of doing great, amazing things besides being the life of every party. It’s true that you have chances not everyone gets to have and it’s also true that I do wish you would take them,” she admits, her voice almost sheepish at this point. “But I know that’s not what you want and you’re right, I am completely benefiting from you being unhappy. So what right do I have to say anything?” Shamefaced, she looks down at her hands and mumbles, “I mean, I only got this opportunity because of you.”

“Look,” he cuts in impatiently, “I wouldn’t have recommended you if I didn’t think you would make me look good. And I made the choice to do this so there’s no need for you to feel bad about it.” She looks up to see the look on his face softening. “I also know I can’t avoid the future forever so I do appreciate you believing in me. But”—his voice is stern again—“that future is not now so I’m damn well going to party until then.”

“Hey,” she says, shrugging her shoulders, “I get it. The Beastie Boys taught me ‘you’ve got to fight for your right to party.’” Grinning as Logan rolls his eyes, she’s more than a little relieved to finally see a smile on his face. “Just… you know, in-between all those nights at the bar and the Life and Death shenanigans, know that I’m rooting for you, okay? Whatever you end up doing.”

Logan rubs his face with his hands, letting out a sigh. Looking resigned, he says, “Alright, alright, I give. I’ll be at the meeting tomorrow morning. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

She rewards him with a huge grin. “You know if you really want to figure out something else with your life, I can help. I know you laugh at my pro/con list but they can be very useful. And research, don’t forget that I’m excellent at research.”

“I know, Ace. I know. But one step at a time alright? I’ll go to the meeting tomorrow and plan out the rest of my life next week.” Smiling widely now, he says, “By the way, I feel it’s now safe to compliment you on your excellent Jessica impression.” 

“Well, I have been practicing all day.” Feeling the need to clear up any misconceptions, she explains, “She kind of threatened me over coffee this morning. Said she wasn’t going to let anyone stand in the way of you and her and then stared me down.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Stared you down? What is this, You Got Served?” At her shrug, he says, “Anyway, I doubt you’ll ever run into her again. She left me four messages this morning about how she couldn’t wait to see me tonight. I thought it was time to let her know I’d be leaving in two weeks.” 

Rory doesn’t even bother trying to hide her delight. “Good. She can never remember my name. And her laugh”—she lets out a shrill, mocking giggle—“drives me insane.”

Logan moves in close, his eyes bright with amusement. “Hey, do that impression again”—a roguish grin appears on his face—“but this time press your boobs together and cling onto my arm.”

Leaning away, she smiles bashfully and gives him a friendly shove. “Shut up. It was all I could think to say.”

“I’m not complaining.”

Rory rolls her eyes as she gets up and extends her hand out to him. “Come on, grab your dad’s notes and I’ll help you sort through them. I’ll even bake a tray of Pizza Rolls for the occasion.”

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, he grabs her hand to pull himself up. “Like that doesn’t already happen every night. But just know I’m going to get ridiculously wasted tomorrow night and I expect you to take care of me.”

“Like that doesn't already happen every night.”

Chapter Text

(Late) June 2005

Rory doesn’t like the girl, but she’s got to admit: Jessica is way more persistent than she gave her credit for.

“So, who is it?” she asks innocently as Logan’s phone rings and he grimaces at the screen.

Turning to see her smiling innocuously, his scowl deepens as Logan quickly mutes the call. “Hilarious. But I mean—” he gestures toward himself. “Can you blame her?”

Nodding gravely, she says, “Yes, yes I can.”

Logan rolls his eyes as she starts chortling. “You should play nice, Ace. Otherwise, I’ll have to rescind your invitation to Martha’s Vineyard.”

Her confusion shuts her up. “What invitation to Martha’s Vineyard?”

“Well, if you’d let me finish”—now it’s her turn to glower at him—“as you know how I'm headed to Martha's Vineyard next week when your internship ends. I’ve been thinking you should change your flight and come with me for the weekend before going home on Sunday.”

“Martha’s Vineyard,” she repeats. “With your entire family. Including your mom.” She tilts her head to the side, dubious at the prospect. “And you think this is a good idea, how?”

“Actually, my father’s going to London for the week and Honor’s not coming until the week after so it’s just going to be my mom and grandpa. And Colin and Finn. But my mom has even graciously offered to take you to the club for a spa day. You know,” he says lightly, “since we’ve made it through almost an entire summer without you jumping my bones.”

She barely registers the insult over her surprise. “Your mom said what now?”

“Personally,” Logan continues, “I’d find a way to politely decline that invitation. I feel inclined to warn you the offer unwittingly includes a frightening amount of geriatric nudity.”

Biting her lip to keep from smiling, she tries to look stern. It’s bad form if she gives in every time. “Logan, no. I can’t. I told my mom I’d fly in the day my internship ends so she’s expecting me in Stars Hollow next Friday. “

“Rory, no,” he says, mimicking her tone. “She’s not. I talked to your mom and she says she’s willing to push back the I love Lucy marathon ‘til Sunday night as long as you refrain from ordering Indian food for at least a week.”

She stays quiet, looking at him intently.

“What?”

“You called my mom,” she says, trying to figure out his angle. “You really want me to tag along that badly?”

Sighing loudly, he says, “Yeah, Ace. I really do.”

This time, she can’t help the grin that spreads across her face. “Well, I suppose if you went through all the trouble already…”

“Yeah, yeah.”

--

“Rory.” He voluntarily called her mom, she thinks; she still kind of can’t believe it. “Rory?” Startled, she looks up to see Mitchum staring at her from the head of the conference table, a bemused look on his face. “Meeting's over.”

“Oh! Right.” Looking around, she notices that she and Mitchum are the last ones left in the room. “That was a good meeting. Lots of items discussed," she says, quickly gathering her things as she stands. "Well, enjoy your weekend. I'll see you next week.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mitchum says absently, straightening up in his chair. “Listen, before you go, I want to let you know I’m going to be pulling back from the paper some. I’ll probably show up a couple more days next week but I’ve done my damage. Now it’s time for them to take it and make something of it.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” Shifting the notebooks in her arms, she says, “Well, I don’t want to hold you up any further, but I just want to say thank you. This internship has been such an amazing experience and I really appreciate the opportunity you’ve given me this summer.”

“You know,” Mitchum says, now looking at her with interest, "you and I haven’t really sat down and talked about the situation, about how you’re doing here and all.”

Smiling tentatively, she says, "I’d love to get your feedback if you have some time.”

“Sure, sure." He waves a hand toward the chair closest to him. "It's part of the deal. I did take you under my wing.”

Rory eagerly crosses the room, waiting in anticipation for him to speak. But the longer Mitchum sits still, eyeing her critically, the more her confidence begins to falter.

“Now, I've worked with a lot of young people over the years," he says, “interns, new hires. I've got a pretty good gut sense for people's strengths and weaknesses. Whether they have that certain something to make it in journalism. It's a tough business. Lot of stress."

 She nods fervently. “Definitely.”

“And I have to tell you—” Mitchum squints at her. “You don't got it."

 It takes a few seconds for her to digest his words.

"Now, guts can be wrong. Mine's been wrong before." He shakes his head. "But not often."

"But—" Her voice trembles. "I thought I was doing okay."

"You are,” he says reassuringly, “you are. But to be honest, I just don’t think you have the drive to put yourself out there. To get the story. To dig.”

“But—” It seems her mind can only function in one sentence increments. “I’ve always done what’s asked of me."

“See, the thing is, in the real world, it’s not always good enough to do just what’s asked of you.”

“And,” she continues, pleading her case, “I thought I was in a really good rhythm with everyone here.”

“I never said you weren’t,” he says pointedly. “You’re smart, terrific at anticipating needs. In fact, you’d make a great assistant. But if you want to be a great journalist, you need to be bold, be willing to break out of your comfort zone every once in a while.”

She wonders if she's the only one who can hear the sound of her heart plummeting to the floor.

"Look, I'm sorry," he says, his tone crisp. "It's not my pleasure to disappoint someone like you. Especially you. I know what you mean to my son. But it's healthy. I don't know any other way. I don't B.S."

Recognizing there's not much more to be said, she says mechanically, "I should probably get going."

Mitchum shoots her a genial smile. “Well Rory, I wish you the best of luck. And send me a couple of pieces when you graduate. I’d like to see what you accomplish at Yale.”

Rory nods dumbly. “I will,” she says, numbly shaking his hand. “Thank you again for this opportunity.”

She quickly walks out of the room.

--

“This was your idea, you know,” Logan says.

“What?”

He gestures at the tv. “Watching the American version of The Office. I gotta say, I know it’s supposed to get better, but this first episode is rough.”

Rory listlessly hands him the remote. “Change it to whatever you want.”

Looking over at her with mild concern, he asks, “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing, I’m fine. Just tired from work.”

“It’s Friday. Leave it at work, Ace. Next week is your last. Just do whatever you want and leave the rest for them to figure out when you're gone.”

“Still lots of filing to get done," she says, as if she hadn't heard him. "And I need to teach Harry how I've been organizing the submissions for the entertainment section."

"Uh huh." He studies her face. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yep." She twists her lips into a grimace that he thinks is supposed to be a smile. "Just fine."

“Well, okay then.” If she didn't want to talk, there wasn't much he could do about it. He starts flipping through the channels, stopping on a rerun of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. "I love this show."

They watch in silence until the episode’s almost over when Rory suddenly blurts out, "Do you think I should change my hair?"

Thoroughly engrossed in the episode, it takes him a couple seconds to realize she had spoken. "What?"

"You know,” she says, absently brushing a hand through her hair, “in the movies when the main female character experiences some kind of cathartic moment, the first thing she does is change her hair. I think I should do that."

Was that an explanation? "What?"

"Actually, maybe that's not it.”—she lets go of her hair with one ferocious tug—“This isn’t exactly a cathartic moment for me. It's more like…. I guess it’s like… what I'm feeling is… really, really angry,” she says, her words picking up steam. “I mean, I know I've done some very questionable things in my personal life, but school? School is where I've always done everything right. The extra credit, the extracurriculars… I was even high school valedictorian for God’s sake! But I guess that didn’t amount to much since I still ended up here. So now I’m thinking, I should probably just do everything I’m not supposed to. Like… drugs. Usually drugs are involved at this point in the story. I should start with that. And then I'll escalate to..." She suddenly turns to him, her eyes frantic as she asks, "Hey, what's the worst law we can break at this exact moment?"

"Are you—" He looks at her incredulously, still trying to follow the threads of her outburst. "Are you trying to plan a downward spiral?"

Now she’s the one looking confused. "What? No, I'm just… I told you, I'm angry and I want to do something about it and—and…" She trails off as the realization sets in.

And even though Logan knows something is seriously wrong, it still takes herculean effort not to laugh at the look on her face. “Well first off," he says, trying to compose himself, "I would tell you that you don’t usually plan a downward spiral. It just happens.”

Groaning loudly, Rory puts her face in her hands. “I can’t even do self-destruction right. What is wrong with me?”

Logan wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. “Hey, seriously, what is going on? You’re freaking me out. And don't say you're fine. You are clearly not fine.”

She buries her head in his shoulder. "It's stupid. I feel stupid. And I know I'm overreacting. You'll think I'm three."

"Rory," he says firmly. "What happened?"

Rory doesn’t answer. Just lifts her head up from his shoulder and then takes her sweet time getting comfortable, finally settling cross-legged on the couch. She immediately begins fiddling with the pillow in her lap. "Your father and I had a talk after the staff meeting today,” she says, each word slowly formed. “Basically, he doesn't think I've got what it takes to be a journalist. He says he knows when someone has it—” She faintly clears her throat. “Apparently, I do not."

"Ace—" His face is sympathetic as he sees tears forming in the corner of her eyes. "Come here." Logan tugs her to him again as she starts crying; loud, wracking sobs that echo inside him until he's raring for action, ready to leap off the couch to confront his father. But he knows that’s not what she needs right now. So he stays; he stays and fumes and lets her cry into his shirt while he runs a comforting hand up and down her back.

After her cries have subsided into the occasional hiccup, he says wearily, "I'm sorry he did that to you. But you have to know, my father is a bully." Logan clenches his jaw, trying to keep his voice free from the familiar stirs of anger. "He has zero interest in other people's feelings. It's always just say what you feel, right or wrong, who the hell cares who you hurt."

"But he knows what he’s talking about," she protests, pulling back from him. "He's one of the top people in the business and if that's what he thinks, then I'm probably not cut out to be a reporter. Plus, he's got no reason to lie. He even said he hated telling me this because he knows we’ve got ties."

Bull. Shit. "Bullshit. My father has never once done anything that wasn’t for his own personal gain. And he is still just one man, Rory. Yes, his name holds weight, but how much time did he actually spend mentoring you? Teaching you how to chase leads, how to handle sources? Or did he treat you like an intern and expect you to turn into an award-winning reporter in six weeks?" He shakes his head ruefully. "I’m sorry. I thought he would give you a fair shake, but now I realize I should have known better."

"No, Logan.” She vehemently shakes her head. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to say anything. This is not your fault. I’m the one who failed. Don’t take this out on him.”

“My relationship with my father is what it is,” he says brusquely. “You don’t have to worry about that. And you didn’t fail. It was just one opportunity.” He can see he’s going nowhere down this path so he switches gears. “Look, you told me this has been your dream since you were three. And I don’t pretend to know what that feels like, but I do know you’ve worked hard towards it practically your entire life. Can you honestly say you’ve achieved nothing so far?” He waits for this to sink in. “I’m not going to tell you what to do. But if you say you really want this, then just do it. And if you decide that it’s not what you want—” Shrugging, he recalls her words from a week ago. “Then we’ll figure something else out.”

At this, she raises her eyes, meeting his gaze. "We, huh?” she asks wryly, her voice still holding traces of unsteadiness. “Man, are we a pair or what? You with the predestined future you don’t want and me with the future that doesn’t want me." Swiping at the remaining tears on her face, she takes a deep breath. "Anyway, everyone knows I'm a whiz with the pro/con list. What would you bring to the operation?"

"Come on, Ace. We both know my penmanship is better than yours."

She lets out an offended gasp that he immediately echoes back. And it’s not much, but the watery smile on her face is enough to make him hopeful that the worst is over. “Seriously though,” Logan says gently. “Don’t let some jackass ruin your dream. Do whatever you want.”

She nods slowly. “I know, you’re right.”

But her words aren’t convincing in the slightest and he continues looking at her skeptically.

“Seriously, at some point, I’ll probably need you to talk me down again. But for now, I’m okay.” Giving him another wafer-thin smile, she says, "Motivational speaker. Maybe that’s what you should be."

“Yeah? How about you become my agent and it’ll solve both our problems?”

Rory raises her pinky in the air. “Deal,” she says, her smile growing as he wraps his pinky around hers.

They quietly stare at one another, their fingers loosely entwined.

“So,” he says, his tone conspiratorial when he pulls back his hand. “What do you want to do now? Should we try to score some coke before knocking over a liquor store? Or did you just want to go straight to robbing a bank? Whatever you want, it’s your downward spiral we’re talking about.”

Embarrassed, she hides her face behind a throw pillow before defiantly tossing it in his direction. “Can my meltdown not be one of those things you continually bring up to make fun of me?”

Logan thoughtfully considers her plea. Then swiftly shakes his head. “No can do. But I can offer you a reprieve for the rest of summer. Best deal you’re going to get.”

Rory rolls her eyes. “Seeing as how you’re going to be in Europe for most of that time, I don’t think that’s going to benefit me much.” Yawning, she rubs her eyes as she gets up from the couch. “Anyway, rain check on the attempted bank robbery? Having an existential crisis really takes a lot out of me. Go figure.”

“Alright, but you're missing out," he says, already turning his attention to the tv. "Will Smith’s about to get shot in the ass in about five minutes." He hears her shuffling away as he raises up the volume.

Moments later, Logan starts in surprise when he feels arms encircling his back; then a light pressure on the crook of his neck as her chin comes down. “Seriously,” she says, her voice muffled by his shirt, “motivational speaker. Think about it.”

Smiling warmly, he reaches up to squeeze her arm. “You got it.”

July 2005

On the last day of her internship, Logan insists on taking her out for a celebratory dinner. They end up at a funky Moroccan restaurant, surrounded by intricately patterned wall hangings and brightly colored padded booths.

She’s helping herself to another scoop of couscous as he orders another drink. “Can I get another Heineken? Thanks,” he says to the waitress before his attention turns back to Rory. “Enjoying the food?”

“Yep,” she says happily, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “This was a good idea.”

“And… your last day was good?”

His slight pause raises her suspicions and she lowers her fork onto the plate. “Did you intentionally wait until I’ve been fed before bringing this up?”

“Hey, I can’t help it if my self-preservation instincts are high. Remember the squash incident earlier this summer?”

"Whatever, I still maintain that the broken dinner plate was not my fault." She picks up her fork again. "Today wasn’t too bad. Stuart took me out to lunch and told me he was really impressed with my work this summer. Called me a ‘sharp kid.’”

"Yeah?”

“Yeah. I might have mentioned how Mitchum didn’t seem to think too highly of my journalistic aspirations and Stuart said I wasn’t the first person not to get along with Mitchum.” She raises her eyebrows. “And then he said I should just ignore him.”

“Whoa.” Logan pretends to be shocked. “That’s what I said.”

“Did you?” She says playfully, “Sounded more credible coming from him.”

His mouth drops open in aghast before forming into a grin. “Seems like you might be feeling better about things.”

She shrugs. “Well, after a week of calls from my mom besmirching the Huntzberger name, sorry about that by the way; a week of you talking me out of general broodiness and worst-case scenarios, again, really sorry about that; and now with Stuart saying what he did… I’d say I’m edging toward it’s not the end of the world, I’m probably going to be okay territory.”

“Definite improvement.”

“But I have been doing some thinking.”

The smile slides off his face. “Uh oh.”

Shaking her head, she says, “Nothing bad. It’s just, okay this has been discussed ad nauseum this week, but all my life, me becoming a journalist has been taken as fact. I’ve never even once thought to question it. But now… and I’m not saying the whole situation with your dad wasn’t, isn’t devastating. But I think it’d be smart of me to figure out if this is what I really want. And maybe journalism will still be where I end up. But I also have to keep an open mind that it might not be.” She smiles at him begrudgingly. “And I think I have you to thank for this enlightenment. So… thanks. I’m not sure what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there for me this week.”

Even though Rory's gone through this speech a few times in her head, she nervously gauges his reaction. Sincerity has never played well with Logan and she's pretty sure he’s going to come up with some ridiculous demand about how much he's owed. It surprises her when she only sees a genuine smile on his face.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” he says, looking warmly at her as she meets his eyes and then it seems like he’s really looking at her; the small flare of interest hard to miss in his eyes. She glances away when Logan suddenly clears his throat. “Have I told you I’m graduating this year?"

“You?” She busies herself with taking a sip of her drink, trying to steady her voice. “Van Wilder? Say it ain’t so.”

He wags his finger at her, adopting a serious tone. “Here’s a lesson for you, always read the fine print on the family crest. It’ll save you a lot of trouble in the future.”

“Sound advice.” Rory bites her lip. “I’m guessing this means the dynastic plan is kicking into high gear.”

Nodding, he says, “You weren’t the only one hit with a Mitchum special this week. Apparently, this is the year I’m going to get my act together, start attending more stockholder meetings. Let people know who the Huntzberger heir is to dispel what they’ve read in the tabloids.”

“Well,” she says nonchalantly. “I suppose your reputation can’t get any worse than what’s written in those.”

“You mean I shouldn’t want to be known as a charming but egotistical playboy who gets around?”

“On second thought, that’s much better than what I think of you now and I actually know you.” Grinning at his displeasure, she hesitates before saying, “Want to talk about it?”

“No.” His tone is firm, shooting her a conciliatory smile. “Though I do appreciate the offer. And I know we never got around to the whole planning the rest of my life bit, but how about we put a kibosh on all this future talk for a while? By all accounts, we’ve still got half a summer to avoid whatever comes next.”

“No arguments here.” After the emotional whirlwind of this week, she’s wholly content with changing the subject. “So, have you three figured out where you’re going in Europe? What’s on dock for the last big hurrah before you’re forced to leave Neverland?”

He shrugs. "We decided to take the Jack Kerouac approach to travel. Start in London and then figure it out from there.”

“Guess I should start taping together tracing paper in preparation of your return.”

“Find me a typewriter while you’re at it. It should be easy in Stars Hollow, right?” He laughs easily when she narrows her eyes at the implication. “What? You’re the one that told me there are at least four antique shops within a two-block radius.”

“Three blocks,” she says proudly. “We’re not as backwards as you think.”

“My sincerest apologies.” Looking rather intently at his Heineken bottle, he asks, “Is Matt gonna make an appearance in that hedonistic town of yours this summer?”

She snorts inelegantly. “I guess you haven’t noticed, but he hasn’t been around much. We figured out pretty quickly we’re better off as friends.”

Just friends huh?” She watches as he grabs hold a corner of his beer label, cleanly pulling it off in one tug. “Like how you and I are just friends?”

“Yeah,” she says, her response automatic as he looks up. “Like how we’re just friends.” It’s been a long time since she’s given thought to any other alternative.

Logan nods slowly, looking as if he heard something in her answer that she wasn't aware she'd actually said. "Well," he says deftly, "it’s his loss.”

She looks away. “It was a mutual decision.”

He shrugs from her peripheral. “I stand by what I said.”

Rolling her eyes, she turns back to his gaze. And realizes she’s blushing.

He grins widely. “Ready to go?”

--

After they enter the apartment, Logan heads straight to the kitchen. He calls out to her, “Nightcap?”

He sees her shaking her head. "Our flight is tomorrow and I'm still not finished packing—"

“It’s our last night, Ace,” he says, holding up a half-empty bottle of scotch. “And it’s still early. You have plenty of time to finish packing.”

The protest on her face turns into a conceding eye roll. “Fine, but I’m going to change into my pjs first.”

By the time she comes out of her room, he’s sitting on the couch and slides her drink over when she sits down next to him. He says, “Do you remember one of the first nights here when we went to that midnight showing of Reefer Madness?”

Rory starts laughing. “How could I forget? You and Colin passed out fifteen minutes into the movie so Finn had to help me drag you two home and then…” She wrinkles her nose in distaste. “He proceeded to perform every song we missed in way too little clothing.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “I warned you Finn had naked phases.”

“Do you remember that night we stumbled into the karaoke bar after walking around aimlessly for an hour?” He nods earnestly as Rory starts giggling so hard, she can barely speak. “And that wannabe Elvis?”

They simultaneously shout out, “Thank you, thank you very much!” before bursting into peals of laughter.

Logan recovers first, grinning as he watches her shoulders shake—while she wipes errant tears from the corners of her eyes—and it hits him just how fucking fond he is of this girl. “You know,” he says slowly, the smile morphing into a serious look. “You’ve really disappointed me this summer.”

She waits for the punch line with a big smile on her face. “How so?”

Reaching over to pluck at her pajama pants, he bunches the fabric between his fingers before flattening his hand, letting it rest on her knee. Looking at her, he tries to maintain a straight face. “All summer long I’ve been waiting for you to break out the feetsie pajamas.”

Laughing breathlessly, she quickly clamps a hand down on top of his. “Now you know I’m not that kind of girl.”

Logan quirks an eyebrow at her response, deliberately moving his hand again up her thigh. His grip instinctually tightens on her leg. “Is that right?”

When their eyes meet, nothing seems especially funny anymore.

He flips his hand over, palm side up to loosely clasp at her wrist and he feels her pulse quickening under his fingers; the rapid staccato speeding up to match his own. To her credit, she doesn’t pull away, just continues letting him hold her hand and for the first time in a long time, Logan allows himself to acknowledge just how fucking gorgeous she is. He wants her now even more than that time they leapt seven stories in the air—her hand furiously scrabbling for his the entire time—before landing on solid ground—with relief and adrenaline and attraction coursing through his veins—and he told her it didn’t have to be a once in a lifetime experience.

But with that memory comes the realization that this is Rory. All the reasons he’s never tried anything (that she’s different than any girl he’s fooled around with, that she’s too smart for his bullshit, that she needs a boyfriend type guy—i.e. not him) still hold true. Pile on the fact that she’s become incredibly important to him and that alone is enough for him to not fuck them up on a whim.

Gently retracting his hand from hers, he grabs his drink to down the rest of the scotch. When his cup drops to the coffee table with a clatter, Rory startles, her eyes jumping back up to meet his. He immediately offers up an apologetic smile—though he’s still not entirely sure for what—and after a few seconds, she tentatively returns the smile.

It goes a long way in defusing the tension in his body and he’s left feeling a little nostalgic. “It’s been a pretty good summer, huh?”

“Aside from the heart-wrenching abyss that is my fu”—Rory stops short at his warning look—“I mean the thing-that-must-not-be-named,” she says, her eyes softening as they share a wistful gaze. “Yeah, it’s been a pretty good summer.”

Suddenly jerking up from the couch, she runs a hand through her hair. “Speaking of, I should finish packing. Do you need a wake-up call tomorrow? Wait, of course you do,” she says, making a move toward the direction of her room. “Alright, see you tomorrow. Night!”

Logan reaches for the last of her scotch.

Chapter Text

July 2005

The next morning, Rory wakes him as promised and gets rewarded with a pillow to the face. Huffily throwing it back at him with all the strength she can muster, she doesn’t bother sticking around to see if he actually gets out of bed. It isn’t until they’re waiting at the boarding gate and he’s presented her with an extra-large double shot caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream that she finally drops the accompanying glare with all her responses.

They land in Martha’s Vineyard in time for a late lunch, then rush to his family home to drop off their bags before heading out on the family boat. Logan drops anchor once they’re far enough from shore and lazily sprawls out next to Rory who’s thumbing through a well-worn copy of Nine Stories. She lets her feet dangle over the side of the boat as he shuts his eyes, using a stray captain’s hat to shade from the sun. Though after hearing the hundredth off-handed Gillian comparison from Rory, Logan abruptly sits up, giving up on the nap. Tossing the hat onto the deck, a glint in the water catches his attention. He edges toward the stern of the boat, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Hey, did you see that?”

“See what?” She squints in the direction he’s pointing, but can’t see anything beyond the glaring sunlight.

“Come closer. I don’t think you can see it from over there.”

Curiosity piqued, Rory sets her book aside and crawls toward him. Looking intently into the water, she says, “I don’t see any—”

The rest of her words devolve into a scream as he pushes her into the water. Sputtering as she breaks the surface, Logan’s laughing uproariously from the boat.

“Logan," she says, trying to sound fierce while still wiping water from her face. "I am going to kill you!”

With a large grin on his face, he leaps off the edge, cannonballing close enough to drench her again. Making a quick getaway from her outstretched arms, he looks over his shoulder to say, “You shouldn’t have made fun of the hat,” and laughs when he sees her furiously making a grab for his head.

--

They spend the afternoon goofing off in the ocean—Rory fakes a cramp and uses his genuine concern about her athletic prowess to dunk him vehemently under the water—until he’s summoned for dinner with slightly threatening texts from his family.

“Stop being dramatic. Your family just wants to see you.”

“No, read this line. I’m pretty sure my grandfather meant this literally.”

“Oh. Well. That would be painful.”

After arriving back at the house, they’re ushered to the dining table where Logan’s grandfather and mother are already seated. Having only attended the Huntzberger’s more lavish, well-attended affairs, Rory feels particularly ill-equipped for this intimate family dinner. And while Shira’s comments toward Rory do have significantly less bite than they used to, Logan’s grandfather makes up for the deficiency; seemingly having stockpiled a multitude of severe glares to shoot in her direction.

As the main course is brought out, Rory wishes—losing count of exactly how many times now—that Honor and Josh had decided to move up their visit a week. Safety in numbers and all; or, at the very least, she and Josh could commiserate in the corner about being spares like they usually do. She tries to extend the conversation with mindless pleasantries—because she’s got manners, dammit—but quickly gives up, choosing to focus on the meal instead—it's almost a given that the food is delicious at a Huntzberger gathering.

Logan’s asking his grandfather about upgrades to the boat when Finn’s voice rings through the dining room. “Excellent. I see we’ve made it in time for dinner.” He walks over to Logan’s grandfather to shake his hand before pivoting to a beaming Shira. “Shira,” Finn says charmingly, kissing her on the cheek. “You’re looking younger every time I see you.”

“She must have an aging portrait hidden in the attic somewhere,” says Colin wryly, following Finn’s path around the table to shake Logan’s grandfather’s hand. “Hello, everyone.”

“Finn, it’s so good to see you. I see you’re still quite the charmer,” Shira says, cooing at Finn before her eyes shift to Colin. Her expression dims to a polite smile. “Hello, Colin”—she gestures toward the empty chairs—“Take a seat, boys. You two must be starving from the drive.”

They clamor into the empty seats across from Rory and Logan. Reaching for the potatoes, Finn immediately launches into a retelling of an incident that occurred when they stopped for lunch. The intricate tale involves a cook, a balding customer, and a horse tied to the side of the restaurant… and it's best to leave it at that.

--

“So what really happened with you and that girl from the beach?” Rory asks, nodding gratefully as Logan comes back with her drink from the bar.

After dinner, the four of them cram themselves into a corner booth of the nearest bar and wait for Finn to share the more salacious details of his LA trip.

“Like I said, after the cops broke up the rave in the warehouse, we went back to the car and I took her home”—Finn’s face breaks into a devilish grin—“but she did insist on taking full advantage of the limo I rented. And as you know, I am nothing short of a gentleman.”

Colin says, “Couldn’t tell that part of the story at dinner with the effervescently youthful Shira there, could you?”

Carelessly swinging an arm around Logan’s shoulders, Finn points his beer bottle at Colin. “Don’t be jealous that she loves me and not you.”

Logan immediately shrugs him off. “If either of you say another word about my mother, you’re finding somewhere else to sleep tonight. Now how about a round of darts?”

As the other two are vacating the booth, Logan grabs her drink along with his. “Come on, Ace. You can be on my team. The rules are easy. I’ll teach you.”

She opens her mouth to tell him actually, she’s spent the entire summer cultivating her newly discovered talent for the game with co-workers—“You’re on my team, intern. And no excuses. Think of it as team building"—but then quickly thinks better of it. Grinning slyly, she says, “How about Colin and I play against you and Finn instead?”

--

Forty minutes later, Logan flops into an empty booth as Rory calmly slides into the seat across from him. “What is with you and these random bar games,” he asks, groaning. “You destroyed me.”

She shrugs nonchalantly. “You came really close to almost making me nervous during that last game.”

Smiling mockingly, he says, “Uh huh. And here I thought I had you all figured out.” He polishes off the rest of his drink and tilts the cup in her direction. “Anyway, shark, I am definitely impressed by you tonight.”

Rory pretends to fan herself, swooning. “Oh, how I live to impress the mighty Logan Huntzberger.”

He sleazily waggles his eyebrows at her and she involuntarily laughs aloud. “Does that mean you’re also willing to—”

Logan quickly cuts off when Finn appears by the booth, gesturing for Rory to make room. “I miss LA,” Finn moans. “Full of impressionable aspiring women just waiting for me to tell them how they’re destined to succeed because of their beauty. I think we should jump on the red eye tonight.”

“No.” Colin’s voice joins the fray as he, Rory and Logan nix Finn’s idea. “Come on Finn, there’s got to be local girls here with low self-esteem. You’re just not trying hard enough.”

“That’s the point, mate. I didn’t have to try at all in LA. They were everywhere.”

Turning solemnly to Rory and Logan, Colin says, “Guys, I think we should jump the red eye for LA.”

She rolls her eyes but can’t help smiling at Colin’s sudden change of heart. “Have you guys ever thought it might be easier to just find a girl you want to sleep with more than once rather than having to search for someone new every night?” She’s met with blank stares all around. “Hopeless. You three are hopeless.”

“Well, I don’t know about these two, but I must be doing something right.” Logan waits until her focus is back on him; the playful expression on his face suddenly morphing into something more as her breath catches in her throat. “I have girls saying they live to impress me.”

Rory feels herself growing warm under his gaze, biting her lip and hoping like mad she isn’t brightly blushing as her own words tumble out. “Well,” she says a bit breathlessly, “they must have been out of their minds.”

They’re unabashedly staring at one another until Finn’s voice cuts through. “Yes, as most women who date Logan are.”

Rory looks away first.

“Let’s go somewhere else.” Finn swallows the rest of his drink. “I need a change of scenery.”

Colin and Finn are already on the move as she gets out of the booth. Firmly tucking her vulnerability behind false bravado, she turns back to aim a teasing grin in Logan’s direction. “Coming?”

He flashes her a wolfish smile as he stands up to follow her out. “Absolutely.”

--

“Hey, you look good.”

Rory looks up from her book, her mouth shifting into a smile as she sees Logan standing in the doorway. After getting ready for the benefit dinner being held at the country club tonight, she's been reading on the upstairs balcony for the better part of an hour. As his eyes slowly rake over her dress, she takes the opportunity to sneak in a few covert glances of her own.

“Not so bad yourself,” she says, trying not to express too much admiration for how well he’s filled out his suit. Fact: the boy looks good in formalwear. Clearing her head, she changes the subject. “When did you guys get back?”

The boys had decided to take the boat out after lunch, but she declined, opting to lounge at the house instead.

“About an hour ago.” Logan's gaze finally leaves her legs, slowly traveling upwards until settling on her face. His eyes crinkle guiltily when he sees her amused expression. Busted. “You didn’t miss much,” he says, a sheepish grin on his face the only acknowledgement of what had just passed. “Remember how Finn said he was so wired on Red Bull and vodkas he wanted to stay up to see the sunrise?”

She nods, the anticipation thrumming in her veins at the mention of last night. It was one close call after another between the two of them at the second bar—punctuated by Finn interrupting them every few minutes to ask if that girl looked more west coast than the last—and frustratingly ended in her declaring she was turning in at three a.m. when Finn showed no signs of slowing down.

“Well, he spent most of the time complaining about how there was too much sun in the world and ended up throwing over the side of the boat,” Logan says, his eyes now steadily holding her gaze. “What did you do while we were gone?”

“Not much.” She’s unable to suppress the ever-present grin on her face as she looks at him. “Sent some emails, talked to my mom and oh—I do have some exciting news! Apparently, our illustrious editor and Paris have decided to take a stab at domestic bliss by moving in together next year. And guess who they’ve asked to join them in their loving abode?” Rory nods when she sees him raising his eyebrows at her. “That’s right”—she points both her thumbs to her chest—“This girl.”

Looking far too delighted, he says, “And you’re going to join them in their merry love nest?”

She sighs wearily, already resigned to her fate. “Yeah, the rent is cheap and I’ve already grown used to Doyle since he practically lived at our dorm last semester. Plus, all of their combined craziness is bound to scare off any real danger.”

“Well, you’re welcome to crash at my place if they get to be too much. Lanny graduated early and I grabbed a single on the top floor of the Taft building”—he tilts his head toward the doorway—"Ready for this thrilling night my mother’s sprung on us?"

Rory starts to stand, grabbing her purse from the side table as she throws a skeptical look his way. “Don’t make any offers you can’t take back,” she says. “I’ll come over looking for a quiet place to study and you’ll slam the door in my face because you’re on a date with the girl down the hall.”

Offering the crook of his arm to her, he shoots her a roguish grin. He says lightly, “Hey, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” 

She drops the book into her bag and carefully hooks her arm through his, beaming back at him. “Ready.”

--

Rory lightly raps a closed fist against Logan’s chest. “Choose your next words very carefully or I’m going to have to hurt you.”

They’re people watching in chairs near the entrance and so far, Mitchum and Shira’s friends have yet to disappoint. Just a moment prior, Logan made a not so flattering remark about how similar Rory was to the sixty-year-old man who just crossed the foyer.

He clutches her hand with his before she can draw it back. With a shit-eating grin, he says, “Oh yeah? This is what you’re going to hurt me with?”

She says haughtily, “I’m stronger than I look.”

He nods indulgently as if placating a small child. “Uh huh, is that what Lorelai told you?”

The smile on his face grows as Rory sputters indignantly. 

“Logan—” Shira suddenly appears in front of them. Pursing her lips, Shira looks away from their hastily separating hands before turning back to shoot a pointed look at Logan; her lips now arranged in a strained smile. “Amy Fallon just arrived and she’s asking for you. Come along, you promised.”

Shooting Rory an apologetic smile, Logan rolls his eyes before getting up to follow his mother. Rory watches their footsteps come to a halt once they’ve reached a diminutive blonde in the middle of the room. Shira vigorously gestures between Logan and the girl and the girl immediately throws her arms around Logan, squealing in delight. Instinctively, Rory’s eyes dart away before coming back to see Logan trying to catch her attention.

Making a face over the girl’s shoulder, he mouths, “two minutes” and holds up two fingers for good measure.

She nods absentmindedly before standing up, pointing back in the direction of the hors d'oeuvres table as her next target. Rory’s reaching for what looks to be a salmon tart when she hears a voice from behind.

“I wouldn’t try those if I were you.”

Startled, her hand pauses in midair. Looking to her right, she sees a tall, lanky guy around her age with a benign smile on his face.

“I had about five of those at the last party and then thirty minutes later, I spent the rest of my night in the bathroom.”

Wrinkling her nose at the visual, she aims a grateful smile in his direction. “Very kind of you to save me from the same fate.” Giving the rest of the spread a cursory glance, she turns back to him, asking, “Now which of these do you recommend if I’m not looking to puke my guts out?”

“I’d say stuffed mushrooms are relatively safe. Not as safe as say”—he points to the plate of bruschetta—“bruschetta which is just essentially bread and tomatoes. But”—he squints as he sizes her up—“you look like someone who’s willing to play it a little fast and loose with her food choices.” Sticking out a hand, he says, “I’m Jonathan, by the way.”

“Rory,” she says, shaking his hand. “Not sure if that last generalization was an insult or compliment to my iron stomach, but here goes.” She grabs a stuffed mushroom and takes a small bite, her eyes widening at the taste. “Wow, this is amazing. You’ve definitely earned my trust on all things appetizers.”

He grins widely. “Well then you should trust me when I say that was definitely a compliment. I was just about to walk over to the bar to get a drink. Care for one?”

Her eyes flit back to locate Logan. She sees him still talking to an animated Amy which effectively narrows her choices down to getting a drink with the nice stranger who helped her out or decline and sit on the sidelines, feeling out of place.

She smiles at Jonathan and says, “Sure, lead the way.”

--

Rory’s made a huge mistake. While Jonathan has been incredibly polite throughout this entire conversation—smiling promptly every time she’s awkwardly attempted to break the ice—he has also been incredibly dull. For the past twenty minutes, she’s been waiting for Logan to pull away from the subsequent blonde girl he’s bumped into after Amy, but he’s kept himself annoyingly detained. And now, she’s desperately wishing for anyone to save her—Jonathan’s in the middle of yet another crazy story about his dog Buster—when out of the corner of her eye, Rory spots Colin moving in her direction. She has to fight to keep from physically cheering when he stops beside her.

“Hey, sis,” Colin says, an enormously phony smile on his face as he glances over at Rory. “They’re about to serve dinner and I know how cranky you are if you don’t eat every four hours.” Ignoring Jonathan completely, Colin tugs incessantly at her arm to indicate that she should come with him. Pronto.

“Right behind you, bro,” she says immediately, unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth. Painting a contrite smile on her face, she turns back to Jonathan. “Thanks for keeping me company. I hope your dog enjoys the color of that playhouse you painted for him.”

Johnathan opens his mouth to respond, but Colin’s already dragging her away and she shrugs apologetically, waving her goodbyes. Exhaling in sheer relief after they’re separated from Jonathan by a good distance, she pulls her arm back from Colin’s grasp. Shooting him a bright smile, she says, “Thanks for the save. I so owe you one.”

Shrugging easily, Colin says, “It was almost painful to see how bored you looked. Plus, now I’ll know who to call when I’m dodging a particularly stubborn admirer and we’ll call it even.”

“Deal.”

As they reach the tables, Colin steers her toward an empty one as he gestures for Finn’s attention from across the room, pointing to where they’re setting up shop.

Having only spent a handful of times together without the distraction of the other two, they lapse into an awkward silence. After a few minutes of fiddling with her napkin, she gamely says, “So, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something”—he raises an eyebrow in her direction—“and you don’t have to answer. But I couldn’t help noticing that Shira didn’t seem particularly enamored by you yesterday. I mean, I know why she only tolerates me, but I can’t figure out why she would have a problem with you.”

“Shira,” Colin says, his lips curling distastefully around the name. “She just doesn’t appreciate the fact that I don’t fawn over her like Finn does and I can’t bullshit sincerity like Logan can.” He rolls his eyes. “If I don’t like something, I’m going to say so.”

Ain’t that the truth. She wryly thinks that he might be confusing honesty with insolence but on the flip side, this is something they have in common. “Well,” she says cheerfully, “welcome to the Shira-hates-us club. We host meetings every first Wednesday of the month and refreshments include cookies with Shira’s likeness drawn in frosting. Needless to say, the first bite is immensely satisfying.”

Colin looks at her curiously before shooting her a genuine smile. “Count me in for the next one.”

Suddenly, his gaze shifts to something behind her shoulder. She turns to see an enthusiastic Shira flagging down Logan and the nameless blonde to come join her table. After watching Logan pull out the girl’s chair, Rory determinedly rotates back around in her seat. And not for the first time this weekend, she notices Colin gauging her reaction.

“Shira the matchmaker strikes again,” he says, then hesitates. “So—”

Suspecting he’s trying to drum up the tact to finish that sentence, Rory hastily saves him the trouble. “Did I ever tell you how much I love what your stepmom’s done with your house?”

Colin looks incredibly relieved as he nods eagerly. “Remind me next time to show you what she put in our study.”

--

Logan knows he’s being an asshole. He knows, knows, he’s been indulging on some more-than-friendly impulses towards Rory this weekend and ditching her to talk to another girl was just about the shittiest move he could make. But as resolute as he had been in going to find Rory after finally extracting himself from Amy, he still found himself routed in place, smoothly responding to Teresa’s advances after she had stepped into his path; a sly smile here, a light touch on her arm there, the practiced advances sliding out of his mouth before he’s even really thought them through. So when his mom gestured wildly for them to join her table, Logan dutifully guided Teresa over, trying to figure out why he was both relieved and disappointed he could be so effortlessly waylaid. 

It isn’t until Teresa leans in close to drop unsubtle hints about dark corners—her hand coming to rest on his thigh under the table—that it becomes clear to him. Shit . This is exactly why. He isn’t built for relationships. There will always be some other girl, some other temptation, and it’s been far too easy slipping back into old habits. He’ll carelessly break Rory’s heart and she’ll be gone from his life before he can even craft the proper apology. With new, steely resolve to stay the hell away from Rory, he continues sitting here like a jackass, now intentionally ignoring her in hopes of saving their friendship… Yeah, no one ever said logic was his strong suit.

--

By the time dessert rolls around, Rory’s kind of in awe of her own stupidity. For as long as she’s known him, Logan’s loved girls, emphasis on the plural. After Dean and her had called it quits, the thought had crossed her mind that she could be perfectly happy as one of the many; as long as it meant Logan would be paying attention to her. But then a funny thing happened: she got drunk and they became friends and that idea vanished in a wisp of smoke before it was ever fully formed.

As she watched Logan and the blonde flirt back and forth throughout dinner, it dawned on her that she’s only got herself to blame for this situation—though he’s definitely playing his part as the asshole magnificently. But beyond a few suggestive moments this weekend, Logan’s never promised her anything. It was her fault for confusing his default behavior for something else entirely when it's been well established that they were just friends.

So Rory tries to pay attention to the conversation between Colin and Finn, interjecting a dry comment here and there when the moment calls for it. But as the night goes on, the anger in her chest slowly builds on every remembered slight until the indignation is practically crackling beneath her skin, completely overwhelming the flimsy excuses she’s tried to provide for him. Logan is far from dumb or oblivious to how he comes across; there is no way he isn’t aware of what’s been quietly building between them this weekend. Smiling humorlessly, she remembers the many occasions when she’s bore witness to Logan’s careless dismissal of girls. Funny, she never thought he’d be capable of doing it to her.

And that makes her dumber than she ever thought possible.

--

“Hey.” 

Logan looks up to see Rory standing beside him, his gut instinctively churning pleasantly at the sight of her. He’s several drinks in at this point and has to actively remind himself to act nonchalant. 

“Hey,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Have you met Teresa? She’s an old friend of mine from prep school.” 

Rory’s eyes flicker to the girl sitting beside Logan and she shoots her a terse smile. “Hi, I’m Rory. Nice to meet you,” she says. There isn’t a trace of affection in her expression when she turns back to him. “I just wanted to let you know I’m heading back to the house. Colin and Finn are asking if you want to go out.”

“You’re heading home?” Panic starts to set in when he’s actually face-to-face with her seething anger and he realizes just how stupid he’s being for intentionally—unintentionally?—hurting her. Logan quickly gets up from his seat and wraps his hand around her elbow. “No, come with us. I’ll even let you beat me at darts again.” 

Rory quickly shrugs off his hand. Her voice is stiff and untouchable when she says, “I have to finish packing and call my mom about my flight tomorrow. My cab’s probably outside already.”

“Well, at least let me take you home and we can talk—”

“My cab’s probably outside already,” she repeats, her tone brokering no room for discussion. “Have a good night.” 

Turning on her heels, she walks away.

“Ace—” He feels a light touch on his arm and glances down to see Teresa’s hand wrapped around his wrist. Right. Sighing softly, he runs a hand through his hair before roughly rubbing at his face. Aiming a weary smile in Teresa’s direction, he says, “Want to tag along with us tonight?”

--

“Morning.”

Startled, Rory looks up from digging through her purse to see Logan standing in the kitchen. She’s spent the entire night telling herself, technically, he hasn’t done anything wrong but be a shitty friend last night. But it’s hard to keep that in perspective when he’s standing in front of her, smiling as if nothing had happened. 

“What are you doing up?” she asks, going back to rooting through her purse as if her life depended on it. “I was going to call a cab to take me to the airport.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take you. I’ve been up since seven and I was able to grab the last batch of donuts from that shop I told you about. There’s even enough for you to take back to your mom.” 

Her interest piques at the mention of donuts but she still doesn’t look up.

“Did you bring down all your stuff already,” he asks, the slightest bit of anxiousness slipping into his tone. 

With her head still buried in her purse, she gives a brusque nod and Logan eagerly bounds over to her luggage, hefting the duffel bag onto the suitcase and pulling up the handle to roll it out to the car.

“Logan,” she says exasperatedly. “Seriously, you don’t have to do this.” 

He’s already out the door by the time she finishes her sentence and a second later, she hears the car alarm beep twice before the unmistakable sound of the trunk pops open. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Rory goes to grab her other bags and quietly closes the door behind her as she walks out of the house.

--

“Another one?” He glances over to see a donut crammed in her mouth as she replaces the lid on the box.

It’s really quite impressive how she manages to glare at him while simultaneously taking a huge bite of it at the same time. “Is that really the route you want to take?"

He quickly shakes his head. “No offense intended. Really, I’m a mere mortal marveling at your extraordinary gift.”

“That’s not going to work on me either.”

“I know,” he says, pinching his lips together as the stony silence takes over the car again. It’s been fifteen minutes of mundane questions and monosyllabic answers and he’s running out of time as the airport comes into view. 

As he pulls up next to the airport entrance, he shifts the car into park and half a second later, she’s muttering a “see you,” as she quickly unclips her seatbelt. 

“Ace,” he says frantically, watching her hand go to the door. “Wait.” 

And it’s by some small miracle that she actually listens, her hand pausing on the interior handle. But Rory doesn't look at him, just stares vacantly out the front windshield. 

“Ace, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ditch you last night, it’s just—I got mixed up and I know I acted an idiot—and with us—” he falters as he toes the edge of that precipice, finding himself scared to voice a truth they couldn’t come back from. Switching into fix-it mode, he says, “But I don’t want to leave things like this. We’re not going to see each other for a couple months and we can’t leave things like this. So whatever you want me to do”—he looks at her earnestly—"I’ll do. Just tell me how to fix this.” 

Her face remains blank and he’s faced with the very real prospect that she might choose to leave this car without saying another word. But after an excruciatingly long and still minute, Logan sees her reaching up to rub the bridge of her nose, her eyes briefly closing as she slumps back in her seat. Biting her lip, Rory exhales noisily and drops her hand from the passenger door. “Forget it,” she says listlessly, hands wringing in her lap.

“No, there has to be something I can—" 

“I mean—” Her voice is still hard when she finally meets his eyes. Pursing her lips together, she says gruffly, “It’s already forgotten.” Though she still looks completely furious, it's a weak attempt to soften her tone.“You don’t have to do anything.”

He’s shaking his head. “Ace—”

“Look, you’re only getting off easy because it’s going to be months until we’re on the same continent again. And you’re right, I don’t want to leave things this way.” Narrowing her eyes, she says firmly, “Got it?”

It’s exactly what he was hoping she’d say and somehow… it’s not. But it’s clear he’s lost the privilege to want anything else. “Got it.”

Rory looks to his dashboard, checking the time on the clock. “Alright, now I really have to go. Can you help me with my luggage?” 

Without waiting for an answer, she opens the passenger door and steps out. Sighing as he gets out, Logan walks to the back of his car to raise the trunk lid while she goes to get an airport cart. Together, they work to pile her luggage onto the trolley. She’s in the middle of making sure everything is on the cart when he impulsively swings her around, wrapping her in an unexpected hug. 

It's clumsy and uncomfortable as Rory remains tense and rigid in his arms, but he doesn’t let go. And eventually, she starts to yield: her body slowly leaning into his, her arms delicately coming up to encircle his back. They blow past the allotted time for a friendly hug, but neither makes the slightest move to pull away. 

He feels more than hears her words when she murmurs into his shoulder, “Sometimes I really can’t stand you.”

Logan silently tightens his hold on her.

Then she unceremoniously drops her arms, shuffling a couple steps back from him. Flashing a semblance of a smile, she says, “Have fun in Europe. And take pictures.”

He nods. “I’ll call you when I get back. A few days before school starts.”

“Sounds good.” There’s an awkward beat as she meets his gaze—her eyes oddly bright and glassy—but then she quickly looks away again, nodding decisively. “I better go before I miss my flight.”

Logan watches as Rory passes through the sliding glass doors, swallowing hard when she finally disappears from sight into the security line. Digging out the keys from his pocket, he thinks how Finn and Colin better be awake by now because he damn well doesn’t plan on spending much more of today sober.

Chapter Text

July 2005

Rory spends the rest of her summer puttering around Stars Hollow, the days settling into a series of routines. There are breakfasts at Luke’s, her job at the bookstore, Friday night dinners, weekly emails to Lane while she’s on tour, daily phone calls mediating apartment squabbles between Paris and Doyle, and in all the spare moments in-between, she spends them with her mom. They attend all the Stars Hollow festivals in full costume, plan weekend trips to anywhere they can reach within three hours, and treat every night as a movie night. This is the best their relationship has been in a long time.

The first postcard shows up in her mailbox a week after she’s back in Stars Hollow; followed by another one every few days and it becomes yet another routine to the summer. The picture is always wildly inappropriate and totally nondescript and it’s not until she flips the card over to read the hastily scrawled message—Bonjour mademoiselle. The croissants are fantastic. I'll save you one; Hoi Rory, I’m flying high as a kite. GET IT?—that she figures out what country he’s in.

In spite of her best efforts to fill the days—at one point becoming desperate enough to ask Michel if runner's high is real before swiftly coming to her senses—summer in Stars Hollow refuses to deviate from its unwavering, unhurried pace. And before long, Rory finds herself fixating on her impending future—allowing it to crowd out all her other worries—her head filling up with demoralizing doubt as the fears curl in on themselves to form a tight, anxious fist in her chest.

When it all finally becomes too much, she dejectedly slumps into her desk chair and starts churning out pro/con lists like it’s her job—seriously, could this be her job? She begins with the obvious choices first—journalist, book editor—before moving on to every half-baked career that enters her mind. And even though she crumples each list once she's done—tossing it haphazardly around her room—the weight in her chest unclenches bit by bit.

The exercise comes to an end when she finds herself unironically scrawling ‘Executive Assistant’ on top of a clean page—Mitchum’s words ringing loudly in her ears. Dropping the pen in disgust, Rory spends the rest of the afternoon crawling around her room retrieving previously balled-up lists. She carefully smooths them out and goes through the arduous task of dissecting each one—scratching out the more nonsensical reasons on the page, squeezing addendums into the corners. As she reaches the last one, there is no sense of a job well done; only the bleak realization that the only thing she’s sure about… is being horribly unsure about everything.

In the subsequent days, she continually reaches for the lists; reading each one over and over again until the words blur together and she has to toss the pile back onto her desk… only to pick it up again the next day. It's somewhere around the hundredth reread that it finally hits her: all the legitimate, viable options she’s come up with require an English degree. And hey, that's her major. That’s got to count for something, right?

Purely for the sake of her sanity, Rory decides that it does. She packs the lists in a cardboard box marked for her new apartment; sealing the box with packing tape for good measure. Standing up on creaky legs, she hurries to get ready before her mom gets home from work. They’ve got big plans to watch Kirk dry heave several hundred times during the chile eating contest at Al’s Pancake World—Kirk's tolerance with spicy food is nil but it’s impressive how determined he is to win at least once.

--

A month before school starts, Rory receives a call instead of the standard postcard.

“Hello? Ace?”

The background noise from the other end makes it hard for her to hear his voice. “Logan?”

“Hey, I’m glad I caught you! Listen to this!” He stops shouting and then all she hears is a cacophony of beats and voices, each fighting for prominence. “You hear it Ace?”—and then God forbid, Logan starts rapping—“‘Let ‘em know, that you’re too much and this is a beat you can’t touch. Yo, I told you. You can’t touch this!’”

She bursts out laughing. It’s the second time Rory’s heard him belt out ‘U Can’t Touch This’; the first in a karaoke bar almost a year ago after he drunkenly confessed to learning all the lyrics when he was twelve. “You seriously need to learn a new song,” she says into the phone, a wide grin on her face. “Where are you?”

There are loud shuffling noises and she can hear him talking to someone in the background before he's exhaling loudly in her ear, signaling his return. “Sorry about that. Finn tried grabbing my wallet through my back pocket. Anyway, we’re in Ireland for the week.”

“Big night on the town? It’s pretty loud over there.”

“Yeah, we met some locals yesterday and they're taking us on a tour of their favorite bars. We were walking around when someone cranked up the stereo to blast MC Hammer. And then someone else started rapping and… and I thought of you,” he says, finishing lamely.

She’s oddly touched. “Well, I’m glad you called.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I love it when you embarrass yourself.”

“Hilarious as usual, Ace.”

They’re both quiet for a beat.

“You should have come along. You would love it here,” he says, serious in a way she’s not equipped to handle. The small smidgen of hope she still possesses weakly flutters up in response. “And I…”

His sentence trails off into an awkward silence that she lets linger, simultaneously wanting him to continue and shut up all at once.

“Hey—I have to go. I’ll see you in a few weeks, okay?”

The line goes dead before she has a chance to say anything else.

Dropping the phone from her hand, Rory flops back down on her bed; the rapid dissipation of anticipation leaves her hollowed out and explicably tired. Rory’s spent most of the summer trying not to think about what happened between them; which is to say, she's been feigning ignorance while privately clutching to hopes that he'll come back and change his mind. But that's the end of that, she thinks dully.

It would be so easy to let this—them—go; decide she had tried her best but enough was enough and be done with him. But she knows—known even at her lowest points this summer—crying in her room, railing ineptly against the imaginary Logan in her head—even now, that's not really an option. She's in the exact same boat she had been in nearly a year ago and now more than ever—when they’ve developed this fucking bond or whatever—she was going to do the exact same damn thing. Which narrows her choices down to reining in these unrequited feelings and getting the hell over it… four weeks was plenty of time for that, right?

(Late) August 2005

It’s a few days before the start of fall semester and Rory's moving the last of her boxes into the off-campus apartment she’s sharing with Paris and Doyle. She’s swiveling around her room trying to identify which cardboard box she’s stuffed her shoes in when Logan calls to say he’s back from Europe. “Meet me at the pub?”

Hesitating, she says, “Maybe another night. I’ve still got so much left to unpack and—"

“No excuses, Ace. Classes haven’t even started yet. That means it's still officially summer.”

“Seriously, I’ve got so much to do before—"

"Seriously, we haven’t seen each other in months. Months. I mean, I think I remember you being a brunette but at this point, I can’t say with absolute certainty. What if you had a catharsis over the summer and heaven forbid”—he gasps dramatically—“changed your hair? I hear that's all the rage in the movies."

She sputters indignantly while simultaneously trying not to laugh. “You just said it’s officially still summer! That means you can’t make fun of me for that yet!”

“All the more reason to meet me up tonight. You’re guaranteed my cooperation and I’ll be one day closer to being able to say, ‘Gee, Ace, that unnaturally bright fuchsia looks great on you. Really brings out the color of your eyes.’”

She’s outright grinning now—even at her own expense—and dammit, this is what he does to her. Her plan had been to ease back into the way they were; get used to the idea that they were once again in close proximity before actually being in closer proximity. But she'd be lying if she said she didn't want to see him. So it only takes another minute of his cajoling before she caves.

Twenty minutes later, she’s standing inside the entrance of Rich Man’s Shoe scanning the room. Spotting an achingly recognizable profile near the back, Rory takes a steadying breath before making her way over to his table. Logan looks up when she's next to his chair; a wide, easy smile breaking across his face as he stands up to give her a hug.

They pull apart a few moments later and he pulls out her chair before taking his seat. Grinning warmly at her, he says, “Look at that, still a brunette"—he gestures towards the drink in front of her—"Got you a Pimm's cup."

“Oh, thanks.” Rory nervously pulls the cup towards her before returning his smile. “So, how was Europe?”

“Hazardous.” Logan looks sheepish as he holds up his hand and Rory spots a splint on his left index finger. “I got tripped up running after a seven-pound cheese wheel in Gloucester and used my hands to brace for impact.”

She grins, her shoulders instinctively relax at the familiarity of him. This friendship thing is going to be a piece of cake. “Please tell me there are pictures.”

He makes a face at her, letting out a pained sigh as he pulls out his phone. “You’re in luck. Colin’s milkmaid was there to capture the whole race.”

“Milkmaid?”

“Milkmaid.” He hands her the phone with instructions to scroll right.

Every once in a while, Rory bursts out laughing and tilts the phone toward him, asking about some detail or other. When she lands on a picture of Colin with his arm wrapped around a slender, blue eyed blonde girl, she asks, “Is this Colin’s milkmaid?”

“Yep, that's Katrinka, the love of his life. And she’s an honest to God milkmaid too. She’s got cows and pails, the whole shebang. She followed us to Ibiza after Amsterdam and then Colin followed her back to Amsterdam after Ibiza.”

“Wow, she’s really pretty. But Colin in love? With a milkmaid? I don’t see it.”

“Well, she doesn’t speak a lick of English so I’m sure that keeps some of the mystery alive.”

Nodding wisely, she says, “No wonder they’ve lasted longer than a week.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding solemnly back at her, “otherwise she’d realize how annoying she actually finds him. He’s supposed to be back soon but I guess we’ll see if he actually shows.”

She smiles as she hands him back the phone. “So how about you? Did you find a milkmaid to call your own?”

The smug smirk on his face says it all. “No one in particular I’d deem the love of my life.”

“Silly me, I seem to have forgotten you’re strictly a polygamous relationship kind of guy,” she says, her voice suddenly sharp and out of sync with the conversation. Shit, she thinks. Bitter and caustic was not what she was going for.

And of course, it doesn’t go unnoticed; the smirk slides off his face as he looks at her—stares through her, really. Feeling twitchy and exposed, she turns away, hearing him say softly, “More like a no relationship kind of guy.”

Right. No big deal. Rory closes her eyes for a second—fighting hard to regain her composure. With forced levity, she says, “Probably the better choice. Polygamy’s still punishable in the court of law.”

His phone starts to ring as Logan opens his mouth to speak. Glancing at the screen, he says, “Sorry, it’s Colin.”

Smiling weakly, she gestures for him to take the call; fiddles with her straw as she half-heartedly listens to their conversation.

“Hey, when did you get back? She’s here too? Yeah, I’m with Rory now”—her head snaps to attention—“Alright, I’ll ask her. Okay, see you there.” Hanging up, Lohan says earnestly, “Colin’s back. With his milkmaid.” His voice is a little manic in an obvious display of nothing-wrong-here. “They’re heading to Robert’s apartment now and he specifically extended an invitation for you to meet Katrinka. What do you say? Want to meet a milkmaid? Ask her how the cows are faring in her absence?”

Rory shoots him a tight-lipped smile. “Actually, I can’t make it. Guess I'll have to wait just a little longer to meet the love of Colin’s life. I promised Marty I would join him for a Marx Brothers marathon in half an hour.”

A look of confusion crosses his face. “I thought you said you were just going to be unpacking all night.”

“No,” she says firmly. “I said I had a lot of unpacking to do. And then you wheedled me into meeting you here before I could tell you I wanted to finish because I had other plans.” Grabbing her purse from the back of the chair, she pulls the strap around her shoulder. “Can you tell Colin I’m glad he made it back alive?”

“Who’s Marty?”

“He’s the bartender that makes ‘kick ass margaritas.’” Her mouth curls into a barely-there smile. “The one who introduced me to you last year? Anyway, he and I kind of stopped hanging out for a while but I ran into him in New York this summer.”

Logan blurts out, “So, you guys are dating now?”

Her hands fumble on the zipper as she tries to pull her wallet from her purse. Not looking up, she says, “No, we’re just friends.” When she’s finally able to extricate the thing, Rory pulls out a few bills and holds them out to Logan.

He looks a little dazed. “Wait, you’re really leaving? We just sat down. Stay for a little bit longer. I can meet up with Colin later.”

“Sorry, but I really have to go. Besides, I’m sure Colin’s stories are going to be far more interesting than my tales about implementing a new filing system for the bookstore. I’ll give you a hint, alphabetical order is recognized by the majority of society.” She holds the money out further for him to take, but he pushes her hand back.

“Keep it. I already put your drink on my tab. Just buy me lunch tomorrow.”

Rory shakes her head as she gets up from her seat. “Rain check? I need to talk to my advisor tomorrow about a class. But I’ll call you soon. Thanks for the drink.”

She pretends she can’t hear his protestations as she’s waving her goodbyes.

September 2005

“Hey Ace, the Film Appreciation Society is hosting a five movie semi-marathon in hopes of answering the question ‘Nicolas Cage: Good or Bad?’ Semi because they decided to stretch it out to two days to avoid any Nicolas Cage overdose induced breakdowns… Anyway, it's going to be glorious. We should do a snack run beforehand. Call me back.”

“Hey, I know you've been dying in suspense about whether Nicolas Cage falls into the category of good or bad so I’m here to tell you… it was inconclusive. 50/50 split after polling the audience. This one kid had a nervous breakdown after hearing the results and ran onstage demanding a recount. And then he proceeded to regurgitate a medley of Nicolas Cage’s greatest—and yes, I’m using the term very loosely—his greatest bits… It was pretty much as ugly as you’re imagining. Anyway, I’m calling to let you know my parents invited Russell Baker to their next party. I know, I know, not your favorite place to be. And also, my father, not your favorite person to be around. But I promise to play go-between and you’ll have to see my father again at some point, right? I figured Russell Baker would be a pretty stellar tradeoff. Let me know what time I should pick you up.”

“Hey, you didn’t miss much last weekend. Russell Baker cancelled at the last minute and my mom really dropped the ball on the canapes this time. I bailed as soon as my mandatory hours were up. But, that’s not why I’m calling. Word around the newsroom is that you made editor! Congrats, Ace! I’m really proud of you. So proud that even though technically you still owe me a lunch, I’ll play nice and treat you instead. So call me back, we need to celebrate.”

But she doesn’t call him back. She texts. She texts saying she appreciates the support but the aforementioned editor duties on top of everything else means she’s totally swamped at the moment. Which means the celebration will have to wait. And wait. And as her excuses continue piling up over the weeks, a month goes by without them ever getting together.

--

On a rare morning when he’s caught her on the way to class, Logan insists on treating her to a cup of celebratory coffee—reeling her in with an open invitation to add as many modifications to her drink as she wants. As they’re waiting for their order, he makes a harmless remark about how his junior year hadn’t been this busy and notices her cheeks turning red, a look of panic flitting across her face. When the barista hands them their cups, she quickly makes her getaway, telling him to hurry because she really can’t afford to be late to class today.

Later that day, Logan steps inside the pub in desperate need of a drink. Spotting Finn holding court with a few of their other friends, he moves in their direction only to suddenly pull up short. He dimly hears a muffled “Hey!” as the girl who had been walking behind him thumps gracelessly into his back. Elbowing past, the girl turns around to shoot him a dirty look that barely registers on his radar. He's too busy staring at the person sitting next to Stephanie. Rory. Here. With his friends on a Friday night; laughing at something Colin’s just said when this morning, he had to practically beg her to stop at that coffee cart.

A small twinge of anger starts to ignite in his chest before just as quickly snuffing itself out. Clearly, she’s been incredibly busy this semester so maybe she couldn’t commit to firm plans with him this morning but had assumed she’d be seeing him here tonight? And additionally, isn’t it plausible she failed to mention it because she’d been distracted about being late to class?

Or maybe, just maybe, he’s grasping at nonsensical straws when he should take the hint that she’s so obviously blowing him off.

But Logan dismisses this notion pretty quickly. If that's what she’s been trying to do, Rory would never come here to deliberately rub it in his face. And if he’s being honest, he could care less about her reasons. It’s been a long, fucking day; he’s tired and cranky and hanging out with Rory sounds just about perfect right now. His mind made up, Logan plops down in the empty chair next to her.

As she turns her head—grinning when she sees it’s him—he can already feel the edges of his mood lifting. Nodding hellos to the rest of the table, he orders a scotch from a passing waitress and asks Colin where his milkmaid is. Laughter erupts around the table and it’s clear he’s missed a crucial bit of an earlier conversation. The first to regain her composure, Rory tells him that Katrinka made a hasty dash to the airport that afternoon before Colin takes over storytelling duties.

Before long, Logan and Finn are loudly marveling over the fact that Katrinka stuck around for an entire month. When Colin gets tired of being insulted—which unsurprisingly, doesn't take long—he challenges Logan and Finn to a round of darts just to get away from the table. Logan orders another scotch from the waitress and winks at Rory, loudly claiming her for his team.

--

“Not your finest showing tonight, Huntzberger.” He’s trailing Rory back to the table after they lost twice to Colin and Finn.

“We all can’t be superstars like you, Ace.” Logan reclaims the seat beside her. “Have a little sympathy. This peon had to be at the office today with his loving father.”

She shoots him a sympathetic look. “Mitchum summoned you into the office? I thought you were on your way to class this morning.”

“I was. Followed by an afternoon meeting with some potential clients. They wanted another brainstorming session before finalizing the deal.” Shuddering, he says, “Shop talk sucks. Can we talk about anything else?”

Rory scrunches her nose in mock concentration, tapping a finger against her lips. “Hmm, anything else… Wanna hear what I’ve learned about LEED standards for public buildings? I have weeks of research to draw on from the article I wrote.”

“Okay, fine. Not just anything else.” He smiles wryly when she’s looking a little too proud for winning a point that is beyond meaningless. "By the way, Mitchum asked how your semester was going”—he raises an eyebrow in the face of her skeptical expression—“Don’t be surprised. My father likes to keep tabs on anyone he’s worked with. Makes it easier to claim success if the person pans out," he says, rolling his eyes. "Though he did say you were smart to ditch a degenerate like me when I told him the semester has kept you busy.”

A decidedly guilty look crosses her features as she hastily takes a sip of her drink.

Choosing to go easy on her, he says, “Not that I’m complaining, but I was surprised to see you here when I walked in.”

“Stephanie and Colin invited me along after class. We’re all taking the same pottery class. Pottery class,” she repeats as he’s pretty sure he’s the one looking skeptical now. “Beginner pottery to be exact.”

Logan starts laughing loudly as she tries and fails to remain stern, breaking into a grin a few seconds later.

She swats at his arm. “Stop! I already know drawing anything is not my forte so I thought I’d give this a try. Plus, it felt like a fun way to fulfill my fine arts credit and the teacher guarantees I’ll make at least three legitimate vases by the end.”

“Uh huh, well I’m going to need to verify that those vases”—he uses air quotes—"actually look like vases before you can call yourself a potter.”

Rory rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling as she crooks a finger at him, motioning him closer. In a stage whisper, she says, “But I think I’m the only one taking the class seriously. Colin and Stephanie seem to just be there for the easy A.”

Letting out an unexpected chuckle, Logan leans in even further and taps a finger against her nose. “Well, Rory,” he says seriously, “you have to realize not everyone is as morally studious as you are.”

Staring at one another for a beat too long, it dawns on him exactly how close they're sitting; then watches as the same realization plays across her face.

She hastily moves away from him.

He clears his throat, shifting slowly back in his seat. “Listen, I feel like we haven’t really hung out since school started. Just us two. Want to have dinner tomorrow? My treat."

The silence drags on for what feels like hours. Days. Logan waits for any sign of affirmation—a smile, a gleeful proclamation that he was so going to regret his offer to pay, a simple yes—but when he catches Rory anxiously biting her lip, it’s pretty clear what her answer will be.

She meets his eyes, an apologetic smile already on her lips. “I’d really, really like that but I promised my mom I’d spend the day in Stars Hollow tomorrow. She’s been feeling kind of abandoned for the past month. How about next—”

The quick anger from before suddenly comes roaring back on a wave of righteousness, filling his ears with static. He’s only dimly aware of pushing back his chair, the legs screeching loudly in protest. How pathetic was he right now? “Yeah,” he says, his voice hard as he looks at her. “I know the feeling.”

Getting up from his seat, Logan shifts his gaze to Rosemary and Robert who have both looked up from their conversation. “Can you tell everyone else I went home? I’ll see you guys later.”

Walking away from the chorus of byes, Logan doesn’t spare her another glance.

--

“Happy birthday, Colin!” Everyone downs their drink as Colin takes a bow, carefully holding his glass aloft.

“Thank you, thank you. Thank you to my parents for giving birth to this wonderful human being standing in front of all of you today”—Colin throws back his shot and holds up his middle finger as groans fill the bar—“Thank you to this bar which has seen all of us through some tough times. And for being the cause of most of those times. Thank you to the first person who had the brilliant idea to ferment fruit—”

Robert materializes with the next round and Logan gratefully grabs two scotches. He forcefully exchanges the empty glass in Colin’s hand with a new one. “Shut up and drink so you can have another.”

There’s another round of cheers and Seth jumps in before Colin can continue his spiel. “So for our big senior event I was thinking we should—”

Rosemary’s squeals cut through his words. “Stephanie! You’re here!”

Logan looks around to see Rosemary hugging Stephanie before turning to throw her arms around Rory.

“Oh, by the way, I invited Rory to swing by if she was free,” Colin says, looking pointedly at Logan.

Darkly amused at the irony of her now becoming so chummy with his friends, he smirks humorlessly. "No skin off my back.”

When Stephanie and Rory eventually make their way over, they exchange greetings with the group; Rory’s focus flitting around the circle before landing on him. “Hey,” she says quietly.

He spares her a quick glance as if he hadn’t noticed her arrival. Finishing the last of his scotch, he stares hard at the empty glass in his hand. “Hey.”

From his peripheral, he can see her shifting her gaze and looks up as she diverts her attention to Colin. She grandly presents Colin with the poster tube she’s been holding. “Happy birthday,” she says, a gleeful smile on her face. “You’re going to hate this, but Stephanie and I decided to give it to you anyway.”

Colin quickly removes the tube cap; his face splitting into a wide grin as he unfurls the poster. “What the hell am I going to do with this?”

Everyone clamors closer but Logan’s no less confused when Colin holds up a poster of a half-naked Patrick Swayze.

Finn claps a hand down on Colin’s shoulder. “Mate, have you developed a new fetish you haven’t shared with us?”

Amidst the catcalls, Rory says, “On the first day of class, our pottery teacher said there was only one rule—"

Her voice fades into the background as he makes a beeline for the bar.

--

“Can I get another shot of tequila? And a Dos Equis.” Logan’s reaching for his wallet when Rory sidles up beside him. Pulling out a few bills, he raises his eyebrows. They’ve spent the last couple hours maintaining a healthy distance and that’s how he had expected the night to end.

“Hey,” she says, raising a hand to push her hair back behind her ear.

He takes his time replacing the wallet in his back pocket before turning to her. “You said that already.”

“Oh um, yeah, you’re right…”

Shooting her a bloodless smile, he says, “Did you want a drink?”

“Uh, I don’t know—” She’s still stammering when the bartender sets down his drinks on the bar.

Logan looks at the bartender and taps a side of the shot glass, asking, “Can I get another one of these? Thanks.”

“Thanks,” she says hesitantly as the bartender goes to retrieve her drink.

Logan looks at her.

“I think.” She wrinkles her nose. “I’ve never had tequila.”

He shrugs carelessly. “First time for everything.”

They both quietly wait for the bartender to come back; the awkwardness between them building into this oppressive, overbearing thing that threatens to consume everything in it’s wake. But he steadfastly tries to keep hold of his air of nonchalance. Him, uncomfortable? Please.

When the bartender ambles over with the second shot of tequila, Logan nods his thanks as he stuffs a few dollars in the tip jar. Grabbing both, he hands one to her and then carefully balances a lime between his fingers. He swiftly raises the glass to her in a sardonic toast before gulping it down in one go. Biting down on the lime, he eyes her shamelessly as she tosses back the shot: lets his eyes drift down to her throat when she swallows; catalogs the cringe on her face when her head tips forward again; zeroes in on her mouth when she sucks on the lime, her lips puckering around the rind.

He suddenly looks away, feeling a little too warm from the inside out.

“Blech. Not sure if I like tequila.” Rory grimaces as she drops the lime wedge into her empty shot glass and turns her attention to him. She fixes him with an overly bright smile. “So, how are things?”

“Peachy keen,” he says flatly, rubbing at his neck.

“Yeah? That’s good to hear…” She trails off and he doesn't have the slightest inclination to help her out; just takes a sip of his beer and stares at her indifferently. “Did I tell you what Paris left in our kitchen the other day?” she asks, the words hurried and high pitched. “It was disgusting—”

Nope. Just, nope. “I don’t know when you would have considering we haven’t talked in a while.”

“Yeah…” She runs a hand through her hair. “Look, about that—”

“But I guess that’s the status quo these days,” he says, not quite able to help himself. “I call and you use every excuse under the sun to say no.”

She opens her mouth as if to defend herself but then closes it again, her lips pressed tightly together.

Now openly sneering at her effort, Logan watches as her expression darkens in return. “What’s different about tonight, Rory? Miss seeing all those unanswered notifications lighting up your phone?”

If the contemptuous glare on her face didn’t make it obvious, the malice in her voice makes it clear he’s treading on shaky ground. “Are you seriously lecturing me right now on being a good friend? That’s rich coming from you.”

“Oh yeah? What does that mean?”

“It means I remember a certain posh party this summer where I ended up going home in a taxi after you found better company for the night.” She looks at him snidely. “Tell me again, where does that fall on the good friend scale?”

Flashing her a humorless smirk, he says, "Nice. Real nice. Bringing up something I already apologized for. That’s not fair. I asked you what I could do to make things better and you said it was already forgotten!”

“That’s. Not. Fair." A look of astonishment crosses her features and then she’s outright laughing in his face: this acerbic, scornful sound that seems so contrary coming from her mouth, it catches him off guard. "No,” she says, furiously shaking her head. “You want to know what’s not fair? That you get to be angry at me now when I had been expected to be mature about everything else! And yeah, you’re right. We weren't going to see each other for months so I said what I said. But did you honestly think it was going to be that easy? That we were just going to go back to regular scheduled programming? We—you… I thought we were onto something—”

Her eyes flash ferociously as she stops talking. Fury sharpens all the angles of her face and he thinks if she could, she’d burn him on the spot. But it’s none of these things that tug at his conscience; instead, it’s the way her voice faltered on those last few words. And though his vehemence remains largely unsated, he can feel those first splintery cracks start to appear inside him as she gets dangerously close to naming parts of the story he’s most ashamed of. “Ace—”

“No. Don’t.” She takes a deep breath and rolls her shoulders back; his animosity crumbling off her shoulders like sand. “Forget it,” she spits out. “I don’t even know why I bothered.”

Breaking their standoff, she angrily stomps away.

Chapter Text

October 2005

Unlike their previously murky stalemate, clear battle lines are drawn this time; though there are no direct skirmishes between the two and coincidentally, no accidental run-ins either. Instead, all the actual fighting is done through secondary players.

Logan doesn’t know how it’s possible, but Paris becomes even more hostile towards him. It becomes commonplace to be routinely shoved to the side every time they run into each other in the hallways—“Out of the way, Huntzberger! Some of us want to be contributing members to society!” He even uncovers dissension amongst his ranks when Stephanie begins peppering pointed glares with all her greetings to him; though he enjoys telling her she’s not even half as terrifying as Paris.

A couple weeks later, Logan’s drunk off his ass trying to forget about the upcoming paper in Econ he’s got due. In any previous semester, this would be an easy feat—especially when he's at a party that's got all the typical distractions: tons of booze and... that's usually plenty enough—but ever since Mitchum demanded Logan graduate, his father been on his case more than ever—and hey, he and Rory never did get around to figuring that new career path for him, did they? Not so surprising since he hasn't even given it a second thought since their argument in Chicago and now, he’s shit out of luck because they’re not even on speaking terms. Guess that means he’s stuck following through on the preordained destiny then. Because let’s face it, walking away had never truly been an option. He likes the security of family money, even with the strings; likes the lifestyle he’s accustomed to, likes the opportunities he’s been afforded.

Despite all appearances to the contrary, Logan’s got just enough ambition to not be a drain on the Huntzberger name and just enough pride to eventually make something of himself. Ironically, he thinks the life he’s been groomed for could actually be something he’s good at. The Rory in his brain chimes in, Great job, Einstein. That’s what you just figured out?  It’s beyond depressing when he realizes he can’t escape a Rory lecture in his own damn mind.

He rubs tiredly at his face and realizes this is way too much self-introspection for a Saturday night; choosing instead to focus on figuring out why he’s spent the last few minutes clumsily pawing for the phone in his pocket. That's right, Robert mentioned something about a poker game next week and today is… he squints at the phone screen. The 8^th. The paper is due on the 16^th which means he’s got a little over a week—shit, October 8^th. Rory’s birthday. Her 21^st birthday. Logan vaguely remembers a conversation about Atlantic City with her mom and playing 21 when she turned 21. It’s—he checks his phone again—12:24 in the morning which means she could be at the blackjack table right now ordering her first drink. He thinks of the gift he got her now gathering dust in the back of his closet and wonders if he should just give it to her anyway. Everyone loves presents, right? Even from former friends who’ve royally pissed you off.

In the early hours of Colin’s birthday, Logan had just enough wherewithal to send her one measly text before crawling into bed and passing out. Sorry. Sorry for being such an asshole. Sorry for making it seem like our friendship didn’t rank high enough. But of course, he didn’t have the sense to say any of that so… sorry.

Surprise, surprise, she hadn’t responded. 

Ever since then, he’d gotten as far as scrolling to her name in his phone; his finger hovering above the button to call. But he couldn’t do it; couldn’t brush aside the swift hurt that pricked up and down his spine as he recounted the multitude of excuses she’d given—can’t today, gotta finish the reading by tomorrow; next time maybe, I’ve got a test; I’m busy, Logan, you can fill me in later—until it seemed like sheer lunacy he had picked up the phone in the first place. Then he’d call just about anyone else in hopes of a distraction so that his brain would shut the fuck up. Because otherwise, eventually he’d recall her vague, stuttered reference to Martha’s Vineyard; the guilt hitting him strong and true each time. Deep down, he knows that one is solely on him—actually, a lot of why they’re fractured is solely on him—despite trying to throw it back in her face. Did you honestly think it was going to be that easy? That we were just going to fall back in line? We—you… I thought we were onto something—

And now, now that Logan’s done being fucking irrationally angry, he’s just fucking irrationally sad. Sad that his clumsy, shitty attempts to preserve their friendship have failed so spectacularly he doesn’t know if he should give her a birthday present. She’s been the one ignoring him since school started; at this point, wouldn’t leaving her alone be the more charitable thing to do?

Fuck it.

Logan pulls out his phone and blearily sends a text. Happy 21^st Ace. Though I still think you and your mom should nix the thing with 21 guys.

Staring hard at the phone, he feels this little bit of optimism claw up from the deep recesses of his gut. But then the minute passes, the phone light automatically dimming as the battery saving option kicks in. Well, that’s that, then. Shoving up from the floor, he stuffs the phone back in his pocket. Now where the hell was Finn with his drink?

--

Meet me at Rich Man’s Shoe tonight! Thursday is technically the end of the week, right?

Rory sees Stephanie’s text after her last class and smiles as she texts back her affirmative.

After stalking off from Logan at Colin’s birthday, Rory had spent the rest of the night drinking vodka and Red Bull cocktails with Juliet as she blabbered on about the diet benefits of mixing caffeine and alcohol. Rory’s not entirely sure how pathetic she must have been—doesn’t think she can handle actually knowing—but it must have been something fierce for Stephanie to insist she come back to her place to sleep it off.

The next morning, Stephanie handed Rory a cup of coffee and said, “So, Logan huh?”

Rory drained the mug before she could even think of formulating a coherent answer. Spoiler alert, it wasn’t very coherent. “Well, kind of. I mean, it’s complicated.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Stephanie shrugged. “Yeah, if you want to talk about it, I’ll listen. If not, then okay.”

Rory smiled gratefully. “Okay.”

They spent the rest of the day eating greasy take-out and watching 80’s movies. As the end credits to Heathers flashed across the screen, Rory had fumbled through a jumbled explanation about what happened last summer, what she felt for Logan, what she feels for Logan, the mess they’re in now. She can’t be sure if Stephanie understood half of what she’d been spewing but all the same, it was a relief to share it out loud.

Since then, she’s been trying to fit together the pieces of how she feels. Anger, definitely, along with the healthy dose of self-righteousness dancing at the edges were easy enough to identify. This obvious combination sated her for weeks until the morning of her 21^st birthday. As she stared at Logan’s text wishing her a happy birthday, an unidentifiable feeling streaked through her insides, smearing the easy ire she’d been holding onto and succeeded in leaving her feeling… untethered.

Now, as Rory walks into the Rich Man’s Shoe, her eyes skirt around the room looking for Stephanie before widening in alarm. Spotting Logan—equipped with a never-before-seen beard, she thinks absently—sitting next to Colin, she instinctively takes a step back toward the front door. Stephanie steps into her line of sight before she can get any further.

“Okay,” she says, approaching Rory with the same amount of trepidation as approaching a startled deer. “Don’t freak out but I think you should stay.”

“Steph, no,” she says, fervently shaking her head. “I never even replied to his birthday text a couple weeks ago. He probably hates me now. I’m just going to go.”

“No! It’s—” Stephanie grabs a flyer off one of the tables. “‘Random Facts about the UK’ trivia night. How can you even think about missing this?” she asks, enthusiastically waving the flyer in her face.

“It’s a weekly trivia contest. Where the prize is a 50-dollar bar tab. Even if I stay, I doubt tonight will make it into the footnotes of my memoir.”

Stephanie tsks, shooting Rory a disapproving glare. “I think you have too little faith in tonight. Bar trivia could be just the beginning to some grand adventure”—she huffs impatiently—“Which is beside the point. The point is, you guys are guaranteed to run into each other. You go to the same school and now your social circle overlaps around the same people. I can continue shooting him dirty looks indefinitely but are you really going to avoid him forever?”

Rory shakes her head again. “Not forever. Just… until we get to a place where we can’t be labelled as anything more than mere acquaintances and the only conversation that springs up between us is nothing more damaging than ‘Gee, this is some mighty fine weather we’re having.’”

Stephanie remains undeterred. “Didn't you tell me that you weren’t really that angry anymore?”

“Well yes, but—”

“And I know you’ve considered forgiving him.”

"Wow, overstatement much? Just because I said—"

“For God’s sake, you cried while we were mock-watching Beaches. You need to stop being so pitiful about Logan or we can’t be friends anymore.”

“That wasn’t about Logan! It’s a very emotional movie and oh God, did I really cry during Beaches?” She sees Stephanie nodding furiously. “That is pathetic. I’m pathetic.” Rory sighs as she gives in. “You’re right, I’ll stay.”

“That’s the spirit.” Stephanie grabs her arm before she can change her mind.

As they’re navigating through the crowded bar, she reminds herself to play it cool, Lorelai Gilmore levels of cool. So when Stephanie purposely sits in the only other empty seat not next to Logan, Rory rolls her eyes but doesn’t make a big deal out of it. She sees him turning his head in her direction as she sits down and manages to stammer out, “Um. Hey.” Wow. Incredibly cool.

He flashes her an indecipherable smile. “Hey. Happy belated birthday by the way.”

“Oh. Yeah, thanks." She sucks in her lips as she feels her face growing warm. "Sorry for not texting—”

“No, I wasn’t—” Logan shakes his head, holding his hands up in concession. “I wasn’t fishing for anything. Honest. It’s just, 21 is a big milestone. No one has to commit a misdemeanor for you to drink anymore.”

The relief is palpable in the line of her shoulders. A small smile graces her lips. “Thank God for small miracles, right?”

“Oh wow,” Logan says, looking taken aback as he lets his hands drop. “Is that what you’re calling yourself these days?”—he arches an eyebrow at her—“Age sure has changed you.”

She slowly takes in his cocksure expression—clocking the hint of doubt in the slight furrow of his brow—her body lighting up predictably as she feels the familiar stirrings of indignance and delight. It’s a strangely steadying presence. "Well, you know me. I’ve always been of the mind that any sense of modesty is highly overrated. Did you forget that already?”

“I mean...” The words linger for a beat as his eyes carefully search her face. “It has been a while.”

“Yeah…” She echoes his wistful tone. “It has, hasn’t it?”

They exchange hesitant smiles and when she meets his eyes, that final piece clicks into place: like hey, it's you I've been missing.

"Alright ladies and gents," Robert says, snapping her out of her reverie when he slaps a piece of paper on the table. "What's our team name going to be?"

“Slough Trading Estate,” Logan calls out, still looking at Rory.

“‘I don’t know how anyone can put you down,’” she chimes in.

Logan grins appreciatively, his eyes bright with mirth as her mouth begins twitching upward. She can only hold out for another second before they’re both laughing uncontrollably, slumping on each other for balance as mystified stares are reflected back on everyone’s faces around the table. Every time Rory thinks she’s close to pulling herself together, her eyes dart to his and it’s a lost cause.

Even though she knows this doesn’t fix everything between them—knows she’s putting herself at a disadvantage by not thinking too hard about this—as she’s wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, she realizes some things just couldn’t be helped.

--

“See, you should have listened when I told you the answer was burn bags.” Rory looks at him sternly, but the grin on her face contradicts her tone.

Logan shakes his head. “Nuh uh, that is not on me. Everyone else thought—”

"Hey,” Stephanie says, cutting through their conversation. “I'm going to say bye to Tom and then we'll head out."

Shifting her eyes from Logan, Rory looks up to catch Stephanie smiling smugly before she flits away to the other side of the bar. Glancing around the table, Rory is surprised to see everyone else pulling on jackets, finishing drinks, closing out tabs.

She shoots a bashful smile at Logan. “Guess it’s time to go.”

“Yeah, guess so,” he says, an oddly vulnerable look on his face as he wordlessly watches Rory shrug on her jacket. There's an uneasy quiet until Logan leans toward her again. "I can't believe we lost to a team who called themselves ‘The Lads.’"

"Well I think they're all actually from Europe so it probably would have been more embarrassing for them if they lost. Seeing as how, you know, it’s their continent and they’d have to go back to their friends and tell them they um, lost to Americans." She tries her best to stop from outwardly cringing as the embarrassment sets in.

But he doesn’t call her out on the babbling, just smiles placatingly as the awkward silence descends on them once more; a clear delineation from the rest of that evening when they had been squabbling on the sidelines, egging each other on as everyone spoke loudly over everyone else to make a case for why their answer was the right one.

Logan clears his throat. "So, how's that pottery class going? Made your first vase yet?"

"Yeah," she says, feeling a tad morose. "And no. We did make vases but... mine kind of caved in on itself." She feels a smile tugging at her lips as he laughs on cue and tries her best to suppress the impulse. "Like you could do any better," she protests. "It's not easy."

"Uh huh. Does that mean Colin's and Stephanie's vases also caved in on themselves?"

"No," she admits, recalling the moment they had walked into class and hers was the only one that didn't remotely resemble a vase. "It's fine,” Rory says, more to herself than anything else. “I still have two more chances."

His smile turns affectionate. "All very true.”

Suddenly, his eyes dart away and in her peripheral, she can see Stephanie walking back to their table.

Turning back, she finds herself meeting his eyes; his gaze sliding around her face with a sense of urgency. But then the look clears and he’s offering up a soft smile, saying, “It was good to see you tonight, Ace."

"Yeah," she says, a comforting warmth flooding her insides as she beams back at him. "It really was."

--

Logan notices her in the corner the minute he steps foot inside the bar on Halloween. Since trivia night over a week ago, he’s debated dozens of times over on whether he should call before ultimately deciding to leave it up to chance and well… here she is. He makes a stopover at the bar before making his approach.

“Drinking alone?” he asks.

She jumps in surprise before looking up at him.

“Pretty sure that’s one of the first signs Intervention has taught me to look out for. Am I gonna have to pull out my handwritten letter?”

The grin on her face goes a long way in calming his nerves. “From the guy holding two drinks? Are you sure you don't need to hear my letter?”

Logan gives her a flinty look. “One, I just got here so this is my first drink,” he says, holding up the drink in his right hand. “And two, the second one’s for you, you lush.”

Pushing aside her empty glass, he sets down the new one in front of her; then hesitates as he looks at the empty chair beside her. He waits until she tips her head in invitation before sitting down.

She purses her lips as she stares at his face. “So I’m guessing this is why you’ve been growing a beard. Nice mustache, Ron Burgundy.”

“Thanks” he says, stroking the mustache proudly. “I’m thinking about keeping it post-Halloween.”

She wrinkles her nose in distaste. “You might want to reconsider that.”

“Ouch. I never knew”—he looks down at her outfit and rolls his eyes—"a three-hole punch could be so harsh.”

“Well, I am known to be a little punchy,” she says, laughing hysterically as he groans.

Logan takes a sip of his drink. “So, were you banned to the corner on account of terrible punning? Not sure if you noticed, but everyone’s over there on the other side of the room.”

Sighing deeply, Rory says, “Their lack of appreciation for quality punning is deeply troubling to me”—she shoots him a playful grin—“Actually, I’m just getting a drink with Paris and Marty before Stephanie gets here. She’s insisting I come along to some Halloween party hosted by the guy she's been talking to.” 

“Ace,” he says gently, concern splashed over his features. “There’s no need to make up lies”—Logan makes a big show of glancing around—“Just admit you have a problem because there’s obviously no one here with you.”

Rory rolls her eyes. “Paris is outside on the phone making her lab partner cry for costing them two points on the last report and”—she points in a direction behind his shoulder—"Marty volunteered to get the next round so he’s probably at the bar.”

“Paris is really here?” Logan sees her smile widen at what he can only assume is a look of panic on his. He shudders. “Better make myself scarce before she comes back then. But listen—” He gulps down the rest of his drink, trying to shore up some last-minute courage. Shit, he probably should have downed her drink too before coming over here. “There’s a double feature of Casino and Goodfellas showing tomorrow. Interested?”

She tilts her head as she studies him closely—allowing him to sweat it out in the meantime. Her gaze zeroes in on his mouth. “That depends on how attached you are to keeping that mustache.”

Logan doesn’t even attempt to play it cool, the grin spreading across his face, nice and slow. “Consider it gone.”

Smiling back just as big, she says, “Then consider me in. I’ve been running light on ways to intimidate the barista into giving me that third shot of expresso.”

“Huntzberger.” Paris' voice drips with derision as she appears at his elbow, eyeing him suspiciously.  “Not surprised to see you on the prowl tonight. Loose inhibitions and drunk decision-making seem to be your specialty, doesn’t it?”

“Hi Paris, wonderful to see you again. Your disdain for me seems to have really given you that little extra something around the eyes.”

"What's that, Ron Jeremy? I couldn't hear you over the dead rodent that's affixed itself to your face."

Logan throws Paris a disarming grin as he gets up from the table. “It’s been swell and all but I’ve got to recharge my ego a bit. See you tomorrow, Ace,” he says as boisterously as he can manage.

Paris immediately turns her death glare on Rory. “You guys are hanging out again? Are you kidding me?”

Smirking innocently when Rory narrows her eyes at him, he shoots her a wink before walking away.

--

The next day, Logan picks her up half an hour before the double feature starts. It gives them just enough time to raid the concession stand for Red Vines, Skittles, M&M’s, popcorn with extra butter, and two large Cokes. Settling in a row near the back of the theater, he loudly shushes her when she has trouble opening the Red Vines, the plastic crinkling loudly through the beginning minutes of Casino. When she finally succeeds, Rory flashes him a triumphant smile before stuffing one in her mouth with vigor. Logan tries to reach for a Red Vine halfway through the movie, but she just shoots him a dirty look as she switches the package over to the hand furthest from him. They quietly squabble for several minutes until she gives in as he holds up a finger menacingly, threateningly miming to tickle her side.

During the short intermission between movies, she quickly darts off to the women’s bathroom as he goes to the concession stand to refill the popcorn. The opening scene of Goodfellas has already started by the time she makes it back and he dutifully hands her the popcorn tub as she sits. Grabbing a handful of popcorn, she watches as Logan mouths the words to Ray Liotta’s opening voiceover and grins to herself, generously tilting the bucket in his direction when he notices her gaze. He grabs a big handful as he admonishes her to keep her eyes forward.

By the time the theater lights come on, she's starving for food with actual substance and it’s unsurprising to find that they're both craving Italian. They end up at a bistro around the corner where they argue over whether Joe Pesci was better—i.e. more crazy—in Casino or Goodfellas and then segue into exactly how much Al Pacino's terrible Cuban accent detracts from Scarface before arguing over who’s turn it is to foot the bill for dinner.

--

"So you're telling me, you actually felt a literal pang in your chest after shaving off your mustache," she says, following him into his apartment after dinner.

"I'm serious." He drops his keys on the table and his coat on the chair. "It took me a month to grow it out. We built a relationship. It was no easy feat to take a pair of scissors to it."

“Oh, I’m sure,” Rory says sardonically, dropping her coat on top of his. “But trust me when I say, the world is thankful for my intervention.” She grins at the face he makes before craning her head to survey the rest of his apartment. "This is where you live?"

"Yeah." He realizes this is her first time here. "Make yourself at home."

"Wow." Rory makes a beeline toward the giant window overlooking the campus behind the pool table, peering eagerly through the slats of his blinds. "Check out that view."

"Definitely a highlight of this place." He joins her at the window. "Well, that and Henry."

Her gaze follows to where he's pointing and she giggles when she sees the suit of armor near the kitchen bar. "What? Why do you even have that?"

Logan gives her an incredulous look as he quirks an eyebrow. "He's a knight. Why would I not have that?"

She’s still staring at Henry when she says, "He kind of creeps me out. What's he hiding under the mask? And do you ever get water in the middle of the night and freak out because you mistake him for an actual human being?"

"Once," Logan admits sheepishly. "But then I got over it."

"Uh huh." She nods doubtfully, continuing to eye the suit of armor with suspicion.

"Sorry buddy," he says to Henry as his hands come down on her shoulders. He angles her toward the direction of his living room. "Okay, let's leave the poor guy alone now. I think you’ve caused enough damage to his psyche."

Rory laughs as she makes her way around the room; marching her fingers across the felt of the pool table, picking up random knick knacks from his side tables to inspect. "Oh look,” she says, feigning surprise once she’s standing beside his couch.  “A place to lay down”—she groans dramatically as she flops down on the couch—“I'm stuffed by the way. Next time remind me a second order of calamari is never the right decision."

‘Really.” He’s sure his skepticism is easy to pick up, even from all the way across the room. “So if I tell you I have a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough in my freezer… you would say no?”

Visibly perking up as she pokes her head above the cushion, Rory rests both arms on the back pillows. “Now let’s not be too hasty…”

Logan’s already retrieved the ice cream from the freezer, grabbing a spoon before making his way to the couch where she’s sprawled out again. “Here,” he says as he hands her both items.

Eagerly sitting up, she thanks him profusely as she removes the lid. He slips away unnoticed when she’s in the middle of taking a large bite.

“Happy belated birthday, Ace,” he says as he reappears from his closet, placing a large paper bag on the coffee table.

Wincing as she swallows the remaining bite, she narrows her eyes at the bag. “What is that?”

He raises an amused eyebrow. “It's not a bomb. Open it."

Placing the carton of ice cream on the table, she gives him another nervous glance before cautiously reaching into the paper bag. The wariness quickly turns into delight and she smiles widely as she pulls out a stack of books, her eyes quickly taking in the spine titles. “These are for me? Where did you get these?”

He grins as he watches her peek into the bag again. “I ended up visiting a ton of bookstores all across Europe this summer.”

“Logan.” Something undefinable unfurls in his chest at the soft look she aims in his direction as she pulls out a second stack of books. “This is amazing. Thank you so much.”

He plops down beside her on the couch, reaching for the ice cream. “No big deal. Sorry they weren’t wrapped.”

Shrugging her shoulders distractedly, she’s intently skimming the blurbs on the back covers. “I’ve never been one for Miss Manners.”

“Oh, I know,” he says around a mouthful of ice cream. “No one who dares eat as much as you do in front of, heaven forbid men, could be a devoted follower of Miss Manners.”

Rory stops reading long enough to shoot him a dirty look. "Despite what you're insinuating, I am a proper lady and I had the coming out party to prove it." Her expression morphs into something more good-natured, smiling shyly as she says, “This summer, huh?”

Logan busies himself with putting the spoon back in the carton before setting it back on the table. “Yeah," he says, the words rough against his throat. "This summer."

The air hangs heavy with expectation, loaded with the things they haven’t talked about.

“And,” he continues, making the concentrated effort to meet her gaze, “I really am sorry—”

“Logan,” she says quietly, reaching over to rest a hand on his arm. “I know.” He watches as her eyes dart down to where she’s touching him before she raises them again, her gaze slowly inching up his face. “And thanks again for the books. I love them,” she declares with surety, the corners of her mouth yielding and delicate.

Fuck, he thinks, his body growing cold as keen awareness creeps into his bones. Fuck, he thinks desperately as he continues looking into her eyes, he might just be in love with this girl after all.

Chapter Text

November 2005

“Logan, are you listening?”

They’re sitting at her desk in the newsroom and his note taking has steadily devolved into doodling cartoon dogs while she’s been talking.

“Logan,” Rory repeats. “Are you listening?”

Deigning to look up this time as he clocks the note of exasperation in her voice, Logan puts down the pen, grinning guiltily. “Of course. Give me a little credit.”

She looks unconvinced. “Okay, so what did I say?”

Sure he’s looking smug as hell, he says, “You said”—he holds his fingers up in air quotes—“’it is expected that Alan Greenspan will raise interest rates by the end of the year to cool the overheated market.’”

She rolls her eyes, grumbling, “Looks like you’ve got it." Closing the folder she'd been reading from, she lets her lips curl into an appreciative smile. “Thanks for taking this article off my hands by the way. I’ve got a test coming up before Thanksgiving break that I’ve really got to start studying for.”

He looks at her blankly. “That’s still two weeks away.”

“Yep.” Rory shuffles the folders into a stack, dropping them on top of his notebook. “Which means I’m already behind. Editor duties have pretty much taken over my life.”

Logan shakes his head disapprovingly. “I really have taught you nothing. And don’t bother with the false modesty. I know you’re enjoying the power trip, Ms. Editor.”

“I really am," she says, smiling broadly. Then hastily amends, "Not so much the power part. But I could get used to this gig.”

“Well, it suits you.” He looks at her warmly. “Seriously Ace, you deserve this.”

Her grin shifts into a shy smile as she puts her things away. “Thanks. I’m still trying to keep an open mind about my prospects for the future, but it does feel good to have validation that I might not be wholly unqualified for this.”

“Stop selling yourself short,” he admonishes, haphazardly shoving everything into his bag. “Dinner?”

Rory shakes her head. “I can’t. Marty and I are studying for that test tonight and then I have Friday night dinner tomorrow. But we can eat dinner Saturday if you don't have plans yet.”

Logan feels a swift stab of irritation at the mention of Marty. Last week as he and Rory were eating lunch in the dining hall, Marty had stopped by their table to say hi and it quickly became apparent he harbored more than just friendly feelings as he stammered and blushed every time he looked in Rory’s direction. While in the past, Logan could get a ton of mileage out of teasing her for this, it’s now decidedly unfunny ever since he’s discovered his own more than friendly feelings for her.

“How nice of him,” he says, unable to keep the note of mockery out of his voice. Logan quickly changes the subject. “Saturday’s good. Actually, there’s something I’ve been wanting you to watch. How about we make it dinner and a movie?”

She sighs dramatically, making a big show out of shrugging her shoulders. “I was planning on reorganizing my desk that night, but I guess I could hold off until Sunday."

"Gee, thanks."

--

“Alright, are you ready?” Logan turns to look at her solemnly.

It’s Saturday night and they’ve settled on his couch after filling up on all-you-can-eat sushi at the new Japanese buffet in Hartford.

“Yes?" she asks quizzically, suspicion beginning to prick up her spine. "Why do you look so serious? What are we about to watch?”

Logan’s face breaks into a grin. “Relax, Ace. I’m just making sure you’re set on all the essentials: pillows, blankets, all your favorite snacks within reach.”

“Check, check, and check,” she says, still discomforted by his unusual attentiveness. 

He nods as he starts the movie before leaning back on the couch, his body lining up next to hers.

Handing over the Reese’s Pieces, Rory asks, “What’s this movie called again?”

“The Room."

Munching on their respective snack of choice, they watch as the opening credits roll over picturesque scenes of San Francisco.

And then five minutes in, the movie gets weird.

“What—” She feels her eyebrows rising in confusion. “What is going on? Why does Johnny look like a vampire? And how old is Denny supposed to be? I’m guessing definitely too old to be asking to join them in bed like that. And why is this sex scene still going on?” She shields her eyes with her hand as she scrambles blindly to get up. “Logan! I’m not watching porn!”

She hears him laughing uproariously before feeling an arm wrap around her waist. He tugs her back onto the couch, pulling at the hand still covering her eyes until she admits defeat, dropping it in her lap. “It isn’t porn, Ace. Though this scene does drag on for an inordinate amount of time,” he concedes. “But it’s not porn. Just keep watching. It’s worth it. I promise.”

“Fine, mister,” she grouses. “But if I don’t like it, there will be consequences.” The sex scene mercifully ends after a few more minutes. “Okay, what’s up with that chuckle giggle thing he keeps doing?”

“What? You don’t like it?” He’s smiling again when she glances over at him. “Better get used to it. It’s an affectation of his.”

“Consequences,” she says firmly. But her eyes stay glued to the screen.

--

Once the movie is over, Rory quickly turns to Logan. “That. Was. Amazing.” Her tone is full of reverence as a huge grin stretches across her face. “Okay, no, the opposite of amazing. But that’s what makes it so amazing.”

Logan grabs the last of the popcorn and gives her a look that clearly screams I-told-you-so. “I knew you’d like it. Not sure what that says about your taste though.” Then cocks his head to the side. “Or mine.”

“I can’t decide on which part was my favorite. And did you also think Chris-R was the best actor in the entire movie?” she says, thinking aloud. “I wonder if he’s in anything else.”

“Alright, let’s not go too far with the praise. He was halfway believable waving that gun around, I’ll give him that.”

“I mean, that intense look on his face as he was demanding his money.” Her eyes widen as she shakes her head in disbelief. “I really thought he was going to shoot Denny.”

“Yes,” Logan deadpans. “It was really touch and go for a minute there.”

“Can I borrow it? I want to show this to my mom when I’m home for Thanksgiving. A movie like this demands to be rewatched.” He nods bemusedly as she shifts to lean against the armrest, stretching her arm out for the last of the Mallomars. “What are your plans for Thanksgiving?”

His face scrunches up in displeasure. “Schmoozing business acquaintances. My father’s really pulled out all the stops this year. Dinner parties every night of the break"—he sighs theatrically—"I was hoping to slip off to Aruba like I usually do, but he’s made it very clear I'm to attend each one and convince everyone I’ve mastered being a grown up. Make the investors feel more comfortable with the fact that I'll be joining the company next year.”

She grimaces sympathetically. “Wow, your father’s really great at selling his parties, isn’t he?”

Logan shrugs. The resignation evident as he says, “It is what it is. I’m the one who made the choice to go along with this. I can bitch and moan all I want, but come Thanksgiving, guess where I'll be in my Sunday best with newly shined shoes?”

To be fair, he does look fine with the decision—maybe a touch morose, but altogether, fine. So Rory’s not entirely sure why she lets the words slip out as soon as the idea pops into her head. “Well, I’m not doing anything Saturday night so I could be your plus one if you want the company.”

Silence.

There’s an unreadable look on his face. "What?”

“I mean—” She begins to regret her carelessness. “Never mind. You probably have dates lined up already. I—”

“No, no dates.” Logan shakes his head. “I’m just... surprised you’d be willing to go to one of these things. I mean, did I mention the sheer mind-numbing boredom of these things? Plus, there’s the added bonus of being forced to acknowledge Mitchem Huntzberger as he struts around, making sure no one forgets who is hosting the damn thing." 

"Wow, now you’re the one who really knows how to sell a party,” she says dryly. “Anyway, I figured Honor and Josh would be there since it’s Thanksgiving. And your mom was cordial enough when I saw her last. Also, I think you're severely underestimating my abilities to fade into the crowd,” she adds, surprising herself with just how many reasons she’s pulling out of thin air. Man, is she a glutton for punishment or what? “But even if I do have to suffer through false pleasantries with your father... I figure you’d appreciate the backup."

The silence becomes deafening once again.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Rory reaches up to inspect her face for some hideous growth she’s sprouted in the last few seconds.

Logan quickly pulls her hand into his lap. “Trust me,” he says, a look of open adornment as he continues staring at her. “I could never miss you in a crowd."

His answer is so over the top kitschy, it manages to break the unexpected tension that’s cropped up; she’s laughing in his face even as she’s actively tamping down the small flutters in the pit of her stomach. "No need to sweet-talk me, Romeo. I've already offered myself up as the sacrificial lamb."

"I'm serious," Logan says insistently, still sounding far more serious than the situation called for.

"Alright, alright." She shoots him a good-natured smile. "You convinced me."

"Rory." His voice is soft as he calls her by name; his face steeling with stubborn determination as his thumb starts gliding over the skin of her palm.

The caress is remarkably reminiscent of errant touches in their past and the smile slides right off her face, her mouth suddenly feeling cotton-dry.

Logan's eyes drop to their joined hands, his finger continuing to trace shadows on her skin. “Do you ever think about that first party you went to in my apartment? When we hid out in my room?”

Heat immediately floods her body; though she can't tell whether it stems from embarrassment or anger. Bracketed with distrust, she makes a move to pull her hand back. “Why are you bringing that up now?” she says hotly. “What does it matter?”

He doesn’t let go; just grips her hand tighter. “Because I do,” he says, carrying on as if he hadn't heard her. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. About that night in my room, that last night in Chicago. Most of the weekend in Martha’s Vineyard before I royally fucked everything up.”

“Logan…” Her tone holds a hint of caution.

Releasing a deep breath, he meets her gaze again and says, “I took the easy out back then and I am so fucking sorry. For Martha's Vineyard. For so many things. I acted on self-preservation because I was—am terrified of losing you”—he reaches for her other hand—"But now, I think that we deserve a shot. There's something great here, I know it. And deep down, I think you know it too."

She feels that now familiar heat flare in her body once more; her nerve endings going haywire. But this time she has no trouble discerning the reason. Her tone is acerbic as she says, "Oh, so now that you think we could be something great, we should give this a shot?" Briefly toying with denying having ever felt the same way, she quickly dismisses the idea, deeming it a lost cause. "But when it was me on the other side and you were off being terrified, that wasn't reason enough?"

“Rory. No, I—” Logan looks frustrated as hell and it probably makes her the smallest person in the world, but her satisfaction at this feels fucking amazing. "I know I could apologize a million times for how I acted and it wouldn’t come close to making up for it. But you have to know you're the most important person in my life”—her hastily constructed anger starts toppling over brick by brick—“and to think that you’d never talk to me again because I fucked us up?”—and it’s completely unfair when tears start forming in the back of her eyes—“That wasn’t something I was willing to risk." Leaning forward, he laces his fingers through hers, his face urgent and pleading. "But I don't want being scared to be a reason anymore. And I know there are no guarantees I can give you now, but I'll do whatever it takes to try. Please.”

She’s already shaking her head. "No. No, no, no."

"No?"

Her heart clenches forcefully at the crestfallen look on his face. But it doesn’t change her mind. “I think you had it right the first time,” she says, her voice wavering from the effort it takes to keep the tears at bay. “You’ve become such a big part of my life and now we’re finally back on track and—and I don’t think we should risk it. We’re good as we are.”

"Rory," he says desperately, letting go of her hands to run a hand through his hair, tugging hard at the ends. "I know I'm asking a lot for you to trust me now—"

"No, Logan. I don't think you actually get how much you're asking—" The sob clogs up her throat as her vision begins to blur; she’s ineffectively swiping at her eyes when she feels his arms wrap tightly around her and Rory hates that she ends up crying freely into his shoulder, her hands clutching at his back. But the second she’s regained enough of her composure, she disentangles herself from him. Wiping away the last of her tears, she says with conviction, "I had to learn to suck up my feelings for you so that we could remain friends. Now it's your turn."

His eyes study hers as varying conflicting emotions dance across his face and she braces herself for his next volley. But all of a sudden, his shoulders slump, the fight visibly leaving his body. "Yeah, okay," Logan says resignedly, running a hand over his face. "Whatever you want."

The notes of relief sing through her body; then abruptly cuts off when she registers just how crushed he looks. And when the oncoming revelation hits her—that in spite of everything, there’s probably always going to be some part of her that’s at least a little bit in love with him—it hits like a fucking train.

The awareness quickly leads her to her feet. Leaning over the coffee table to grab her purse, she says, "Look, we'll talk later, okay? I'm sorry for bailing but this—this is too much right now."

She’s already traversing the length of his apartment by the time he’s shuffled up from the couch. Hurriedly shrugging on her coat in the entryway, she turns away from the coatrack to find him holding open the front door, his focus squarely on his feet.

Rory opens her mouth—banking on the off-chance she’ll be able to come up with the magical words to salvage this moment—when Logan unexpectedly looks up at her.

"Hey," he says, a look of pure dejection on his face. "I'm really sorry for springing all of this on you. Seriously, I was not expecting to say any of this, but when you offered to help me even though I knew it was about the last thing you would want to do—" His mouth snaps shut, the frustration lining every inch of his face. "Anyway, I know you have to go. We'll—we can talk later."

“Logan—” Rory sighs softly as she stares at him for a beat longer. Impetuously wrapping her arms around him before letting go a second later, she says, "I just—I need some time."

Walking past him out the door, she hears it click into place long before she makes it to the elevator.

--

Three days later, there's a knock on her door as Rory’s getting ready to leave for Stars Hollow. The only one left in the apartment, she hurriedly throws the socks from her hand into an opened duffel bag before quickly pacing out of her room.

“Hey,” she says, the surprise evident after she’s opened the front door.

“Hey.” Logan grins at the sight of her, his cheerful disposition boring no trace of their previous encounter. “Glad I caught you before you left on break.” He gestures to the box in his hands. “Donut?”

Rory arches an eyebrow. “You can’t bribe me with donuts every time. I’m not Pavlov’s dog.” But despite her protestations, she’s already widening the door to let him through as she sneaks another peak at the box. “Come on in.”

Crossing the threshold, he says, “So, I’ve been thinking, it'll be good to clear the air before the holidays. But—” he hastily tacks on as she visibly blanches. “If you're not ready to talk about it yet, then this is me wishing you a happy Thanksgiving with baked goods.” He nervously cards a hand through his hair. “What do you say?”

She just stares at him; stares as he stands there holding a box of donuts with such an endearingly hesitant look on his face that—that even though she would have happily avoided this altogether until after the break, she hears herself saying, “How about staying and helping me eat a dozen donuts while we navigate through… whatever this is?”

His face breaks into a relieved grin as he flips back the box lid. Holding it out to her, he says, “Ladies first.”

--

They sit side by side on the couch, chewing on donuts as they gracelessly avoid each other’s glances. 

“So,” Logan says once he’s devoured his, wiping sticky fingers on a stray napkin. “I guess I should be the one to start since—well, for a number of reasons.”

As he clears his throat, she quickly stuffs her last bite in her mouth while simultaneously reaching for another donut.

“I just want to say sorry again for the other night. That was not how I had planned on telling you. Obviously. To be honest, I hadn’t actually wrapped my head around telling you at all. But clearly, that was not the way to go." He looks sheepish. "And you were completely right. It's not fair what I put you through back then”—she winces at the reference and he stops short to give her an apologetic glance—“and my reasoning that it’s now okay to risk our friendship because my feelings have changed is total shit.” Looking at her earnestly, he waits for his words to sink in. “So now, it's only fair for me to return the favor.”

She knows she implied as much last time they talked, but she has to ask. “What does that mean exactly?”

“Well,” he says, stretching out the word. “It means we’re friends. If that’s what you want. And it means I won’t bring this up anymore and we'll carry on as if I never said anything in the first place.”

"What I want." She repeats his words mechanically. “Right."

“But you should know”—her brain is still on autopilot as she looks up at him—“I’m not taking it back.” He firmly meets her eyes. “I like you, Ace. A lot. And I don’t see that going away any time soon. But I know it has to be on your timetable. When or if it ever happens.”

Feeling herself growing warm under his steadfast gaze, she quickly stuffs the donut in her mouth just for something to do.

He shoots her a cocksure smile. “In the meantime, we’re friends.”

Slowly chewing on the bite of donut, she takes to parroting his words again once she swallows. “Friends.”

“Or—” His eyes flash mischievously. “We could be the type of friends with a clause to fool around. Friends with benefits. That's a type of friendship, right?"

This quickly snaps her out of her stupor as she narrows her eyes at him.

"Exclusively,” he says, maintaining a straight face. “Friends with benefits who are exclusive."

She’s unable to stop the smile that crosses her lips. "So you mean like dating."

"Huh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"Logan—” The smile grows as she lightly pushes against his shoulder.

He reaches across his chest to catch her hand. “Kidding, Ace. I mean it. Whatever you want.” Then he must have picked up on her hesitation because he says, “Just so you know, I don’t expect you to figure it out right now. Or any time soon. And as much as I appreciate your offer to babysit me at my family’s holiday party, you’re definitely off the hook for that.” He squeezes her hand reassuringly. “So don’t freak out.”

Her smile turns to only partially terrified. 

“Alright,” he says, letting go of her hand as he glances at his watch. “I’m guessing you were about to leave when I barged in here so I should probably go.”

She gives his watch a cursory glance when he points the face in her direction. “Um yeah, wow, look at the time.”

He stands up from the couch. “I’ll see you next week?”

“Yeah.” She nods distractedly. “Next week sounds good.”

Bending down for another donut, Logan feints at the last second—leaning in to swiftly kiss her on the cheek.

“Don’t freak out”—his words ghost over her skin as she forgets to breathe—”but I'm also not going to make this easy for you.” He pulls back just far enough to look into her eyes; grins like he knows he isn’t playing fair. Then grabs a donut as he straightens up. “Don’t worry about getting up. I’ll let myself out.”

Regaining control of her voice, she says, “Gee, thanks.”

Taking a big bite of the donut, he gives her a cursory wave as he walks out the door.

Rory flops down on the couch once the door closes. Whatever she wants, he had said. Now what the hell was that?

December 2005

Once they're back on campus after the break, everything remains largely the same. Rory and Logan still spend an inordinate amount of time together: at his place, at her place—okay, more his than hers since Paris has taken to chaperoning his visits, glaring from her craft corner, at Rich Man’s Shoe with the others—one night, they find themselves embroiled in another trivia contest and it’s almost embarrassing the sheer amount of celebration that happens after they beat The Lads.

Logan may have mentioned something about not making it easy for her, but so far, it’s been… relatively easy. 

Which suits her just fine. So what if she had a minor revelation about her feelings for him? It doesn’t mean she plans on doing anything about it. In fact, judging from past experience, her feelings were bound to fade into the background at any moment now.

“Refill?”

“What?” Rory looks up from her textbook to see him rising from his seat. “Logan, we’ve been at this coffee shop for five minutes. I still have half of mine left”—she peers at his cup—“and you’ve barely touched yours.”

Slumping back down in his chair, he flips open one of his notebooks. “I’m just anticipating,” he says sullenly. “Be honest, you’re going to be done with that in about ten minutes.”

“Be honest,” she mimics. “You’re just dying for any excuse to delay studying.”

“Can you blame me? It’s boring. And finals don’t start until after next weekend which means there’s still time before it’s absolutely necessary to study,” he says. His face suddenly brightens as he raises an eyebrow in her direction. “How about we catch the next flight to New York instead? We won't even bother packing. We'll just shop for everything. Much more irresponsible that way.”

She rolls her eyes. “Logan—”

“Logan!” Rory registers a girl standing behind Logan’s chair a split second before she bends down to hug him. The girl squeals, “It’s been too long! How are you?”

Comically jerking up in surprise, Logan cranes his head to the side for a better look. The recognition is evident as he smiles widely at the stranger. “Sheila,” he says as she’s releasing her hold on him. “It’s good to see you. What are you doing around Yale?”

Resting a hand on his shoulder, Sheila says coyly, “Just visiting with a few friends. One of the girls has an amazing family home in Hartford so we decided to do a weekend getaway. In fact”—she aims a flirtatious grin in his direction—“I was going to call you. I told them I knew just the guy to help us blow off some steam before finals.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Rory sees Logan glance over at her. She keeps her gaze determinedly set on Sheila.

Squeezing his shoulder to draw back his attention, Sheila says, “What are you doing now? Want to come with me to check out the house?”

Smirking humorlessly over the fact that apparently, she wore her invisibility cloak today, Rory loudly starts slamming her textbooks closed. Isn’t it just so darn lucky for Logan that this tailor-made excuse appeared out of nowhere just as he was lamenting his boredom? She readies her own excuse for the library as she reaches for her laptop.

But then Logan's hand snakes across the table, catching the laptop lid before she can slam it shut. She glances up in surprise.

His eyes fixed firmly on Rory, Logan says, “Thanks for the offer, but I’m kind of busy right now”—he tilts his head toward Sheila—“This is Rory, by the way.”

Sheila pouts before recovering quickly, her mouth shaping into a maniacal grin. Finally deigning a glance in Rory’s direction, she says, “Hi, nice to meet you! Of course, you’re welcome to come too! Tell you what”—Sheila’s gaze begins drifting around the coffee shop and she raises a hand once she’s caught the attention of one of the girls standing near the counter—“looks like my friends are ready to go, but I’ll call you about the party tonight, Logan.” She shoots another overly bright smile at Rory as she scurries away from the table. “I expect to see both of you there."

“So…” Logan says, arching an eyebrow after they’ve exhausted staring at each other in silence. “We should probably get back to studying, huh? I plan on convincing you to get dinner in a couple hours, so you should know we’re in a time crunch here.”

“Um—” Rory looks down at her textbooks. “Yeah, okay.”

For the next few minutes, the only sounds coming from their table are the rustling of papers and the clacking of keyboards.

But after Rory finds herself skimming over the same paragraph for the umpteenth time, her eyes drift over to Logan, who’s resting his face in his hand as he squints at his laptop screen.

“Why didn’t you go with her," she asks, pausing his gaze shifts to her. "You said you were bored.”

Straightening up in his seat, he gives her a look that her makes her feel like she's missing something obvious. “Come on, Ace. Give me some credit. You really think I’d ditch you to hang out with anyone else? Even if we’re studying? He glances down irritably at his books before refocusing his eyes on hers. “I told you, this isn’t going away any time soon. Trust me.”

That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Did she trust him? And hadn't his answer been exactly what she'd been fishing for? She feels her heart racing as the blood starts pumping too fast through her veins.

She hastily changes the subject. “You mentioned something about anticipating a refill earlier?”

He shoots her an easy grin. “I’ll be right back.”

--

"Hit the lights, Colin," Finn says, standing up as he finishes setting up the karaoke machine. He grabs the microphone from the tv stand. "Dibs on the first song!"

Once the overhead lights dim, Colin and Finn's living room takes on the ambience of a trashy European nightclub; the disco ball taking center stage as it reflects the bouncing neon lights from the lasers strategically placed around the perimeter of the room.

This is the third stop of their impromptu end of semester celebration: the festivities starting at Rich Man’s Shoe earlier that afternoon before veering to the Thai place around the corner for dinner. With the drinks flowing freely at each destination, Finn's suggestion of capping off the night with karaoke was met with thunderous enthusiasm once everyone had been sufficiently liquored up and decently fed.

So now, Rory finds herself slumped into one of the leather couches as "I Will Survive" starts blasting from the sound system. It isn’t long before Finn’s voice joins in; frenetically belting out the lyrics into the microphone as he throws in a sashay or twirl whenever he’s feeling particularly saucy. Halfway through the song, Stephanie plops down next to her on the couch.

"What's up with you tonight?" Stephanie says, her eyes still on Finn who’s now down on bended knee. "Something is definitely wrong if primo entertainment like this can't hold your attention."

Taking offense, Rory points a finger at her face. "How dare you insinuate that this is a face that's not entertained?"

"My apologies. How terribly wrong of me to think that you scowling over here by yourself meant that you weren't having a good time." Stephanie nudges her shoulder to Rory's. "Spill it."

Sighing, she says, "It's nothing. I just—apparently I had certain expectations about tonight and… those expectations haven’t really worked out."

Stephanie's face wrinkles in confusion. "Expectations—" she repeats, before a look of understanding dawns. She cocks her head across the room to where Logan is. "About a certain young Huntzberger, I presume?"

"Well, yes."

Stephanie raises an eyebrow. "So you finally made a decision?"

"No—well—I don't know—maybe—" Rory’s well aware she's babbling nonsense; that just two weeks ago she'd adamantly insisted on dedicating all her focus to her upcoming exams and leaving the personal, messy decisions for winter break when she'd have the headspace and literal space from Logan to figure everything out.

But when she had walked into Rich Man's Shoe that night—no longer equipped with the built-in excuse of finals to steady her mind—her heart unexpectedly gave a funny thump when she spotted him; making her realize that it was bordering on stupidity to continue denying that she hadn’t been waiting for Logan to do… something ever since that day in the coffee shop. And even more mortifying was the ensuing realization that she’d been subtly willing it along this entire time. "I didn’t even realize it but—I guess with finals out of the way—I just thought—"

“Hey, I get it.” Stephanie grins. “With the stress of finals gone, you're looking to get some action. No need to be embarrassed, it's only natural."

"Steph!"

They both start laughing at the insinuation.

"Anyway," Stephanie says, once she’s collected herself. "The night is young. There's still time for him to make it happen."

They both glance over at Logan who looks to be telling Rosemary and Carl a fantastical story as he gestures wildly with both hands.

"Oh yeah," Rory says dryly. "That looks like someone ready to profess his love to me. Maybe he'll shout it standing clear across the way."

Suddenly, Logan looks up from his conversation, his eyes skimming the room until they lock onto hers. Smiling, he starts moving in their direction.

"Looks like you're about to find out." Rory glances over to see Stephanie comically wagging her eyebrows. “Tell him exactly what you told me and you’re golden. Wait—scratch that. I meant tell him the exact opposite of the nothing you told me and you’re golden”—she haughtily flips her hair—“I doubt the boy is as perceptive as I am.”

“Gee, thanks. Do you want to script out the exact words for me to say, too?”

Stephanie smiles smugly. “I'm trusting you to handle it—” as Logan appears beside them. Glancing up at him, she bounces to her feet, practically trilling, “You can take my seat. I’m going to make Finn sing ‘Summer Nights’ with me.”

Logan looks over at her once Stephanie leaves. “Does this mean we should bust out ‘You’re the One That I Want?”

Rory gives him a weak smile.

“Nah, you’re right. Too obvious. We should hit them with something unexpected.” He settles into the vacated seat. “You okay? You haven't demanded or tried to bribe me once tonight to sing 'Can't Touch This.'"

"Well," she says, her voice noticeably subdued. "I thought tonight was supposed to be a celebration. I'm just trying to do my part by sparing everyone's eardrums.”

“Hilarious,” he says, though the look on his face clearly spells out bullshit.

Swiveling her head to the makeshift stage, she's distracted by Finn and Stephanie as they break into a klutzy version of the dance routine from the movie.

“I mean—” Logan is practically shouting now as he tries to contend with the music. “Something must have happened within the last couple hours because you seemed like you were having a good time earlier."

"Huh." She pretends to play dumb. "You know, it's probably the Thai food"—she offers up another forced smile as she grabs onto this excuse like a lifeline—"In fact, it's definitely the Thai food. I think it did too good a job soaking up the alcohol and everyone knows you can't actually enjoy karaoke sober. I'm going to get a drink."

He follows her into the kitchen.

“Seriously,” he says once the kitchen door swings shut, effectively cutting the noise level in half. “What's wrong?" Then he examines her face before nodding knowingly. "Are you mourning the fact you don’t have any more exams to study for?”

"Okay, no, I’m not that lame." Rory thinks fuck it before blurting, “Are you ever going to ask me out?”

He’s momentarily taken aback before a small smile creeps its way onto his face.

“What?” she says indignantly.

The smile turns into a full-fledged, stupidly smug grin. “Your terms, remember?”

“Well, yeah,” she says, “but I mean, I threw out signals and you had said—”

She promptly shuts up as his mouth presses up against hers. He tangles his fingers through her hair and the kiss is exactly how she remembered it to be, but somehow, more. Wrapping both arms around his back, she slants her mouth to fit firmly against his and he eagerly takes advantage of the new angle.

He pulls away when they’re both sufficiently out of breath, resting his forehead against hers. “You don't know how long I've been wanting to do that."

"Yeah?" she says, her mind still wonderfully hazy. "How about you keep doing it—" She tilts her head to kiss him again, gasping against his mouth when he hoists her onto the counter.

Logan takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in and then there’s just a frantic clash of teeth and tongue as they’re tugging each other closer and her brain is on sensory overload.

But then Robert’s voice filters in doing a rendition of “…Baby One More Time” and it is so incredibly loud and so terribly off-key that they both simultaneously break apart, bursting into peals of laughter.

“So, these supposed signals you were giving off,” he says once he’s reined in the laughter, resting both hands on her hips. “I must be losing my touch because I didn’t catch a single one.”

“Well—there was that time I said—and um—that other time when I almost—” Tilting her body too far back, she lets out a yelp as her head makes contact with the upper kitchen cabinets.

Leaning forward to cradle the back of her head with his fingers, he leaves a scant few inches between his face and hers. He grins amusedly. "I can't believe I missed signs as obvious as those."

As her eyes dance around the features of his face, she feels her heart sinking and soaring at the same time, thinking, this boy is too damn handsome for his own good. Watching his gaze shift to the back of her head as he carefully inspects the damage, she says, “I want us to go slow.”

“Uh huh,” Logan says distractedly, his attention already elsewhere as she feels his hand sliding from her hair to her neck. He slowly kisses down the column of her throat. “Slow, like we’re practically standing still, got it.”

Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, Rory raises both hands to his chest, pushing him back. She waits for the dopey look on his face to clear and says firmly, “Slow. I mean it.”

Immediately snapping to attention, he steadily maintains her gaze. “Ace, trust me”—his expression morphs into a seriousness that’s rarely ever graced his features—“I have a lot invested in this. I’m going to do everything I can to not fuck it up.”

Rory searches and searches and searches but there isn’t anything to find besides the obvious sincerity on his face. Sighing in contentment, she lopes both arms around his neck. “So, this exclusive friends with benefits thing, what does that entail?"

Logan immediately lights up at her words and that’s when she knows, just knows that this was going to work. They were going to work.

His eyes grow soft as he looks at her. “It means, if you’re free tomorrow night, I’d like to take you on a date.”

“A date, huh?” Rory cocks her chin as if she has to really mull this over. “Where would we go?”

“How about”—he adjusts his hold on her waist—"dinner at that tacky Italian place with Chianti bottles and the screaming owners? And then I thought we’d catch Weezer at the Comcast Theatre.” 

She raises an eyebrow. "That sounds suspiciously like plans we’d made last week.”

Logan nods amiably. “True. But that just means it’s guaranteed to be a good first date.” His hand starts slowly inching up her thigh. “But don’t worry, I’ve thought of a few things we’ve never done before too.”

The look he gives her makes her breath catch; her voice all breathless anticipation as she quickly says, “Yeah, okay. I think I can work with that.”

They grin stupidly at one another before he's leaning in again.

Chapter Text

January 2006

Logan’s stepping out of the shower in his apartment when he hears the faint sound of his doorbell.

Rory.

He frantically starts toweling off and it’s slightly—okay, completely—comical how many times he almost slips while trying to step into his goddamn boxers. By the time he’s finally presentable, his heart is stuttering in his chest—the beat a loud frenetic pace that reminds him of that awful synth music Finn likes to blast in his car.

It’s been weeks since he’s seen her–having left shortly after their first date for his annual family ski trip in Vail–and all communication between them limited to the few calls when his phone actually got service.

Reaching the front door, he looks through the peephole to see Rory fretfully shuffling her feet on his welcome mat. She follows that up by biting her lip and it's only then that the churning in his gut settles down.

He opens the door, leaning his weight against the doorframe. “Hey, stranger.”

Looking properly startled, Rory's gaze flickers around his face as the corners of her mouth curve up. “Hey, yourself.”

A not so easy silence descends as they continue staring at one another; his smile starting to feel pasted on as the seconds tick by.

Finally, he steps aside to let the door swing wide. “Coming in?”

"Um yeah, of course."

Once he closes the door behind her, Logan turns to find Rory standing awkwardly in the foyer. She's staring intently at his living room as if she's never seen it before, as if they hadn't just made out on that very couch two weeks ago.

Walking up behind her, he deliberately keeps his footsteps light before dropping both hands on her shoulders; smothers a grin when she jumps about a mile at his touch. He tugs at her coat. "You plan on wearing this thing all night?"

She hurriedly shrugs it off into his waiting hands. "Of course not. Just—just hadn’t gotten around to taking it off."

Stifling his amusement, Logan hangs up the coat before making a beeline for the liquor cabinet. “Drink?”

He hears her footsteps following closely behind.

“Yes, definitely, ” she says, veering off to take a seat at the kitchen island.

For the next few minutes, there's only the clinking of glass and clacking of utensils as he prepares their drinks. He considers tossing out a throwaway jest to curb her obvious discomfort, but it's been two weeks since he's experienced her fluster and it's fucking adorable.

“So,” she finally says; the word peppered with over-the-top perkiness. "How was the skiing? Did you shred some po w?"

And all at once, the tension fades into regularly scheduled programming; a refrigerator humming uneventfully in the background.

Logan turns to see her face in her hands.

“Scratch that,” she says with a resounding groan. “Can we forget—”

“I missed you,” he declares, his answering grin feeling too wide for his face.

Her mouth snaps shut as she peeks through her fingers.

Logan tilts his head down to catch her eyes. “A lot.”

Rory’s hands unceremoniously drop to her lap. “Yeah?” she says, looking skeptical.

“Um yeah, of course,” he says, in a poor  imitation of her earlier hesitation. Then grins once more. “You thought I wouldn’t?”

"I mean, I don't know—"

Planting himself in front of her barstool, he leans in close and grips the counter edge on either side, effectively boxing her in. "Well, I did."

"That's good—I mean—"

Logan cuts her off with a searing kiss that goes on and on and on. Pulling back only when he’s sufficiently out of breath, he says, "You should pretty much take that as a given from now on."

Her expression turns playful as her gaze sweeps over his face. “So" she says, lacing her fingers behind his neck. "What did you miss most? My winning personality? Those quick quips I’m known for”—she bats her eyes—“My everything in general?”

He pretends to really mull this over. "Definitely your ability to fish for compliments. That's gotta be near the top."

"Well, obviously I didn't miss you. At all," she says, her voice muffled as she leans into his chest.

Wrapping both his arms around her back, he says, "Huh, at least we had a good run. I guess I'll see you around?"

The moment stretches into comfortable familiarity, and he places a kiss on the crown of her head.

Schooling his features into a look of innocence, he pulls back to meet her eyes. "So"— he slowly trails his fingers down her collarbone—"You really want to know what I missed most about you?” And feels his heartbeat speed up as her cheeks start to turn red.

--

They end up falling asleep on the couch while watching Arrested Development for the umpteenth time. It’s sometime after midnight when he’s jarred awake by the jaunty beat of the theme song.

Carefully placing his phone back on the table after checking the time, Logan gently shakes Rory awake.

She stirs slightly before turning to bury her face into his chest. “What time is it?” she asks, her voice raspy with sleep.

His hand slides down her arm, coming to rest at her elbow as he adjusts his position on the couch until they’re lying face to face. “Almost 12:30.”

Rory blearily meets his gaze with squinty eyes.

“Comfortable?” he teases.

She smiles shyly before snuggling closer to him. “Not bad. Can’t knock the service.”

“Glowing review, right there.”

She doesn't bother answering and he thinks she might have fallen asleep again. But the next second, her eyes pop open and they end up locked in a stare.

Logan traces the shell of her ear. “I should probably take you home, huh?”

The smile she gives him makes him eat his words and when Rory presses her lips to his, his heart does a funny thump in his chest. The kiss is languid and unhurried, as if the whole night is cracked open to do just this. But then something clicks in his brain the longer the kiss goes on and when her lips part, he readily slides his tongue into her mouth.

Eagerly matching his ratcheted intensity, she snakes a hand through his hair as she presses her body into his.         

Fighting his every instinct, Logan slowly eases back with herculean restraint. He plants soft kisses against her lips as he says once more, "I should probably take you home, huh?” The words come out sheepish and unconvincing.

Nodding slowly, she shifts her gaze downward. "Maybe," she says and he's left trying to not feel too disappointed.

But then her hand starts idly playing with the bottom of his shirt and she releases a small exhale before looking back up at him. "Or maybe I should stay here tonight."

He feels his mouth stretch into a grin. "Yeah?"

Relief flickers across her face as she sports an identical grin. "Yeah."

Getting up from the couch, he holds out his hand to her, greedily kissing her as he guides her to the bedroom. He follows her onto the bed and they start quickly divesting each other of clothes. But when her hand starts shifting downward, he senses the hesitancy as her fingers linger on his belt.

"Hey," he says gently, his hand coming down on top of hers. "There's no rush to do this now. I want you to be sure."

Lifting her chin to meet his eyes, Logan plants a small kiss on her lips, intent on driving home his sincerity.

As they're staring at one another, her face takes on a look of determination and her hand deftly starts threading his buckle from the strap. As she's pulling the belt from the loops, she says firmly, "I'm sure."

And then he's reaching down to kiss her as she's reaching up to kiss him and it becomes a mess of limbs and gratuitous caressing of bare skin and then… and then.

Two Days Later

"So, we’re in agreement?" Rory asks as they near Rich Man’s Shoe. A gust of wind swirls past them and she shivers, quickening her step as she glances over at Logan.

It’s the night before the start of spring semester and they’re making their way to meet up with some of the usual suspects for drinks after dinner.

Rory halts as Logan stops once they’ve crossed the intersection and watches as his head swivels right, left and right again. Her eyebrows raise in confusion as she follows his gaze down the quiet street. Then suddenly, she feels her body being yanked sideways, stopping only when her back makes contact with a brick wall a block away from the bar.

What the hell is on the tip of her tongue, but the words die out once she notes the heated intent behind his gaze. His face dips closer and in that split second before he crushes his mouth to hers, her body feels like it’s on fire. Trailing hot kisses along her neck, Logan pulls back to give her another scorching look before bringing his mouth back to hers.

Suffice to say, this scene embarrassingly plays out for a few more blissful minutes until he eventually eases away.

"Sorry, couldn’t help it," he says, smiling lasciviously as she tries to catch her breath. He holds up his hands in surrender. “Sticking to the plan now.”

“The plan?” she repeats dumbly, his words barely registering as she tries to work out why there was suddenly so much space between them. Or moreover, should she suggest ditching their friends altogether to head back to his apartment?

“Our plan for tonight,” he says.

The obvious amusement in his tone begins to clear her brain fog.

“You know," he continues, looking too smug for her liking. "We're supposed to keep things under wraps while we’re taking things slow. Play it cool, don’t do anything we wouldn't normally do.”

Oh. That plan. Those last lingering bits of confusion dissipate and she readies her game face. “Right,” she says, leveling him with an admonishing look. “Which means I don’t want to see any longing stares, no trying to hold my hand, and don’t even think about kissing me when we’re inside.”

“Uh huh." He shoots her an amused look. "Not sure if that’s a slight on my impulse control or an over-inflated sense of your feminine wiles, but either way, why don’t you worry about yourself, Ace?”

Rory unceremoniously drops his hand as they round the corner to begin their trek to the bar. Scoffing loudly, she says, “Please. I have oodles of self-control.”

Logan reaches out to hold open the front door. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to see about that”—he tips his head toward the inside of the bar—“after you.”

--

Whether it was their competitive nature at play or a tacit agreement that this relationship was not ready for public consumption, they both behave admirably throughout the evening; no actions clocked on either side that their friends could label as out of the ordinary.

As the night starts winding down, Rory shrugs on her coat as she turns to Logan. "I’m gonna head back to my apartment. We still on for lunch tomorrow?”

Nodding as he finishes the last dregs of his beer, Logan says, “I’ll drive you home.”

Rory shakes her head, freeing her hair from her coat collar. “No need. We both know it is way too early for you to be heading home which means you’ll just be right back here after dropping me off. Stephanie said she can give me a ride.”

“It’s no big deal. A few minutes detour.”

“Seriously, stay," she says, pulling her purse onto her shoulder. "Stephanie’s ready to leave too. I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch.”

“Well, if you’re sure.” He absentmindedly leans in to kiss her cheek before recognizing his mistake, his lips going slack a split second later.

And if people hadn't caught that first blunder, they sure as hell didn't miss the loud screech from Logan's chair as he immediately rears back in his seat in a botched attempt to flee the scene of the crime.

“Dammit—” Logan mutters, visibly wincing before burying his face in the crook of her shoulder.

Rory exhales warily as she lifts her gaze to meet everyone else’s around the table.

“So,” Robert says, drawing out the word with a raised eyebrow, “you guys are together now?”

“Uh—well—yeah, kind of,” she stammers.

Shrugging easily, Robert says, “Cool.”

“Already knew,” Stephanie chimes in, looking up in triumph as she wrests her keys from her purse.

“Basically knew,” Colin says, markedly unbothered as slides his empty cup to the middle of the table and glances around for the waitress.

Finn has a puzzled look on his face. “Wait, you guys weren’t already dating?”

With a not insignificant modicum of relief, Rory nudges Logan’s head off her shoulder. “Hey, Logan,” she says saccharinely.

He lets out a weary sigh as he lifts his head to meet her eyes. “Yeah, Ace?”

She grins widely. "What was that you were saying about self-control?”

Two Months Later

“Dammit.” Logan sighs as he watches his character die in the video game and glances over at Rory while waiting to be respawned.

She's sprawled on the other end of the couch, legs resting in his lap as she consults several books with furrowed brows. Logan had surprised her last week with plane tickets for spring break after she mentioned wanting to visit Casa Barragan. Ever since then, she's had her nose in Mexico City guidebooks every spare chance she's had.

He watches as Rory picks up her notebook and begins scribbling madly onto a half-filled page; his gaze lazily scanning the length of her. It's nearing midnight on a Friday night and her silhouette is backlit by the light of the lamp; all soft angles and face lined with serious focus and he thinks— "Hey."

Rory looks up at the sound of his voice, but her eyes keep flitting back to her opened notebook and he knows he's only got half her attention; her eyebrows creased as she tries to hold onto her train of thought.

He pauses for dramatic effect, relishing the thought of breaking her concentration. "Hey," he says again, this time a bit louder.

"What?" She answers a bit irritably and just like that, his job is done.

Logan grins. "I love you."

The irritation morphs into surprise as her eyes snap to his. "What," she says, a bit dumbfounded.

"I love you."

It's a bit unnerving when her face goes blank.

But then, she purposefully shifts all the books in her hands to the coffee table and slides into his lap with ease as she swings both arms around his neck.

He's distracted when he hears the simulated sound signifying another character death and his eyes dart to the tv. "Dammit, I'm dead again."

Rory snaps her fingers in front of his face and he obediently lets his gaze drift back to hers. "Don't ruin this," she says. A big smile lights up her face. "I love you too, you know?"

Grinning obnoxiously, he says, "Well, that I already knew."

And then kisses her soundly before she can pretend to be aghast.