SPOILERS FOR A YEAR IN THE LIFE! Do not read further unless you've seen the entire season, all the way up to the Final Four Words!
A/N: Someone please steal this idea. Please, steal it. Run with it. Make it fabulous. Until someone does, here's my take…
Summary: ((SPOILERS for AYITL!)) Ever wonder why they made such a big deal out of mentioning Neil Patrick Harris? Or why 'Odette' (like 'Patrice') is a French name? It's because Logan Huntzberger had one final play, and it was called 'The Rory.' Only he screwed everything up because getting pregnant was not part of the plan. Now his playbook is empty and he still needs to find a way to convince the love of his life that she was all he'd ever wanted, and that she—and their daughter—are still all he's ever wanted.
Springtime in London was dreary business. As if it hadn't rained enough over the interminable winter, the water just continued to pour down from the sky, the inhabitants all cheerily exchanging their winter wardrobe for the fashionable warm weather raincoats.
The blonde man stood at the balcony doors wearing an expensive cable-knit cashmere sweater, staring out at the drops that slanted in sheets across the landscape outside. He was so used to the sight he didn't notice it. No, his attention was drawn inward.
Logan Huntzberger was in a quandary.
Something had gone wrong. He was a master at carefully crafting plans. He was a master at carefully adapting plans that needed to change. He'd employed both in the plan he'd come to refer to in his head as "How Logan Got His Rory Back." He was clever, clever enough to come up with a better name for his plan, but then it would sound too calculated, and he was in enough trouble as it was.
He'd given her plenty of time. Time, space, whatever she thought she needed, he gave it to her. She needed to have a no-strings-attached casual affair, he gave it to her. She needed to set all the terms and boundaries for their relationship-that-wasn't-a-relationship, he let her. She needed to pretend she didn't love him and didn't need him; that was much harder to give her, but he let her think it, temporarily. And every time she went back to Connecticut or New York or wherever her career was taking her, he let her go, because he knew that she was going to come back.
He didn't believe in fate and he didn't believe in soul mates. He came from a world of arranged marriages of convenience, where being madly in love with your spouse was the height of indecency, gauche and terribly unrefined. No, he didn't believe anything so romantic as two people who were meant to be together. But if he did, it would be him and Rory.
He'd known it when he'd proposed, nearly ten years ago. He'd erred in his choice of timing, choosing to piggyback his proposal onto her graduation celebrations. She'd been overwhelmed, uncertain of her future, and he could see now that she'd felt he'd backed her into a corner. He could probably count on his hand the number of times he'd made a mistake he actually regretted. If he ever bothered to do so, he wouldn't be surprised if every single one had to do with Rory.
When she came back into his life, it wasn't an accident. He'd known where she was, what she was doing. He made sure their paths crossed. He charmed her, he seduced her, he pulled out every single trick in his arsenal to get her back into his bed and into his arms. And it worked just a bit too well. She insisted their relationship was physical, casual, and of course, secret.
At first it amused him to play along. To hear her say to her mother that she was staying with her friend 'Didi,' while she was naked on his heather grey sheets.
But he soon realized that his hold on her was still only tenuous at best. She refused to drop that boyfriend—Patrick, or Parker, he could never remember his name without looking at the file with the background check he'd had done on him. Pablo was of no consequence, because he wasn't a threat to his plan. It was Rory's intransigence at not ending a relationship she was clearly unhappy with, and not giving Logan any type of commitment beyond stolen weekends, that was the real problem.
When the thing with 'Odette' had come up he'd just added it to his plan. He could tell it grated on her. She wasn't the cheating kind (never mind about Phillip, who he knew was just a strange prop in her life that she was reluctant to let go of). He'd told her once, a long time ago, that she wasn't the casual relationship kind, she was a girlfriend. And he couldn't be a boyfriend. He'd been wrong. And apparently she'd been wrong, too. He found himself in a position where all he wanted was for her to acknowledge him as her damn boyfriend, whereas she was content to pretend they were just ships passing in the night, several times a year.
But she wasn't a cheater. How she managed to go as long as she did without insisting they stop earlier, he chalked up to the force of their attraction—and yes, love, dammit—for each other.
When she asked about Odette, he tried not to answer, she was nobody. But Rory always came to a conclusion. And Logan acknowledged that he'd used those tendencies of hers to mire them both into the fabrication. Never mind that the woman's voice calling to him was just his sister visiting him in London. Never mind that he had to be quiet so as not to wake his niece who he was babysitting. Everything that carried a hint of sneaking around aroused her suspicions and confirmed what she knew of as fact in her own mind.
After his father's untimely remark about his engagement to Odette (and Logan was certain that his father, the master manipulator, knew full well what was really happening and was trying to push things to a head), he really expected Rory to start to break down. He waited for it. He was sure it was coming. There'd be a tearful call in the middle of the night. Or she'd show up on his doorstep in the rain (because, London). She might even have a big gesture, even though she knew that was kind of his thing, or maybe even because she knew it was his thing. He almost smiled, thinking of Rory trying to top his grand gestures.
He'd had a plan, for Pete's sake! (Peter, that was the boyfriend's name!) The ring was on the top shelf in his closet, inside of a big box labelled 'Cookbooks from Mom that no one is ever going to use.' (His mother would be horrified to see herself blasphemed that way, as if she ever cooked a day in her life.) And when she came to him, when she finally admitted that what they had was too big to let go of, he was going to acknowledge it graciously, let her have her big moment, and then sweep her off her feet.
When she'd called him several times in one night, frantic and distressed, he was sure that this was it. It was time. His heart had raced with anticipation of victory. He wasn't too ashamed to admit that he was seeing wedding invitations flashing before his eyes. He would finally have her completely.
But no, she still wasn't ready. And he was getting so tired of waiting.
So he'd had to resort to the grand gesture after all. He called up the boys, and they took her out on one last adventure. And in the end, though he even gave her an alternative option, it was her who came to his bed.
When she asked if he was really going to marry Odette, he wanted to come out with it all right then. But he still had a tiny bit of pride. He didn't want her to come to him just because all the other obstacles were conveniently out of the way. He wanted her to fight for him, the way he'd been fighting for her all these years. Just say she didn't want him to marry Odette. Say she didn't want to be kept on the side. Say she wanted him all to herself. So he prevaricated. And she didn't choose him.
But still he waited. Because he knew her. He knew she loved him. She had to know that he loved her, even though she never let him say it.
So here he was staring at the rain and wondering where it went wrong. He should have heard from her by now. There should have been a half-dozen misdialings, followed by apologies. At least one drunken voicemail. Even a lovely, tasteful engagement card that tried to prove she was moving on when all it would prove was that she was still thinking about him.
He was going to have to fly back to the States.
But staring out at the rain, he had this awful foreboding that he was either going to be too soon, and she still wasn't going to be ready. Or he was going to be too late.
Springtime in Stars Hollow was lovely. It was warm enough that he barely even needed the light jacket he had on. The quaint little town that Rory and her mother loved was shiny and clean and welcoming, like a bunch of little elves had been hard at work all night long.
He ought to have checked into the Dragonfly Inn first. Through his sources, he'd known that Lorelai had just opened the second building of the Inn right in the heart of town. He'd had an assistant from his father's company book the reservation so that his name wouldn't tip off any busybodies, of which he knew this town had several.
But he was hyped up from the long flight, from setting foot back onto the soil of his home country, and he needed a glimpse of his girl. He rather thought his previous plan was shot, and he was going to have to come up with a new one on the fly. So he needed to get a feel for the lay of the land.
Logan headed straight for the newspaper office, knowing as he did that if he meandered or stalled that word of his presence would reach her before he did. Small towns, they were adorable, if sometimes frustrating.
He walked at a fast clip, his writer's eye appreciating the colors of the blossoms on the trees and the fresh breezes that blew the occasional petal across his path. Petals and a pig, apparently, he laughed as the porcine creature trotted past.
When he reached the building that housed the Star's Hollow Gazette, he thought again how he was thankful for small towns. There she was, at the editor's desk, framed in the picturesque window like no big-city editor ever was.
Her hair was in her work-ponytail, swishing back and forth as she talked animatedly to someone just beyond his view. She loved to write. He knew she'd once aimed higher than a small-town newspaper, but it was a perfect fit for her. She loved this town, she loved that newspaper, and it gave her plenty of time to work on her book.
She looked happy. Glowing, in fact. The thought that maybe she didn't need or want him after all settled hard into the pit of his stomach.
Then she laughed, and the smile returned to his face, because that was his Ace.
He'd hoped to reach her in time for lunch, but from the big Luke's bag on her desk, it was clear she intended to eat at her desk. He figured he'd wait until her client left and then make his entrance.
But when she pushed back the chair from her desk, it was clear she intended to at least walk her guest out, and it was only seconds later when the big heavy door swung open.
A man came out, too-long unkempt hair hanging in his eyes and obscuring his face. He wore dirty jeans, an obscure band T-shirt and an open flannel shirt over it. Logan's mind brought out the name from his memory the same instant he heard her laughing protest, "Jess!" like she'd just been told a joke.
But Logan didn't have time to think on how familiar they were, or what Jess was doing bringing her lunch. His gaze was locked onto Rory's dress.
It was somehow both professional and fun with large flowers dotting the crisp white background. The short flowing skirt should have ended somewhere just above her knees but in the front it fell a few inches higher than the back.
It took him a moment, staring at her rounded belly, to process what he was looking at. It took him another moment to run the math and calculate it backwards to somewhere last fall and a charming little bed and breakfast that Colin had sold for a profit almost immediately after his spontaneous purchase.
And when it all clicked—why his plan had gotten all shot to hell and why he hadn't heard from her—he finally looked up into her stricken eyes.
A/N: I'm not a Gilmore Girls writer. I'm a Dramione writer. I'd love to write Gilmore Girls, but they are too much for me. So witty, clever, so much pop culture, so much fun and whimsy and heart. I just don't think I can do it. But I came up with this idea after watching the Revival. I'm convinced Odette is a smokescreen. There has to be a reason why even Paul gets a face, and Odette is just a mystery. Logan doesn't even act like he's trying to keep a secret. He goes out on his balcony to have a private conversation but doesn't even close the door? He gets a late-night call and doesn't even leave the room where his bride-to-be is sleeping? He evades most of her questions and let's Rory draw her own conclusions. And Mitchum mentioning Odette was far too casual, and with far too much "I know something you don't know" for it to be as straight-forward as they were trying to make us think it was.
So here is the start. I've got a couple of chapters written in my head since last night. (I almost got up in the middle of the night to write them down.) I'll publish those (possibly even today), just to get it out there, and then see where the story takes me. Just a warning, this might turn into something very short, or it might be abandoned. Or it might get adopted out to whoever wants it. And if you like this idea, please, by all means steal it and write your own. #TeamLogan4Life. #OdetteIsAFabrication
