A/N: Because, as much of a cold-hearted bitter witch as I can be at times, I still like to believe in soulmates :).

AU-ish because it's set in late season 7, but Luke and Lorelai are together. Hope you like it. Review?

Happiness and Other Demons

Sitting up in bed, she takes a deep breath, her hand involuntarily going up to touch her lips. Almost. She could almost still feel his, soft, hungry, wanting her. He never kissed any way other than absolutely.

Throwing herself back on the mattress, she looks at the man next to her, sleeping peacefully. Sure, their life together isn't what she used to dream her life was going to be-the apartment wasn't filled with books and the furniture was too nice and she hadn't gotten the chance to pick it, scour for weeks in old shops looking for just the perfect couch. She hadn't gotten the chance to build their house, but she was ok. His books-because hers didn't really fit, now did they? His books were too nice and had never been opened and were just there for show. To fit the furniture, make it lived in but not too lived in and why was she even thinking about it now? It didn't really matter. He made her happy, didn't he?

Rolling over in the too big bed, he grumbles something, opening one eye.

"Why you awake, Ace?"

"Bad dream." She shrugs it off and he smiles, moving closer to her.

"Anything I can do?"

"No." She shakes her head and he kisses her, her hand going up and running through his hair. It's the wrong color. And texture. And, maybe just for tonight, it doesn't feel right. And it's too short for her hands to really be able to run through it and he never tries to pretend he's mad when she messes it up, even though they both knew…no. But Logan's mouth on hers feels like cheating. Rolling back to sleep, he mercifully leaves her alone because if kissing him feels so wrong, she doesn't even want to imagine what other things would feel like tonight.

Closing her eyes, she can almost see him again. Not a dream, no, just one of those rare times when she allows her mind to remember his smile. And her fingers tracing it because, no matter how many times he smiled for her-not the ever-present 'I'm better than most of you, I'm getting out of here as soon as I can' smirk, but the soft 'I think I may be happy but don't know how to say it so this will have to do' smile, no, no matter how many times, it was never enough. Had there really been a time when she used to think she'd get to see it every day? Think that they'll end up in a small place in New York, surrounded by books, so many books until they couldn't even find the floor and an ashtray somewhere next to a window because, no matter times he'd claim he was going to quit, he never would and she probably couldn't ask him because he was supposed to smell like coffee and cigarette smoke and books and hair gel. And she would have gotten to pick the furniture in that place and it would have been home. This-this wasn't really home. This was where Logan was and she was with him because she liked being with him, even though he wasn't as imperfectly everything as he had been. And she was happy with Logan, wasn't she?

She was happy. Most of the time, she was. Not ecstatic, not living a million miles a minute-not all the time anyway. Not unless they were jumping off a high scaffold or racing down the streets at about twice the speed limit, because cops were usually intimidated by his last name and if they weren't, then he could well afford to pay the ticket. Her heart never beat so incredibly fast it scared her when he kissed her, but that was ok. She was happy.

Maybe it wasn't everything she had dreamed of, but it was a good life.

But as she falls asleep again, his arms are once more around her, wrestling her to an old brown leather couch and pin her down, grinning as his mouth finds hers again and she's laughing, pretending to want to fight him away, even though they both know she only wants to be there.

The next morning, she showers quickly and leaves Logan a note, telling him she's gone to Stars Hollow for the day because if she'd waited for him to wake up, he'd talk to her and he'd touch her and she's afraid that even the smallest touch would erase the dream from her skin. She blasts Clash in the car because if she's going to think of him anyway, she might as well enjoy it and she doesn't really listen to Clash anymore, because it makes her sad and because Logan doesn't really like them but it's ok for today. Just for today.

Reaching the town as Guns of Brixton stops playing-has she really been listening to that song on repeat for so long?, she pulls the car in a spot behind Luke's, walking into the diner, thankful that her mother isn't there and sits at the counter. As the man nods and smiles, letting her know he'll be right with her, she instinctively looks at the curtain, knowing that it wasn't going to open for him to appear, looking tired and unhappy until he'd spot her and then his features would soften slightly as he'd make his way to her. She'd never noticed those things when he was still there. She wishes she had, maybe she would have appreciated them, him more.

But then again, it's not like she could have really known what misery is until he left, is it?

Pouring her a cup of coffee, Luke makes small talk, asking her why she hadn't told her mother that she was thinking of coming home for the day and about Logan and she answers politely, because she still needs to gather up the courage to actually ask him what she wants to know. When he stops talking-she likes that about Luke, they can comfortably quiet together, kind of like it used to be with him, she looks at Luke, trying to act as casual as possible.

"Have you heard anything from him?"

At first, they avoided the subject. After a while, they started asking once in a while, in the hope that the other one knew more. It was always when Lorelai was away-her mother wouldn't have liked to know that she still thought of him. They'd never have any answers and the sad smile would be the same on both their faces-they hoped he was doing ok, he'd found a way to deal with things, he wasn't hurt-he had to not be hurt, she couldn't deal with the thought that he had been hurt. She was sure Luke wasn't doing much better with not knowing either. Then, one day, they stopped asking. It was pointless and painful. After he came back-after Philadelphia really, she'd hear Luke talk to and about him once in a while. Well, she'd hear his name and then she'd focus on something else. At least they were talking and everything was right and someone knew he was still safe.

"He's ok." Luke nods, smiling. "He's back in New York."

"What about Truncheon?"

"They moved. He said something about New York being much better for business than Philadelphia ever was."

"Thanks." She smiles as well, drinking from her cup.

That's it. They start talking about something else until her mother gets there, not bringing him up again. She'd like to know if he ever thinks of her but Luke isn't the person to ask. There isn't anyone to ask, really. She doesn't think he does. Contrary to what everyone believed, he was much better adjusted to living than she was. She was…weak. He wasn't. He didn't need to be saved the same way she needed it. He knew how to live.

That night, she's sitting on the couch with her mother and she thinks for a second that this is what a couch should be-lovingly picked up, not to fit the space, but to be good and comfortable and complete the room, even if it clashed with the arm chair. Kind of like their first flowery couch, that had taken so long to be paid off.

"What's wrong?" Lorelai wraps her arm around her, smiling reassuringly like she always did as she looks away from the TV.

"Nothing. Thinking."

"Want to talk about it?"

"I just…had a stupid dream and it threw me off. Doesn't matter." She shakes her head, not knowing what more to say. How to explain that she's still reeling because he was in her dream.

"If you change your mind…"

After a few minutes of silence, her fingers mindlessly playing with the hem of her shirt, she looks at her mother again, biting her lip.

"Why Luke?" She asks slowly, hoping she'll just answer.

"What?"

"Why are you fighting so hard to be with Luke and not dad or Max or Alex or Jason or any other guy you ever dated?"

Looking at Rory again, Lorelai realizes in that instant that her daughter, as much as she'd like to deny it, has grown up. And a pang of guilt mixed with pain washes over her as she wonders if she's actually happy. If she had given her everything she needed to be happy. She decides to answer instead of questioning her reasons for asking. "Because I can be weak with him." She admits, both to Rory and to herself. Because she never knew that she was allowed to not be Wonder Woman for a second and just cry and let someone else be strong for her.

She wonders if that's it. She was never weak with Logan, he wouldn't have allowed it. Not consciously, but with a man like him she had to be strong all the time, because he was the weak one. She had to be so damn perfect all the time it almost choked her. But he…protected her. He saw her for who she really was, even when she was weak and scared and lost and all that he asked was for her to be herself with him.

That's it. He. Saw. Her.

She smiles softly, his voice yelling in her ears, telling him he knew her better than anyone. He did. Her mother is still looking at her and she feels like she should open her mouth and tell her something, but just shrugs instead. It feels like cheating again, this time on her best friend, not giving her a chance to know her like he did. She thinks even Lorelai knows that there's no way she could have. You need world-shattering love to know someone like that. She knew him too, she really did.

The voice in her head is now telling her they had to be together.

Had he really known it since he'd first seen her or had it all just been another chip is the stake he was playing? She thinks that it was probably like it had been for her. Unconscious awareness in the blood. And then one day an explosion that makes you see it. From the first time he walked into her room, there had been this slight burning in her veins that she could never quite place and was never truly quenched unless his mouth was on hers. She hadn't realized what it was or why it was there until he had yelled at her, telling her they had to be together and then her need to not be in pain again had gotten in the way. But she couldn't have, she was sure that giving him the chance to leave her again would have made her already fragile body break into a million separate pieces by itself and then she could have never been put together. She hadn't realized until this exact moment in time that he had been right. They had to be together. There aren't any other choices for them. As her mind is still racing, she throws the blanket on the floor because the usual soft yearning in her blood has turned into burning again and she can't stop it and she needs him so much it might break her as well.

There really isn't a path that won't shatter her.

But…she was happy. Wasn't she?

She has the perfect life.

She has to be.

She sighs as Lorelai finally break down, unsure of the prolonged silence.

"What's wrong?"

"I…didn't know I could be so convincing when lying to myself." She answers almost quizzically. "I have to go." Rory stands up, pushing her sleeves up to let more cold air engulf her skin, hoping for rain outside to appease the burning.

"Where are you going?"

"New York."

"Logan?"

"No."

"Who else is in New York?"

"Jess." She answers, knowing she's made up her mind fully and she might not even stop by Logan's place before she goes to his. If he hadn't been bothered to tell her he thought they were broken up, she can just as well break up with him on the phone or through a text or something.

Postponing it too much might give her a chance to spontaneously combust.

She stops by the diner and grabs his address and she smiles because he's not surprised as he gives it to her. Throughout everything that came with him, Luke had been the only one that had always seemed to see that they had to be together, even when he was opposing it paternally. He was just trying to save them both from damage for as long as he could.

She drives so fast, Clash blaring from the stereo again so loudly that she can barely hear Logan's voice at the other end when she calls to tell him she's not coming back, not for more than her clothes and stuff anyway. Nothing of hers fits in there, they both know it, they don't even fit together, not like they should.

He's angry. He's screaming.

She smiles, hoping he'll someday meet someone he just has to be with.

"I love you!"

He tells her in between millions of mentions of how she can't do that to him and remembers how broken his voice sounded when he told her that.

How he didn't even stick around.

He probably doesn't love her anymore. She probably doesn't love him anymore.

There's no way to love someone without ever seeing them outside of your dreams for that long without going mad, is there?

It's not love, it's longing.

But her blood starts revolting and boiling harder and her mind is beating so fast and so hard she doesn't even realize Logan's been calling her name for the past minute from the other end of her Bluetooth handset.

It's been hidden for so long she had forgotten it was there. Like the memory of his fingers playing with strand of her hair or tracing her lip or sneaking under her shirt. Like the memory of his body close to hers. Like the millions of other memories that come flooding to her, leaving her breathless for a second.

It's there.

She loves him.

As she whispers the words out loud, her body seems to temper itself for a second and she realizes how much easier driving is when she's not shaking.

The man that she had left in bed that morning and that she was never going to go back to is still talking to her and she turns off her phone, cutting him off halfway through the word 'irresponsible'. It feels ridiculously ironic that he's the one calling her that.

As soon as she pulls into a parking space in front of his building, she tries to count how many laws she must have broken to get there that fast. How, even though New York still confused her most of the time, she had found his building without once looking at her GPS. She curses her mind and the universe for not having let her realize her need for him sooner, maybe they would have wasted less time.

She jumps the steps two-three at a time until she reaches the 6th floor apartment and she knocks on the door, blood so impossibly febrile she doesn't know how it hasn't burned through her skin yet and melted her completely.

As soon as he opens the door, she springs to him, her entire body aching until her mouth finds his and he doesn't even know how to react. But he pulls her closer and kisses her back, the scorching in his veins finally gone and refuses to think about what she's doing there or why she's kissing him or what the blonde that had followed him home the night before, whose name he couldn't even remember, was thinking as she rushes past them, yelling insults.

When her lungs start to hurt, she pulls back, resting her forehead against his while her fingers trace his lip and she doesn't even know what to say first to make the knot in her throat stop chocking her. He takes a deep breath and kisses her again.

Absolutely.

She feels him smiling through the kiss, a smile she had clung to as her most precious memory of him, his 'I think I may love you but I'm too scared to tell you' smile, no doubt mirroring hers millions of times and she tells him, whispering, just how much she had missed him and how she can't remember what happened to them but it didn't matter because she needed him more than anything else in the entire world. He whispers similar things back as he takes her to the mattress in the corner of the room, awaiting panels to hide it from the rest and a frame of sorts to keep it from lying on the floor that, the mattress that was still warm from the blonde's body, not that it mattered anyway.

"I love you, Jess." She states the words that had been playing in her head as his tongue traces her breast, her fingers in his hair and he looks up.

"I love you too." His voice is so secure and, in the small room with no couch because he hadn't found one he liked yet but they could now look for one together and an ashtray on the windowsill and a thousand books scattered everywhere, she finally feels like she's woken up from her dream.