A/N: Here it is, the small one-shot immediately following Logan's win at Wimbledon. Thank you all for your patience and for your love. I'm not quite done with this Gilmore Girls universe - I sill have that story set in Logan and Rory's future that I have started writing. Not sure when it'll be out, but it won't be too long.

I hope you enjoy this small wrap-up. Thanks again!

Home Stretch

Would Rory Gilmore ever get used to being in the same vicinity as a shirtless Logan Huntzberger? She hoped not. The sight was too beautiful. His tattoo (which held so much more significance than Rory could have imagined back when she first saw it) was right there; she was having to hold herself back from touching it, though she doubted Logan would mind.

Wimbledon was finished. They were sitting by the hotel pool hours after Logan's win, their last evening in London before they headed out of the country. Their legs were dangling in the water. Nobody else was there, which would be surprising to Rory except she had the sneaking suspicion Logan had managed to somehow reserve the pool for only them. A deserved perk of being the Wimbledon champion.

The atmosphere surrounding the pair was terribly bittersweet. Rory was beyond happy—Logan, tennis star and sweet, not-so-bad-boy, was her boyfriend, which still sounded weird to say even in her own mind; her mother and Luke were as sickeningly cute as ever and probably doing things at that moment Rory would much rather not contemplate; she had gotten into Wimbledon and made it to the semi-finals.

Things were going smoothly. Life was treating her well. But her first Wimbledon (first grand slam ever) was still over. London would soon become a distant, dimmed memory in the wake of a new training schedule and a long distance boyfriend.

Yet another thing she would rather not dwell on.

Upon returning to Stars Hollow, her world was going to take on a new shape. She was ready, excited, to embark on this brand new path, but sad to leave this small tennis bubble of which she had been waiting her whole life (ahem, since she was six) to become a part. In her time at Wimbledon, she had been reminded countless times why she loved the sport so dearly. Phoning her grandfather after every match, hearing the giddiness in his voice and knowing it was reflected in hers as well, had given her a sense of belonging. She didn't want to lose those feelings when she boarded the plane tomorrow for America.

It took Rory a second of staring at Logan's beautiful face (oh, how it caused giant, fuzzy-winged butterflies to fill her insides, even with a purple bruise taking up a fair amount of space) to realise his mouth was moving. She shook her head, smiling guiltily, and asked him to repeat himself.

Sighing playfully, the Wimbledon champ repeated himself, "Have you talked to him at all?"

And just like that, those butterflies disappeared. In their place: dread. "Him? You mean Dean?"

"Maybe," Logan said with a fake nonchalant shrug.

"Maybe," Rory parroted in a brooding tone that brought a delicate smile to Logan's face. Now it was her time to sigh, though there was nothing playful about this one. "I have, yeah. He called to say he had gotten home safely and to tell me he'd been to my house to return some of my things, take some of his, and to give back the house key I lent him."

Logan's attempts to look calm were lousy. His whole body had grown taut. Rory knew it wasn't jealousy about Rory's ex so much as anger towards the tennis player idiotic enough to punch him in the face, but there was probably a heavier hint of green in his eyes as well.

Unlike when Dean showed signs of jealousy, Rory didn't seem to mind it so much in Logan. She was his first proper girlfriend—which was still mad to think; how had she gotten that title?—and he was still very unused as to what that entailed. Later, she would remind him how poorly being jealous treated Dean.

"Hey, what do people think happened to your face?" Rory asked in a lame attempt to take Logan's mind off of Dean by stupidly mentioning the fact that her ex-boyfriend had punched him. She flinched at her foolishness, gently thumbing one Logan's puffed eyes.

Logan either didn't mind, or he was better at hiding emotions than Rory gave him credit, because he only leaned in very carefully to her touch and stuttered a laugh. "I told them it was a tennis-related incident."

"I guess, in some ways, that's not even a lie," Rory said.

"Exactly. They'll probably say a tennis ball hit me in the face."

"Oh, I know all about that," Rory claimed. She put her hand down and rested her head against Logan's bare shoulder. His warmth bathed her ear.

A quietness spread over them. Logan pressed his head against her own, like they had done this thousands of times. Like they were heading into their tenth year together, not their tenth minute.

Everything seemed sped up with Logan. When she and Dean first started seeing each other, their relationship progressed at the rate of salt-doused slug. They only held hands after three weeks. Their first kiss didn't occur until they had been together almost two freaking months. Nosing through her memory bank of her three years with Dean, it was painful and embarrassing for so many reasons. He had scared her. Not for any bad reason, but simply because he was her first boyfriend. Her first anything.

Logan scared her too, even more so than Dean ever had. Looking at him absolutely terrified her. It sent her heart plunging to her stomach. All because things didn't move slowly around him. He was fast-paced. A natural-born tennis star. He didn't do things steadily and with contemplation. He leapt head-first off of any cliff he approached. And what frightened her the most was that she didn't want to go slow with Logan. She wanted to match his speed. Not because she felt pressured to, but because she so badly wanted to.

These were new feelings for Rory. She had always been careful and considerate of the consequences. But that was all before Logan Huntzberger slammed his way into her life.

Everything was different now, and she was trying her best to be prepared for all of the changes.

"It totally knew who you were." Logan's comment disrupted the silence. He was smiling like he possessed the greatest secret known to mankind.

Frowning, Rory decided to humour him. "What do you mean?"

Logan lifted his head and tilted it from side to side, weighing his words. "Well, when we first met," he admitted.

God, that day seemed like it had happened eons ago. Suddenly, Rory recalled the dream she had experienced after meeting him. It had taken place in this very pool.

Goosebumps arose on Rory's skin.

"You mean when you nearly sent a tennis ball through my skull? You know, there are easier, less-gruesome ways of knocking out your opponents."

"Ha. Ha," Logan deadpanned, nudging Rory's knee with his own. His touch against her skin set her flesh alight. "I forget just how funny you are sometimes. To be fair, I was only trying to get the ball into your court. You jumped up for your serve at just the wrong moment."

Rory smiled at his flustered almost-apology. "You're forgiven," she promised, though the painful bruise she got from the attack lasted for a good while. "Now, what do you mean you knew who I was?"

Maybe it was the florescent lights of the swimming pool rippling beneath the water, or the fading sunlight above them, but Rory swore she could see Logan's skin take on a rosy hue. He was such a sucker. She made him nervous.

Then again, she was a sucker too. Big time.

Logan cleared his throat and Rory stopped staring at his reddening chest, moving her eyes up to his purple and pink face. "I mean, and please don't think I'm some kind of stalker-type—I'm not, I swear—I just, you know, have been following your progress since you were, oh, I don't know"—he paused, his pointed tongue jutting between his lips. Rory had stopped breathing. —"Sixteen. When you won that Juniors match in"—

—"New York," Rory completed for him. Logan's declaration caught her off guard. "That long?"

Logan handed her a sheepish smile, his white teeth sparkling as the moon and the stars took their seats in the dark blue sky. "That long," he affirmed. "Like I said, I knew your grandfather. He came over to our house one day to talk to my dad about something and just happened to mention that his granddaughter, who was 'right about your age, Logan,' had just won her first professional tennis match. It started out as an innocent Google search, but it turned into me setting up a Google alert for your name. I knew you were coming to Wimbledon before you did, I think. If what you said in an interview about Luke telling you about your wild card entry is true."

Rory, for the first time in her life, had no clue what to say next. Her body felt heavy and like it was filled with helium at the same time. Like up was down and down was up.

Logan Huntzberger had been following her progress for five years.

"It was always purely tennis-related stuff," Logan said quickly. Obviously, he felt just as flustered as her. "I wasn't looking at your Facebook profile or anything. You were Richard Gilmore's granddaughter. The granddaughter of the man who changed the course of my entire existence. I couldn't not track your success. When I spotted you that day on the practice courts with Dean . . . I just had to meet you."

"You don't need to defend yourself, Logan," Rory assured, somehow managing to find her voice. "I should probably tell you that I've been watching you grow as a player for a little while now too. Not for five years, but you've been on my radar."

Logan's throat shook as he laughed. He was nervous, Rory realised. Just some extra proof that he was far more human and genuine than the media portrayed him.

Heart throbbing, Rory grasped Logan's hand. Their fingers interlaced. Logan glanced at her anxiously and she squeezed his hand in the hopes of relieving some of the worry his confession had caused.

"I'm such a sap," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting. "From the moment I first met you, I knew you were going to completely upturn my life."

"Funnily enough, I felt the exact same way."

Resting her chin on Logan's shoulder, Rory's mouth found his. Careful not to disturb his bruised nose, she kissed him for as long as her lungs would allow. And he kissed her right back.

—

Not Quite One Year Later

—

"Come on, Kid. Just a few more."

Rory glared at the person standing on the other side of the net who was annoyingly tapping their racket on the grassy court. Bringing up her wrist, she swiped at a bead of sweat rolling down her forehead. "Only my mother's allowed to call me that, Luke," she panted. "And you said just a few more at least twenty minutes ago. If we're not careful, my shoulder's going to blow."

Luke rolled his eyes in only the way Luke Danes could and rubbed his jaw. The wedding band on his left hand glittered in the perverse sunlight.

Jeez, it was hot. Connecticut was currently suffering from its hottest summer in decades. Rory felt like she was one serve away from either dislocating her shoulder or passing out.

"Come on, Rory. I promise we're almost done."

"Okay, that," Rory disclosed, "is what you said over an hour ago."

"Just serve the damn ball," Luke grunted, standing fully tall now.

Gotcha. Rory straightened and quickly tossed the ball in the air. She slammed her racket down and the ball shot over the net. By the time Luke was aware she had served, it was too late. He scrambled to reach the ball in time, emitting a strange, animalistic whine as his body protested the sudden movement, but it bounced straight passed the tip of his racket.

Luke grumbled to himself as he went to retrieve the ball. Rory smiled up at the sky, happy she had been able to best her coach. Or should she call him her father now? No, that was too weird. True, but . . . weird.

"That was cheating," Luke commented. He approached the net.

Rory walked forward until she was opposite him. "No. That was me distracting you. There's no cheating in practice, Luke. You're just a sore loser."

A reprimand, a loud reprimand, was coming. Luke opened his mouth to deliver a probably longwinded speech Rory no doubt had heard a thousand times before, but the sound of a horn bibbing repeatedly beside the court stopped him from being able to get a word out.

Thank God, Rory thought, her head turning towards the noise. She spotted Logan's car as it screeched to a halt. Dressed in only the boxer shorts he had slept in the night before, he lurched from the car and ran over to them. Barefoot.

What the hell was happening?

Six months ago, sick of the tension and loneliness brought about by a long distance relationship, Logan announced he was moving to Connecticut. His coach was all for the change in scenery. As was Paris, who had been needing a break from Florida's constant sticky weather.

After some mindful conversations, Rory and Logan approached her mother about the idea of her moving out of Stars Hollow to live with Logan in an apartment in Hartford. She would still spend the holidays with Lorelai and visit every weekend, but she was 22 and in love. It was time for her to stop living in her childhood home.

Her mother had laughed long and hard, asking why Rory, at 22, felt she needed her mother's permission to move in with her boyfriend.

"Logan, what's going on?" Rory asked as he got closer. His hair was still a mess too. And he hand't shaved. "Is something wrong?"

But the man looked too happy for something awful to have happened. He raced through the open gate of the court and came up to Rory, gathering her in his arms. Startled, she dropped her racket, her arms dangling as Logan twirled them around.

She was too overheated and overworked for this.

"Logan, Logan, put me down or I'm gonna be sick," she said.

"Oh, right. Sorry," he apologised, but he didn't look very sorry at all. "I've got some news."

"I can see that. But what is the news?"

Logan had never looked so close to bursting in all the time she'd known him. His face was puffy from sleep, but he was bouncing in excitement. "You're going to Wimbledon!" he exclaimed. "I got the call just a few minutes ago and rushed out here to tell you!" He picked her up again.

Wide-eyed, Rory wound her arms around Logan and hugged him dangerously tight. "Oh my God!" she squealed. "Oh my God!"

Logan stared up at her. "You did it, Ace. I'm so proud of you. You are going to kick everyone's ass."

"Even Paris's?" Rory joked as tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

"Especially Paris's," Logan confirmed, tipping his neck back and devouring Rory's mouth in a congratulatory kiss.

"Whoa, whoa." Luke's voice broke Logan and Rory apart. Logan dropped Rory immediately, muttering an apology. "You're going to Wimbledon?" Luke asked, ignoring Logan.

Now the tears were really coming. "I guess so."

Luke took Rory into his arms and gave her a hug. "You deserve this," he told her. "You've worked so hard."

She had. She had worked damn hard for this since she was six.

"Wait until I tell Grandpa," she slobbered, extricating herself from Luke's grip. She turned to Logan. "I love you, you know."

Grinning like a fool, Logan placed his hands on Rory's shoulders. "I love you too, Ace. Come on, we should probably tell your mom."

The three of them each got into their own cars and drove to the Dragonfly Inn, the bed and breakfast her mother owned and operated. After some more hugs and tears and squeals of delight, Luke and Lorelai allowed Rory to first celebrate with Logan. The pair took off in Logan's vehicle towards their apartment.

"Something else," Logan mentioned as they walked through the door. Logan tossed his keys on the table in the living room and sat at the big sofa. He patted his knee. Rory went over to him, encircling her arms around his neck and leaning back on the cushion. "Dean's commentating with the McEnroe brothers."

The famous punch from last year's Wimbledon had led to Dean's retirement from professional tennis. He took up commentating not long after and had been rising in he ranks ever since. Good for him for getting a Wimbledon spot.

Rory touched her forehead to Logan's. Their eyes met, and Rory's admiration and love for the man threatened to overwhelm her. "You know what? I don't even care," she said, pecking him on the lips lightly. "I'm going to Wimbledon."

"That's my girl," Logan boasted, leaning up to kiss her again.

A year ago, loner than that, Rory would not have even thought to imagine herself in this position. But now that she was here, on Logan's lap, celebrating her entrance into Wimbledon as a singles player, sitting in the apartment she shared with the most loving, stubborn, perfect boyfriend, she couldn't think of where else she would be.

This was where she belonged. She knew that now.