Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, they belong to the WB.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Rory/Logan
Part: 1/1
Spoilers: All the way until the series finale. One-shot.
Author's Note: This was written in response to a First Kiss drabble challenge issued by a friend of mine.
Return
Much that I sought, I could not find;
Much that I found, I could not keep;
Much that I kept, I could not free;
Much that I freed, returned to me.
- Lord Byron
The first time she sees him, it's been five years and even then, the passage of time seems insignificant. After all, since that day at Yale, some part of her always wonders where he is and what he's been doing.
(…if he ever thinks of her the same way; regrets, rages, remembers).
He's standing at the corner of the street, across from her, talking to a leggy redhead and doesn't look her way. Bypassing the shock, she briefly deliberates whether or not to call out to him. She lifts her hand, ready to wave, and blink-and-you-miss-it, he's gone.
(Was it her imagination? It wouldn't be the first time).
She tells her mom about it and Lorelai jokes that hot blond rich boys are a dime a dozen. Lorelai may have warmed up to Logan during the last few months of their relationship but Rory knows that she prefers that they parted ways.
(One half of the Gilmore pair wasn't meant for happily ever after, maybe. She's not morbid, just maybe).
She forgets the almost encounter and moves on with her life.
- & -
The next time she sees him, it's five weeks later at a party, and she knows this time it really was him that day on the street.
(The leggy redhead is with him).
She sees him before he sees her and doesn't know if she should avoid him altogether. The decision, this time, is taken out of her hands and she classically bumps into him, splashing a little champagne on herself, a tiny rivulet disappearing down the modest V of her little black dress.
She is amused to see his eyes follow the rivulet before looking up to meet her gaze.
(The amusement vanishes, awkwardness, bitterness descends).
"Hey," she says softly, the first to speak, as the muscles in his jaw tighten. "I saw you when I came in earlier."
"Oh," he says shortly, uncharacteristically.
(But does she even know him now?).
"How've you been?" she asks, her voice wavering slightly because he won't look at her anymore. "I saw you a couple of weeks ago…I wasn't sure it was you."
He nods, looks past her shoulder at the redhead, she presumes. "I have to go, Rory."
(She bites her bottom lip and lets him pass).
After he's gone, she thinks about the way he still says her name.
- & -
It's easier the next time, when they see each other at the local grocery store. They meet at the frozen foods section and he's going for the Haagen Dazs (Mint chocolate chip, she remembers) while she reaches for Ben & Jerry's.
(There is no redhead in sight. She checks).
"Chunky Monkey," he says by way of greeting and his mouth curves, by a fraction.
"Still beats that," she answers, tipping his pint with hers.
"A matter of taste," he replies, and now that smile is there full-fledged, catapulting her backwards in time, five years vanishing in an instant.
(She struggles for air; his smile still makes her tingle).
She's genuinely warm again, hoping for a different outcome. "It's good to see you. Again."
He has the grace to wince at that. He nods, shifts his gaze briefly to the floor before looking back at her as if considering his next words.
She waits, a heartbeat or two, bated breath.
"It's good to see you again too, Ace."
- & -
After that, a couple of days later, he calls to ask her to meet him for coffee. She pretends she isn't wondering if there are any romantic intentions. She accepts, regardless.
(A girl has to have her coffee.)
When she sees him at the café the next day, she realizes, with a jolt, that a part of her never gave up on the hope of him returning to her life.
- & -
The first time she kisses him (again) her eyes are open and so are his, aware, wide, calm. He doesn't kiss back, just lets her mouth brush against his, and she stares at the flecks of green in the blue irises of his eyes.
She pulls back, presses her lips together and then looks away. Slowly, she takes a swig of the drink in her hand. He doesn't ask the obvious question, but she answers him anyway, "I had to know."
"Yeah?" he manages, stares at the rim of his beer bottle. "Do you?"
She nods and tucks her hair behind her ear. "It's still there."
She hears herself and wonders if that's surprise in her voice or relief. Or fear. She thinks, perhaps, it's a mixture of all.
- & -
After that night, the kissing becomes a frequent occurrence. The touch of lips, tongue and teeth is hesitant at first, weighed down by insecurity, fear and guilt. But the desire that she thought extinguished snaps back again, fiercely, increasingly more frantic, needier, like never before.
(He tastes exactly the same.)
While Logan is a participant, he is more removed . She does most of the touching, rests her hands on his thighs, lets her fingers play with the soft hair on the nape of his neck, runs her hands down his back and up again as his muscles bunch under her fingertips.
(She pretends she isn't hurt when he doesn't respond, only accepts – passively, willingly.)
She supposes perhaps, it's her turn to want more.
- & -
It's four days later, and she finally works up the nerve to ask him:
"Have you forgiven me yet?"
He looks up and doesn't answer. His eyes are unreadable, his mouth a grim line.
She nods and turns away.
- & -
She's the one walking away this time and she doesn't pretend she wishes he'd stop her.
"Ace."
Her heart flips but she keeps walking.
"Rory."
Her legs still, she turns unshed tears in her eyes, held back for so long.
He's smiling again, the corner turned his eyes crinkling around the edges. "It was always you."
- & -
It's been one year (six years coming) and they're alone in his apartment, and he asks her to marry him.
This time, she doesn't have to think about it.
The End