Note: I wrote this before the revival, so obviously it's not consistent with that, but it's canon with the original series.
{ I own nothing }
It's funny sometimes, she thinks, the way life surprises you. Not like a big, jump-out-of-the-closet-and-scare-you kind of surprise, but a slow, gradual, turns-into-something-you-never-expected kind of surprise, the kind that just occurs to you one day and makes you wonder how you got there. If you had asked twenty-two-year-old Rory what she thought her life would be like in five years, she doesn't think she ever would have guessed she would be where she is now.
When she graduated from Yale five years ago, there was so much uncertainty, and Rory hates uncertainty, hates it like she hates coffee with too much creamer and not enough sugar. When she took the job as a reporter on the campaign trail, she was looking for something to latch onto, something to give her a sense of purpose, and it did, for a while. But once the election was over and her job went with it, she was back to square one.
She had to learn how to roll with the punches, how to throw caution to the wind and take a risk. The only thing she regrets is that she didn't learn that lesson sooner.
... ... ...
She doesn't know what she's doing here, really. Okay, she knows, but she still can't really wrap her mind around it. When she was a student, she always avoided these things, these networking events with esteemed Yale alumni, because they were crawling with CEOs and corporate litigators and congressmen, or whatever. If only back then they invited successful journalists, too.
She doesn't know that she really fits the description for this kind of thing. She doesn't consider herself an "esteemed" alumna. Yeah, she's got her blog (which, okay, pulls in a pretty respectable readership, if her ad revenue is any indicator) and her nationally syndicated column with the Times that she somehow managed to snag a few years ago. (Alright, if she's being honest, she's actually done pretty well for herself.) But she wouldn't count herself with the Logan Huntzbergers of the world or anything.
And just as she thinks his name, yep, there he is, manning his own booth across the room.
She should have known he'd be here. Really, she was naïve to not consider the possibility. She's followed his career over the years, knows his business venture in San Francisco took off almost immediately and he made himself into a billionaire overnight. She's proud of him, she really is, especially since he did it all without his father's support, financial or otherwise. She would hope his father's swallowed his pride in the last five years, but you never know with Mitchum Huntzberger.
She also knows that he sold his company just a few months ago and moved to New York. The media has speculated endlessly as to why (Is he burnt out? Heartbroken? Addicted to prescription drugs? Oh, the horror!), but she's heard through the grapevine that Honor's husband Josh ran off with their Brazilian nanny and left her high and dry with two young kids to take care of. It wouldn't surprise her if Logan moved back to help her out. Family-man Logan Huntzberger; wouldn't that be a bombshell for the press.
She wants to talk to him, to find out how he's doing, but she doesn't get a chance until the alumni event later that evening. She knows he's always hated these things, these cocktail parties where it's all about making connections to get ahead. After all, they spent more than their fair share of these sorts of parties making fun of most of the people in attendance. She wonders if he remembers that, how much fun they used to have, stealing bottles of champagne and making out in side-rooms of various venues.
Not the best train of thought to be following as she finally catches his eye.
She watches as he excuses himself from a conversation, and she looks away and takes a sip of her drink to try and compose herself. Why the hell is she so nervous? It's just Logan. It's not like she's thought about the way they left things every day for the last five years or anything.
Shit.
"Rory Gilmore," he greets her, his voice low and gravelly, just loud enough so she can hear him over the din of conversation. He's got that stupid smirk she's always loved, and even though he looks older and more mature, he still has that mischievous glint in his eye like he's up to something. God, her cheeks must be as red as the heart pounding in her chest.
"Logan Huntzberger," she replies, and winces. All this time, and she really can't come up with anything better than that? "I can't believe you're here without your arm candy tonight. Which Victoria's Secret Angel are you on now?" There, that's better.
His eyes sparkle as he laughs. "Not really appropriate for functions like these. Besides, two months of hookups does not a long-distance relationship make."
"I'm sure there's a line of girls forming in Manhattan who would be more than willing to mend your broken heart," she teases.
He smirks. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Come on, I've never known Rory Gilmore to not have a guy drooling over her. I should know, I was that guy, once upon a time."
"Now that you mention it, that lawyer you were talking to has been trying to catch my eye all evening."
He chuckles but doesn't respond, just keeps on smirking. She wishes he would stop with the smirking because her heart is doing that stupid fluttery thing it always did and she needs it to stop.
"You haven't changed a bit, Gilmore."
She feels the side of her mouth quirk up, sips her drink to mask it. "What are you doing these days? I heard you moved back to the city not too long ago."
She knows she's hit a nerve because he takes a pull of his scotch, won't meet her eyes. Well done, Gilmore. She almost rolls her eyes at herself.
He looks at her, downs his scotch, hands the empty glass to a passing waiter. "You wanna get out of here?"
She's only been here for less than an hour, but she doesn't know anyone else anyway, and she has a lot of questions that are probably better suited for a more private setting. So she nods. "Sure."
She barely has time to pass off her drink before he's pulling her by the hand toward the door. He helps her with her coat, dons his own, opens the door for her as they step into the cool October night.
They walk slowly down the streets of New Haven for a while before he speaks again. "I'm really glad I ran into you tonight."
She looks over at him, but he still won't meet her gaze. "Me, too. It's been a long time," she says breezily, though she feels anything but.
"Five years," he confirms.
It sounds as though he's been counting the days, but maybe she's just projecting.
"I read your column," he says suddenly, and she blushes. "Every week. It's really great, Rory. It's witty and entertaining but intelligent and thought-provoking."
"So just like me, then," she quips, smiling.
"Your modesty is mind-boggling," he laughs. "Do you love it?"
"I do," she answers. "It's challenging, but I really like it, and I'm really proud of it."
"You should be." He smiles at her. "I'm proud of you, Ace."
Ace. Oh, God, there goes that fluttering again. "Says the man who made himself into a multi-billionaire virtually overnight."
He chuckles. "Been keeping tabs on me?"
"Hard not to when your face is on the cover of every tabloid."
"Touche."
"Shame you had to sell, but at least you got your money's worth."
"Yeah, well." He looks up at the sky. "The money's not everything."
She knows he's trying to tiptoe around it, but she doesn't want to. "How's Honor doing?" she asks quietly.
He nods, swallows, clears his throat. "She's … alright," he hedges. "Taking it one day at a time."
Rory just looks at him. "I think it's amazing that you moved back to take care of her."
He lifts one shoulder, looks down. "It's just not fair to her and those kids, Josh walking out like that. He doesn't really want anything to do with the kids anymore, just wants to pay her his child support and alimony and lay on the beach in Rio." He scoffs angrily. "Douchebag." He pauses. "The kids need a male figure in their lives, and I wanted to spend more time with them anyway. The timing just happened to fit, but I fucking hate the way it all went down."
She's quiet for a moment, trying to come up with the words to say, but nothing comes to her. He clears his throat, looks over at her apologetically. "Sorry."
She shakes her head. "I'm sure you've been keeping a lot to yourself, trying to be sensitive to her and the kids," she reasons. "You've gotta let it out sometime."
He lets out a long breath. "Yeah. Just not really how I thought our first conversation in five years would go."
She pauses, decides she'll take the opening. "How did you think it would go?"
He's quiet for a moment. "You know, I don't know, but there's a lot I've wanted to say to you for a long time now."
Yeah, she figured. She's a little afraid to hear what he has to say, but they've gotta start somewhere, she supposes. She spots an outdoor table at a closed coffee shop, takes a seat, and he follows suit. "So tell me. Let me have it."
"I'm sorry."
Well. She certainly wasn't expecting that. "What?"
"About my proposal," he clarifies, looking her square in the eye. "I was an idiot."
She shakes her head. "You were not. Don't say that."
"It's true," he insists. "My timing was terrible. We were in two completely different places in our lives and I should have seen that. I was ready to settle down, but I shouldn't have assumed you would be. Hell, I wasn't ready when I graduated, why should you have been?"
She can't believe what she's hearing. "Logan—"
"Rory." He puts his hand over hers, and suddenly she's twenty-two again. "I should never have given you that ultimatum. I should have been willing to take what I could get."
She shakes her head. "No, you shouldn't have. You were so right, when you told me you didn't want to go backwards. You deserved to have someone who could commit to a future with you."
"But I didn't want someone, I wanted you, and you weren't ready." She needs some space, needs to move, so she stands, and he follows suit. "You needed time to figure out what you wanted, where you were going, and I should have respected that."
"I hurt you," she argues.
"Yes, Rory, it hurt," he agrees. "It hurt like hell to let you go."
"So why are you acting like it's all your fault?"
"Because it was. Because it is," he insists.
She shakes her head. "I could have fought harder. I could have tried harder, I could have just said yes—"
"Rory, look at me." She takes a deep breath, meets his eyes, and he continues. "You did what you had to do. You were true to yourself, and that's something that I've always loved and admired about you. You did the right thing, turning me down."
"Really?" she scoffs. "Because I've felt like I did the wrong thing every damn day for the past five years."
He's quiet for a minute. Processing, she thinks. She tries to do the same, but her head is spinning. Everything she thought she knew about them, about the way they ended things, has been turned upside down, and there's no going back, but she doesn't have a clue where they go from here.
Finally, he takes a deep breath, looks her in the eye. "I've missed you, Ace."
She just looks at him, lets out a long breath. "I've missed you, too."
"Then come here."
She obliges, wraps her arms around him, her face pressed against his neck. They stand that way for a long moment, and she feels the ghost of his lips along her hairline.
When she finally steps away, he doesn't let her go far, holds her hands in his. "So."
"So." She looks up at him. "What now? Where do we go from here?"
"Well, I'd say first we get a car back to the city."
"Logan."
"Ace." His lips quirk into an affectionate grin. "Let's just figure it out as we go, alright? We don't have to hash everything out tonight. We still have a lot to talk about."
"I've got time."
He breathes out a laugh, and she pouts in response. "So do I. We've got all the time in the world. Patience is a virtue, Ace."
She mumbles something about where he can shove his virtue and he laughs, pulls out his phone to call the car company. She can't help the smile that creeps in when his back is turned, loves the way his eyes sparkle when he turns around and smiles back.
... ... ...
He walks her to her apartment door, leaves her with a kiss on the cheek and the promise that he'll call her tomorrow. It's not the goodbye she wanted, but that's okay. She's waited five years for this. She supposes a little bit longer won't kill her.