A/N: Guys. I know. I'm a die hard Rory and Jess shipper, but I did grow to love Logan! So, this is my first Logan and Rory one-shot. Possibly my only. I just wanted to try it out! Don't hate me. This is set right after Richard died, present time. So about nine years after the finale.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, but Roger.
The box made a scraping noise as she pushed it across the wooden floor with her barefoot. She tried to lift it to get it out of her way, but the large amount of leather bound books made that task impossible.
Her eyes were damp, as they had been at any random moment in the past two weeks. Makeup wasn't an option anymore—there was no point in wasting good mascara. She sniffled, pressing her nose to her hand out of reflex before reaching down to pull another one of her books out of the box at her feet. Once she nestled it into its place on the shelf, she sat down on the ottoman behind her to take a break.
This felt familiar to her. She had done this same thing years ago when she took her hiatus from college and moved into this same pool house. It looked different, over 10 years would do that to a building—especially if Emily Gilmore was the owner and it got redecorated every three years.
Her chest rose as she inhaled, sharply, pulling herself together before she could lose it again. Fifteen days ago, she lost the one man she admired most in this world.
Her grandfather.
His first heart attack, she was sixteen and scared to death. She roamed the hallways of the hospital, excusing herself to get coffee for her frantic mother, though she really just wanted to freak out alone.
His second heart attack, she was twenty-two and watched as he tumbled to the ground in her classroom. It was winter, like it was the first time, and she remembered how put together she felt in his study, gathering her grandparents' things to bring to the hospital.
His third heart attack came in the winter, once again. This time she was thirty, and traveling across the country. She received a call from Luke in the middle of the night. He calmly explained the situation and she took the first red eye out of Atlanta to get to Hartford.
Richard was in surgery when she arrived at the hospital the next morning, so she sat in the waiting room holding her mother's hand tightly in hers as she tried to remain calm.
It was the fourth heart attack that took him away from the Gilmore women. During surgery, he went into cardiac arrest. The look on the doctor's face as he came out with his cap in his hand made her stomach drop.
The next couple of days were a blur. Lorelai was a wreck, Emily was manic, and Rory was the glue that was holding them all together. It wasn't as though everyone forgot Rory needed to grieve, too, they were just too caught up in their own pain to realize she hadn't had her moment of weakness yet.
The funeral, planned mainly by Rory, was a beautiful ceremony to honor the well-respected and generous man that she had come to know. Lorelai had reverted to staring blankly into nothing, barely exchanging pleasantries with the people in the church. Emily was so over-the-top accommodating that you'd forget she was Richard's wife.
It was after the funeral and on the way home that Lorelai gently asked Rory if she could stay around for a few weeks—just until she could get everything in order. Rory didn't hesitate to say yes.
After much debate, Rory finally convinced Lorelai to be okay with Rory moving into the pool house at Emily's. While they both knew she would need someone there for a little while, Lorelai selfishly wanted Rory to herself. But she had Luke, and Emily had no one.
So there she was, staring up at a half full bookshelf with her clothes strewn all over the perfectly decorated room. She was used to traveling, so being settled in one place for the foreseeable future was different, and hard to get used to.
She checked her phone beside her, a habit she had picked up since she usually left her phone on the "Do Not Disturb" option. The screen was blank, and she honestly suspected it would be. Part of her expected to have a text from Roger, the man she'd been casually-turned-semi-serious dating for the past year. Then again, after the funeral, she'd slowly cut him off.
With good reason, she told herself. As she hurried around her mother's house, getting the details of the funeral in order, he was working on his laptop at the kitchen table. He never offered to help, and the few times she'd heard him on the phone with a friend or family member, he'd say something along the lines of: "Oh yeah. We're in Connecticut. One of Rory's grandparents passed away."
Like it was just an elderly man she visited once a year, and not the most important man in her life. Just "one of her grandparents." She was bitter towards him after that, not paying him any attention at the services when she saw her ex-boyfriends show up, there for her even when they didn't have to be.
Dean was one of the first people to show up to the church, stepping inside with a toddler in his arms and an older, maybe seven-year-old, girl clutching his leg. His wife was beautiful, her long black hair falling over her shoulders in waves. She had a sweet smile, and was a hugger, which Rory learned as soon as her slender arms wrapped around her.
"It's so nice to meet you, but I am so sorry for your loss," she said, leaning back to look Rory in the eyes. "I'm Penelope. I've heard a lot about you."
"Thank you so much for coming," Rory said with a smile, though she felt awkward at the thought of Dean telling Penelope about their past—like, him cheating on his first wife with her and all. "It's nice to meet you, too."
As soon as the boy in Dean's arms began to get fussy, Penelope turned and plucked him from Dean, kissing his cheek as she walked out of the church to calm their son. The girl took this as an opportunity to get out of the church where the dead man was and scurried out the door after her mom.
Rory watched them go before looking back at Dean with a smile. "Dean, you did not have to come. Thank you so much, it means a lot to me that you thought of us."
"Of course I'd come," he said with a small smile, shoving his hands in his pockets. Silence fell upon them, so he cleared his throat before speaking. "My son's name is Tucker and my daughter is Isabelle, but she insists on being called Izzy. We live in New Haven now."
"A little independent one," Rory said with a laugh. "I can respect that."
Dean laughed a little as well, but must have remembered where he was, because he stopped and gave her a sad smile. "I'm sorry about your grandfather, Rory. I really am."
She nodded, pushing her hair behind her ear before taking a sharp breath. Keep it together, she told herself. "Thank you."
"I better go get a seat," he said, nodding to the church that was quickly filling up after his arrival. "I'll see you after, okay?" He said, placing a hand on her shoulder before leaning in to give her a hug.
She briefly hugged him before he leaned away and walked down the aisle towards a vacant bench.
It wasn't long after the church filled that Rory stepped outside to get fresh air, on the verge of a breakdown. As she leaned against the side of the church, her eyes closed, she heard footsteps getting closer to her in the snow. She opened her eyes and felt like something was being lifted from her chest when her eyes fell on Jess.
"Hey," he said, the corner of his mouth tugging slightly in a small smile. "Luke called me."
Rory barely let him finish his thought before she pushed off the wall and wrapped her arms around him, the lump in her throat becoming too much to bear as she inevitably soaked his jacket in tears.
"I didn't expect you to come," she said, taking a shaky breath when her sobs were finally calming down. He didn't hesitate to pull his arms around her small frame, and out of instinct, he slowly rubbed her back as she cried.
"I'll pretend not to be offended," he said, quietly, teasing her to make light of the situation.
She unwound her arms and leaned back slightly, wiping under her eyes as she gave him an embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have broke down on you like that."
"I get it. Something about me just screams comfort and compassion," he joked, his signature smirk painted on his face. He rubbed her arms slightly and tilted his head to catch her eyes. "We can stay out here as long as you'd like."
Rory smiled at that and shook her head, slightly, wiping her cheeks where she still felt wetness. "You're too nice to me, you know that?"
"I've been called many things, Gilmore, 'too nice' is not one of them," he laughed and nodded to the church. "What do you say? Go in there or hang out here for a few more minutes?"
"We can head inside," she said, hugging him again before turning to walk into the church with him.
After the funeral, when everyone went to the Emily's to pay their respects to Emily with food and hugs, Rory sat in the living room and learned more about Dean's family. She clicked with Penelope, and his kids were little carbon copies of him.
Jess told her all about his new girlfriend, a petite little firecracker that taught 10th grade English and kept him on his toes. She thought she'd be jealous, but she was just happy to see him happy. And besides, he'd never not be there for her.
She was grateful for their support, but she couldn't help but notice that Logan didn't show. Despite the years that had passed, it hurt her that she didn't see his face. He knew Richard. He knew him better than Dean and Jess. But, he never showed.
Rory ran a hand through her hair and stood up, walking over to the bed to take a break from the books and begin hanging up her clothes. After a few hours, she glanced at the clock and noticed it was almost midnight. The clothes were cleared off the bed, and the mattress looked so welcoming.
She pulled a t-shirt and pajama pants from the drawer she just filled and changed quickly before walking to the bathroom to do her nightly routine. By the time she got back to her bed, she heard a faint tapping coming from the living room.
Rory stopped shuffling around the bedroom and strained to hear the noise again. It took a good thirty seconds before she heard the tapping. Without a second though, she made her way into the main room and saw a familiar figure through the glass doors.
Their eyes locked, and she slowly made her way to the door, taking a deep breath before opening it enough to acknowledge him but not welcome him inside. "Hey," she said, not trusting her voice to say anything else.
"Ace," he said, hoarsely, as if his emotions would take over any minute as well. "I'm so sorry."
The lump appeared in her throat again, her eyes filling up. She blinked back those tears and crossed her arms over her chest, taking in his appearance. He had a beard, which surprised her, and dark circles under his exhausted eyes. His clothes were wrinkled and not pressed and perfect like the Logan she remembered.
When she didn't speak, Logan shifted his weight to his left side and shook his head in disappointment at himself, she noticed a brown bag clutched in his hand. "I had no idea. You have to know that I just had no idea. I would be there if I did. I wouldn't have let you go through this alone."
"I wasn't alone," she cut in, surprising herself with the strength in her voice. "My boyfriend was there." Boyfriend. She'd never used that word before when describing Roger. "Dean was there, Jess was there, my mom was there … I wasn't alone."
Despite the years, despite her pent up frustration with how he left things with them, and despite the fact that he didn't show, Logan still had an effect on her. He still had the power to make her stomach twist and her heart to pound out of her chest.
"The only excuse I can give to you, even if it's not the best one, is that I was out of the country. I don't have social media, I don't keep up with my family much, and I barely have contact with anyone other than the employees with me in Kenya," he finished, swallowing thickly. "I Skype every couple of weeks with Honor … she told me about Richard. I took the first flight I could and landed an hour ago."
She had to hand it to him—that was a damn good excuse. And what did he owe to her anyway? She knew she had no right to be legitimately angry with him. She cast her eyes downward, shuffling her bare feet in the cold to keep them warm. "Kenya, huh?"
Logan nodded, running his hand down his scruffy face, realizing how he must look to her at the moment. "Yeah. I'm CEO of a non-profit organization that provides essentials to third world countries. I've been in Kenya for the past six months, overseeing my employees build an orphanage and other housing."
"You're kidding," she replied, before she could stop it from leaving her mouth. It was the wrong thing to say, and she closed her eyes at how incredulous she sounded.
Despite her tone, he chuckled slightly and nodded, glancing down as well. "I know … seems a bit far from my previous employment. I just wasn't fulfilled with my other job. I wanted to do something that mattered."
Her cold fingers swept through her long locks, pulling out the tangles made from the wind earlier. "That's incredible," she said, shaking her head at how perfect he seemed at that moment. "Kind of makes me hate you more."
He smiled some at that, but they stayed silent for what seemed like an hour before he spoke again. "I would have been here if I had known," he said, quietly, looking up at her and catching her eyes. She knew when he was telling the truth, and he was telling the truth.
"I know," she replied, tears springing to her eyes once again. "I know." She couldn't control it like she had before, Logan being here made her vulnerable. She used the back of her hand and brushed the tears from her cheeks as they spilled over her bottom lids.
Logan didn't want to overstep any boundaries that she may have put up. He ached to step forward and pull her to him, like he did that night he flew in to New Haven when Richard had his second heart attack. "I brought you wine."
At his simple words, Rory laughed and wiped away the wet streaks on her cheeks. "That's surprisingly exactly what I need," she said, glancing down as he brought the bag up to show her.
"I figured," Logan said with a nod, handing the bag to her. "I'm going to be around for a while if you need me or just want to talk."
Rory clutched the brown bag to her chest, filling the cold chill of the bottle against her chest. She bit her lip slightly and glanced down to her feet once again. "Would you like to come in?"
"Of course," he said, trying not to look too happy as she stepped out of the way for him to make his way into the warm building. He pushed the door closed behind him and rubbed his hands together to get warm quicker. "How's your grandmother? Your mom?"
"They're…" Rory trailed off with a deep sigh and shook her head. "I don't know. My mom is returning back to her normal self. Grandma is insane." She pressed her hand to her forehead and laughed bitterly. "And I'm expected to be the one to hold everything together, and that's a lot of responsibility."
"You don't have to hold it together now," he responded, watching as she plopped down on the couch and took the wine out of the bag.
She ignored his words and shook her head, taking a corkscrew out of the drawer to open the bottle. She did it successfully and poured it into an empty glass that sat on the edge of the table. "How did you know where I was?"
"I called Doyle," he said with a smile. "May or may not have caused a domestic dispute because I got him to spill the beans."
Her laugh echoed in the empty room and she brought the glass to her lips, leaning back on the couch as it ran down her throat. "Thank you for this."
He stood, hands in his pockets, and nodded. "Anytime."
"Have a glass."
"Okay."
Five glasses in; Rory had already pulled two bottles down from the cabinets in the kitchen and popped the cork on them as well.
She had her legs pulled up on the couch, her arms wrapped around her knees with a glass in her hands. She had already had her break down, crying into Logan's chest as he smoothed down her hair, his cheek resting on the top of her head. She had calmed down rather quickly, moving away from him and sitting on the opposite side of the couch.
They both had more than enough, but it was easier to be around each other when their minds were a little hazy.
"So about this boyfriend," Logan said, grinning some as he leaned against the pillows on the couch. "Want to tell me about him?"
Her cheeks were flushed and she smiled a little at his question, the hint of jealousy apparent in his words. "He's not my boyfriend," she replied, wiping a black smudge from underneath her eye. "I don't think. Or, I don't know. We just … haven't talked much since the funeral. We've never been serious. Just … one of those things."
"Sounds complicated."
"It's not," she said with a shrug. "It's just not serious or even there." She took a long sip, swallowing it down and it burned her chest. She coughed a little and pressed her hand to her chest, shaking her head a little. "What about you? I saw Finn a year ago, and he said you'd been seeing this girl for a while—thinking about proposing. How's that going?"
He glanced down and shook his head some with a smile. "That didn't work out. She pushed me and pushed me to get married, because you know, it was the next step. She eventually gave me an ultimatum—"
"You're a fan of those," Rory cut in, and he caught her eyes for a second, staying silent before he continued.
"Yeah. So, she just said we either take the next step or we stop here. I went ring shopping the next week, and as I looked at the overwhelming number of diamonds, I just couldn't make myself do it."
"Afraid you'd get rejected?"
"No," he replied. "No, I knew she wanted it. I just also knew that I didn't see myself marrying her. So we broke up and I got my affairs in order, and began the work on my project in Kenya."
Rory looked up at him and nodded, clearing her throat before she took another sip from her glass. "We haven't talked in nine years. I don't understand why I was so upset when I didn't see you at the funeral."
"I would have been upset, too. You're … Rory."
It didn't make sense, but it did to her. She nodded and stared down in the red pool of alcohol in front of her. "And you're Logan."
"Do you remember when we stayed in one weekend and found seasons one and two of The O.C. in Paris' closet? So we binged it the entire weekend. Do you remember that?"
"Sure," Rory laughed, furrowing her brow at his question. "Why?"
Logan smiled and leaned forward, pressing his forearms against the top of his legs. "There was a scene, and I can't remember anything about it. Except, Seth and Summer were broken up and some guy at some dance was pissed about them always being together. And he said something along the lines of 'you're that couple that even though you're not together, you're still together.'"
"Okay?" Rory laughed, surprised he remembered anything from that show. They watched it just to tease it, and ended up enjoying some of the plot lines.
"I feel like we're that couple."
"Nine years, Logan," Rory repeated, shaking her head. "It's been almost a decade."
"And I got on the first plane to Connecticut and I'm sitting across from you six glasses deep in expensive red wine. What does that tell you?"
Rory looked back at him and shook her head, setting her glass down as she looked back at him. "That you're a good guy."
"I'm sorry I never called you," he said, bluntly, out of the blue. "I didn't know what to say for a long time and then too much time had passed. I wanted you to do what you were meant to do."
"It's in the past," Rory said, biting her lip some to hide that fact that it had hurt her. "We're here now."
He glanced up at the clock on the microwave across the room and ran a hand through his hair. "Mind if I take a shower and sleep this off on the couch?"
"Not at all," she said, standing up and gathering the empty bottles at the same time he stood to help. He picked up one of the empty glasses and smiled a little before following her into the kitchen.
She took the glasses from his hand when they made it to the sink and turned on the water to rinse them out so they wouldn't leave a ring. He stood near her, watching the water run over the glass. When she turned the water off and faced him, she met his eyes and inhaled sharply.
"Good night," he said, his breathing matching hers, inhale for exhale. He leaned down and briefly brushed his lips against hers, almost hesitantly.
When he stepped back from her, she followed his movement and kissed him again, pressing her hand to his cheek—the beard foreign to her. She pulled back after a few moments and sighed with her eyes tightly shut. "Good night," she said, brushing past him and into her bedroom before he could say another word.