a/n: after a semester's worth of classes, a new volunteer gig, an arduous application process, a new full-time job, a home construction project, and a broken hand – give you the last chapter. I didn't know it was the last one until I finished it and it felt like a good place to rest. I do apologize for the lack of warning and the long delay. Plus, this chapter tied together in a way that is a bit shorter than the others.
But wait – there's more. I have an epilogue about 2/3 written and will do my best to be back with it soon. Plus, I can't make any promises just yet, but this is becoming a 'verse in my head. Thank you for your patience with me. I'm really glad you've been enjoying this story, and I'm glad I got to do something to settle the details of the revival within myself as a fan of the show who could've easily just found it disappointing. That I share it with a receptive and supportive audience is just a gift for me and I thank you for making it that.
disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls or anything more than a Netflix membership. No harm or infringement is intended. The chapter title for this is from Another World by Ofelia K. Story title and other inspiration from Empire Builder by Laura Gibson. If any of you want to sue me for mentioning or using these things, you should know all I have is a pile of student debt and two leftover cases of tile. On second thought, if you want to sue me and take my debt, that shit is all yours. I'll keep the tile.
chapter 10: i feel you in my bones, do you think of me in your skull?
Logan finds himself drifting back in time a little during his various work meetings and sometimes even conversations that are longer than five minutes or so. The first time he had sex, he was fifteen years old and he wasn't in a relationship, but the source of sex was relatively steady. He found himself daydreaming a little, lost inside a tawdry headspace that was a hell of a lot of fun.
Some things never change.
Of course, the headspace is the same but virtually everything else has changed about his life. This time, he's committed. They have a relationship, he and Rory, even if they don't really have a lot of titles or superlatives to go with it. He's never felt more committed to or positive about anything in his entire life. He doesn't need t's crossed and i's dotted and all that other stuff. As long as the letters are on the page and sometimes they make words, he's more than content to keep… typing. That isn't just the endorphins talking, either.
(It's his assistant, Martin. Also at some point, he needs actual sleep.)
"… and you're not listening to me. And your phone is going to buzz a hole through your pocket," Martin trails off sharply. This isn't the first time in the last week or so this has happened. Martin wears the weary tone of the constantly rebuffed and ignored like it's a cloak of beleaguered honor, and he's got some practice doing it. That cloak has many colors and Logan has seen them all recently.
Logan's face crumples and he snaps out of the fantasy/memory of Rory riding him hard the way she did when he woke up this morning. They've been waking up early and staying up late over the last couple of weeks and it's become a nice way to transition into what he thinks life will be like with a small baby. Of course he knows there won't be sex happening then, but since it's happening now, the change in hours is fine by him either way.
"I think my jacket is better quality than that," is what he comes up with as a weak-ass comeback. He pulls the phone out and looks at the really fucking dirty text from his… girlfriend? Baby mama? He doesn't know. He probably needs to sort that out. He wants to sort that out. If she wants to sort that out. He doesn't know because they actually haven't even broached the subject, to the surprise of probably every one. People keep asking but they keep not getting answered.
The text doesn't surprise him, though. Rory is discreet, and the last person one would expect to have a wild side. It actually kind of turns him on, being the only person in the world who really knows that about her. Pregnancy has made it worse. He's learned three orgasms is about what she needs to wake up with while she's drinking less coffee. Apparently, though, pushing his luck (and pushing her) by shooting for a new PR by waking up with four just makes her want more – if the text message she just sent is any indication.
He probably needs to focus at work. There is not a chance in hell he's staying a second longer than strictly necessary at work while she's trying on lingerie and texting him pictures of the results. Therefore, in the name of at least pretending he might at some point today be an actual adult, he tried to redirect her focus with his reply.
You look great and that will look even better on the floor. Aren't you supposed to be working on your book?
He redirects his own attention to his assistant, and they almost make it through one bullet point on the very long and boring to-do list before he hears back from her.
I can't stop thinking about your tongue long enough. It's making me write a different kind of book.
Yeah, that was the thing this morning. His tongue got them both into some trouble. The good kind, but still. He laughs at the thought of Rory Gilmore writing a sex book or, worse, interjecting a sex scene into her book about her and Lorelai. She got caught with a boyfriend after her first time, he knows, and he really doesn't want her mixing up details by writing about her first boyfriend while she's horny for him. He's selfish like that.
I love you, but I have got to get some work done. Me and my tongue will be there as soon as possible, I promise.
He's set his phone aside and answered Martin's exasperated glance with a fading grin and a promise to at least do a better job pretending he's paying attention.
In the middle of his second (last) long conference call of the day, he realizes what he said.
It's something he had hesitated to say in their relationship, first edition, for a long time. She'd offered it up first and assured him he didn't have to say it back. Had he known how things would go, and how to categorize what he felt for her then, he would've just said it. Now, without age-old hang ups in the way, he'd blurted it in a text. He didn't even know you could blurt in a text.
Then again, it shouldn't be news to her, either. He's been thinking it since Valentines Day and he's sure those thoughts have carried over into his actions. He's never been able to keep them from carrying over to their bedroom. He hopes it doesn't freak her out, but there's only so much slack he can cut her on that because it's true. It's so true it hurts. It's the reason, the only reason, for all the changes he's made and the effort he's been putting in.
Now, really, he just needs to know what she's going to do with it.
I love you, but I have got to get some work done. Me and my tongue will be there as soon as possible, I promise.
The message probably shouldn't have caught Rory off guard, but it did. She stares at it in small sips, little glances that flood her with a relaxed warmth and a peaceful energy. She spends considerably more time thinking about it than she does staring, but it's not with the frenzied and uncertain pace of her early twenties anymore. She's gotten through a portion of her bucket list, keeping the things she wants and finding a way to discard the things she doesn't want. Having an impending arrival really just forced her into admitting it to herself, what those wants and not-wants are, and into taking at least moderate action.
She's sure. She's sure of him, more sure of herself, and sure she won't get tired or feel restless in the apartment she's currently sitting in. She doesn't feel shackled by his expectations, or in a more adjacent way, his responsibilities, this time. That was the thing last time, all family paper and yelling matches from Mitchum dictating not only that Logan needed to shape up, but what shape he was supposed to contort into. She didn't want to bend until she broke and she didn't want to have to watch him do it, either.
It doesn't hurt that this very adult version of him has managed to strike this balance between doing what he wants and doing what he's supposed to. All that suave confidence and skilled charisma of his youth, the things that fronted all that he didn't want to do and didn't look forward to – it's redirected itself now. In hindsight, she can see how deftly he handled all the changes he's made to his life over the last few months, once she gave him the latitude to make the changes he actually wanted to make. This is probably a little closer to a true compromise between what they've both always wanted. She isn't sure it's a compromise they could've made without the intervening decade, but it's one they've settled into now. It's working. It's going to work. She doesn't see it coming apart and buckling under the weight of the omnipresent future because whatever they're building is strong.
She loves him and that's enough. He loves her and that's enough.
It doesn't hurt that they have this baby on the way. That's just bonus. While she has a lot of apprehension about her ability to raise a kid, the tools are at least in place. And there are plenty of books available to help her out. They have examples, both good and bad, of what to be and what not to be. They have help. They can probably do this.
Her future is no longer wide open in all the ways that seemed so terrifying and appealing when she let him go. The doors that are closing are making quiet clicks as things fall into place for her. The book, the baby, and him – that's what she wants, and not necessarily in that order.
A few months ago, she sat next to her mother on the gazebo steps in the middle of Stars Hollow, filled with uncertainty and dread. Though her voice didn't shake and she didn't cry at the revelation that she was pregnant, she was a little afraid she would crumble under the weight of the two words she spoke. She never imagined it would come together the way it is, or that two words (or three) could reinforce something.
Her whole life has been defined by Lorelais – not as much her great-grandmother, but her mom and herself. It's been girl power, it's been figuring out what you want and going for it with naked ambition and a direct approach, gun blazing, heels clicking, and all of the really great strengths inherent in those paths. She's spent all her time spinning her wheels, thinking proof of success was in volumes. Lorelai didn't just show up to work every day, she built her own business. There were a lot of reasons, but she didn't work on personal relationships until Rory was gone and Lorelai could throw the whole of her focus into them. So that's how it's always been, you figure out what you want and go for it.
There's never been any appreciating the small things. That isn't how Lorelai, too much of a hurricane and other forces of nature, does it. In the time since her grandpa died, though, it's the small things Rory has come to miss. The record player, with its scratches and pops in the imperfect grooves, playing in the background as they read. The way his office furniture smelled like the cigars he only smoked on special occasions. The smell of a good glass of scotch, decanting for hours so no one needed a drink because the warm smell filled the room. Her grandfather was a great man made of little details.
And so she's come to realize she's a hybrid of all these larger than life dreams and experiences, puttied together with tiny details. She had to travel the world and live out journalistic ambition to write a book about her home. She had to bring her life, and Logan's, to its knees to finally settle down.
Perhaps, most importantly, she just knows. She's guided by intuition and love and anticipation more than determination. It's peaceful and subtle and profound. The time is right. The tide is high.
She's finally, finally ready.
(Later on, when she says those words into the hair that curls at his temple when he's sweaty and exhausted in the best way, his reply is, "It's about time, Ace.)