Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own the show or any of the characters in it.
Song featured: Favorite girl – Joseph Arthur
Chapter Three: Favorite girl
In your version of this world
you're everybody's favorite girl
The night is humid and sticky and clings to his skin as he strolls across campus. Moonlight illuminates his path as he tracks through several lawns, stopping in front of her window. The room is dimly lit by the lamp in the corner and she's hunched over her desk, fervently glancing from one open book to the next. Logan's half-exasperated and half-amused; of course she's studying. He really has missed her.
Hearing shuffling from outside, Rory quickly turns in her seat to look at the window. She's further bewildered when a fist raps against the pane and the sound morphs into the chorus of "Gimme Shelter."
Making her way over, she pushes the window out a crack to see Logan standing outside, hands casually shoved in his pockets.
"Hey Ace, how's it been?"
Her tone is flat when she speaks. "So Sheila's gone?" He hasn't been returning phone calls or making appearances dutifully for three weeks now which usually served as an indication that there was a new girl involved.
He shrugs in reply before smiling sheepishly. Logan got bored. It was as simple as that.
Rory merely responds with an obligatory sigh, reprimanding him for his behavior towards girls, but above all, for his behavior towards her.
He moves toward the window and rests his left hand on the window pane, wordlessly asking to be let in. She rolls her eyes but steps away and he gracefully climbs through.
"Don't bother asking questions you already have answers to." He walks to her bookshelf, idly pulling down Arrowsmith and grimaces in remembrance. He holds the cover up for her to see. "There are about a thousand things I'd rather endure than read this again,"
A slight anger colors her cheeks and she's ready to launch into a twenty minute justification for Sinclair Lewis' effective use of local color. "It's detailed enough for-"
Logan swiftly cuts her off. "It's mundane." He slides the novel back in place, signaling his end to the conversation.
Sitting back at her desk, she focuses on her books (mildly aggravated that she hadn't been able to finish her argument). "Why are you here, Logan? Go bother Colin and Finn. I'm sure they'll manage to keep your interest."
He smiles widely at her dismissive tone, pleased that he could goad her into further fury over a book. Her mood is easy enough to dismantle; say the right words, do the right things-and he always does. "I know I haven't been around lately which means that you probably haven't seen sunlight in God knows-" She starts to glare at him and he finishes his thought quickly. "I've missed you, Ace. I just… wanted to see you. Honest." Logan holds his hand up, mock- Boy Scouts.
Rory's seen him use that look too many times-the perfect amalgamation of contrition and sincerity-to be bowled over by his sentiment. But she's used to him and his habits by now and they've established enough groundwork in their relationship for her to justifiably give up her anger. Truce, she thinks but can't help uttering a small quip. "Cary Grant's got nothing on you."
"Time for a break." He's standing behind her now, simultaneously closing the textbook and re-capping the hi-liter taken out of her hand.
Unsurprisingly, she makes her disapproval known as she tries to reclaim the marker held slightly out of reach.
"I'm serious. I will drag you out of this room if I have to."
"Then it's a good thing for you that I switched to Diet Coke."
Switching tactics, he tries a different approach. "You'll be first in line for Cocoa Puffs."
"Been there, done that."
He's spoiled her. "I'll let you use the coffee machine this time."
She quickly turns to look at him, eyes shining from anticipation. "Really?"
Finally. "Sure, why not?"
They're sitting across from one another, two coffees in the middle and a large bowl of cereal in front of each. She dangles the spoon lightly above the bowl and occasionally skims the surface of the milk, waiting for it to turn brown.
"My mother asked about you at our last Huntzberger gathering." She shoots him a disbelieving stare and waits for him to continue; Shira Huntzberger almost had a heart attack before she found out their 'engagement' had been a sham. "Let's just say she wasn't too taken to Sheila when I had to piggyback her to the car by the end of the night."
"A few more incidents like that and your mother might stop with the thinly veiled insults about my upbringing. 'Oh Rory, all this talent and yet you have trouble disciplining the maid when she brings you the wrong drink. It's okay, dear. You weren't bred for this lifestyle.'"
"A few more incidents like that and my mom will positively welcome you into the family, lofty aspirations and all."
They wryly smile at each other.
"Doubtful," she says and they both know she's right. His mother accepts her in his life because she believes Rory poses no threat to her son's future.
A comfortable silence settles between them, interrupted by the occasional slurp or scraping of a chair when someone goes to refill their bowl. Three weeks hasn't changed their interactions in the slightest. All residual confusions about their relationship have-more than not-vanished, leaving behind a different pull towards one another. He's never had a Webster-defined friendship with the opposite sex and astonishingly, neither has she.
"Astronaut." Every once in a while they take turns inventing imaginary futures for one another; usually when faced with their own forthcoming aspirations.
Rory slurps the chocolate milk from her spoon and raises her eyes to look at him. "Why?"
"Because you love to travel and this will take you far, far away."
"Any kids?"
He pretends to think this over, alternately counting on his fingers, one or two. "Six. Four girls and two boys."
"Married or divorced?"
"Married. You guys drive around in a minivan and have three dogs." She's always married with an insane amount of kids.
"And where are you?"
Logan stacks her bowl on top of his and she drops her spoon into the top bowl with a loud clatter. He grins. "I'm on the spaceship with you."
Once they've rinsed out the bowls and cups (she refuses to leave until everything is back in their rightful place), they head back to her dorm.
The rain starts slowly, a few drops trickle on their heads, arms, and faces. Quickening their step, they try to outrun the inevitable as the mist falls faster, blurring their vision; the damp heat surrounding them moments before turns into a brisk cold.
Logan clutches her hand, urging her to move faster, but she stops dead in her tracks. "Come on Ace!"
Rory shakes her head and drops his hand, choosing to stick her tongue in the air to catch the falling rain.
"You're going to catch pneumonia out here!" He's shivering in place marveling over the irony that he's the one thinking responsibly.
Her pajamas are thoroughly soaked, the Betty Boop pattern starkly contrasting the white fabric, and she starts to twirl. "You've effectively killed my enthusiasm for studying tonight Huntzberger. The least you can do is join me."
A challenge; He makes his decision quickly and walks toward her, draping his blazer on her back. The heavy rain immediately darkens his shirt. "Dance with me."
Her arms slip through the sleeves and Rory places her hands on each of his shoulders, smiling. "I bet you say this to all the girls."
"Only to my favorite girl." His tone is rarely serious, but she's fairly certain he's sincere this time and is instantaneously warmed by his words.
Logan tries to teach her the Viennese waltz, continuously muttering the tempo under his breath. His face is lined with concentration and she affectionately watches him-amused that he would put sober effort into teaching her the waltz, but procrastinates as best he can on a ten minute assignment.
"You're going to be a weather man."
He gives up the fancy footwork (tired of his feet being stepped on) and they settle into a languid back-and-forth sway. "Why?"
She beams at him and he's reminded of a little kid delighting in her own cleverness. "Because then you'll get your daily attention fix and you get to wear suits every day."
They both start laughing over how seemingly perfect this career is for him.
"Kids?"
"Twins, boy and girl. You see them on the weekends once a month when your ex-wife goes to the spa."
"And you fit in how?"
"Duh, leading news anchor."
Sheltered by the rain, it was only the two of them, traipsing around in the storm. Time was thought of in fragments and sensations-how closely they were huddled together, shivering slightly from the cold; how she could smell the Axe body spray Logan bought on a whim (because he swears that the Axe effect really does happen in real life) when she leans in close; how tightly he grips her waist when she slips in a puddle and he can feel her whole body tremble with laughter; how they were both dizzy for minutes after the childish contest to see who could spin in circles the longest-all intricately woven together to form a vivid and tempting memory to be remembered on future rainy days when they are reminiscing about their past.
Drops of rain cling to eyelashes before making their way down faces and he shakes his head close to her face. She hastily shoves him back when the water hits her cheeks. Grinning apologetically, Logan holds his arms out again which she begrudgingly steps back into, continuing their dance.
Rory visits his dorm the next night, her bag loaded with supplies.
"This is all your fault."
She quietly closes the door behind her. "I know what you are, but what am I?" Despite her mocking tone, she does feel a tiny bit responsible, knowing it was her idea that caused Logan to stay in bed tonight instead of going out with Colin and Finn.
Standing in front of him, she pulls out the items, one by one. "Clam chowder, your favorite, oyster crackers, popcorn, Dayquil, Nyquil, and …" Rory holds up the last item triumphantly. "Arrested Development, season one."
He hides his excitement well, choosing to turn and face the opposite wall. "I've seen it, thanks."
Rolling her eyes, she puts everything back in the bag and heads into the living room. "Fine baby, stay in here and sulk. I'll be outside enjoying the entire season all over again."
"I will," he mutters to the empty room.
She's already sitting on the couch (popcorn in her lap, remote in hand) when he trudges out of his room, a gray fleece wrapped around his shoulders. Logan tosses a second blanket to her, knowing she would've eventually demanded his as the night went on. She hands him the soup before clicking play and leans back with her legs spread out beside her to claim some space on the couch. They start shuffling every which way until both are reasonably satisfied and he finally focuses on the show, enjoying his soup.
The television stays on long after they have both fallen asleep; dim shades of green and blue dancing across their bodies. They're lying on opposite arm rests and every once in a while she has to blindly shove his feet away from her face because he's always been a restless sleeper.
I don't know what I should do
I've been so happy bein' unhappy with you