Stars Hollow, Christmas, 1991
Christmas means different things to different people. To some, it meant celebrating the birth of Jesus, to others it's about gathering with family, to others it's about presents and snowball fights and hot cocoa, but to Logan it meant...boredom. It meant long drives and freezing cold and frostier silences. And now, apparently, it meant listening to his parents argue second-hand.
"Yes, I know I'm late...No, Shira, I am not doing this on purpose! You honestly think that I want to be stuck in some backwater Connecticut town that doesn't even have parking meters? Yes, Shira, I realize how inconvenient this is, but how am I to blame for my car breaking down? Yes, I know I bought the damn thing..." Mitchum Huntzberger grumbled to his wife, standing out in the December snow, pacing as the mechanic known as Gypsy waited to give him her verdict. Ever the dutiful son, ten year old Logan Huntzberger waited outside, taking in the cool night air with blessed relief. Although he didn't mind the Gilmore's and their annual Christmas parties, he still didn't like going to these society parties on principal and would have much rather been at home or with Colin and Finn, playing pranks on Honor and getting up to general holiday mischief.
Laughter flitted to him on the wind, sweet and innocent and enticingly normal. Glancing across the street, Logan watched as a young girl and her mom came back from what he assumed was the town library, arms laden with books, the little girl chattering excitedly, going seemingly a mile a minute without pausing for breath.
"I really wish I hadn't given that one back now," the girl was saying, brown hair a curtain masking her disappointed face.
"Honey, you did read it five times," her mother pointed out, smiling as she gripped her daughter's rainbow-globed hand and helped her traverse a particularly treacherous patch of ice like it was second nature -it was certainly more affectionate than anything his own mother had done for him, of that he was sure.
"I know!" she whined petulantly. "But it was just so good! And it's a classic; who doesn't love Charlotte Bronté?"
Charlotte Bronté? This girl, who looked about six, maybe seven, was reading one of the greats? And actually liked it? Just where had his father's car broken down, Bizarro Town?
"I swear," the woman smiled dramatically, "it's like I don't even know you! Who are you, strange child who likes old books and can quote every episode of I Love Lucy known to man? Oh, wait, just the best darn kid ever!"
The little girl squealed as her mother picked her up, showering her face in kisses and holding her tight. It made something in his chest ache, seeing the pair so obviously close, so obviously happy. Yes, he had Honor and he loved her a lot, but sometimes you just wanted your parents to make you feel special and loved, especially during the holidays. That was then that he noticed the little girl had dropped one of her books a few feet back, too wrapped up in her mother to notice. Without really thinking about it, Logan abandoned his dad and his huffing and crossed the icy sidewalk, the light provided by the streetlights dotting the way in pools of cheery yellow. Picking the book up, he yelped when he found it was cold to the touch, and he swiftly retreated his hand into his pocket.
"Hey!" Logan called out to the retreating pair. "You dropped a book!"
The mother and daughter stopped -no one else was around, and Logan doubted that if there had been, they would have been carrying an armful of books. The elder of the two walked up to him confidently, taking the book from him with a warm smile.
"Thank you so much, kid I don't know. Rory would have had a fit if she let a beloved Stars Hollow Library book get lost on her watch."
The boy shrugged indifferently. "It's no problem, ma'am."
"'Ma'am'? Now that's a new one!" The brunette turned to her daughter and said, "Hey, Ror, this kid called me ma'am. How cool is that?"
"He obviously isn't a very good judge of character since the only thing remotely mature about you is your unabashed indifference to conforming to societal norms," Rory chided lightly, and Logan felt his head spinning. Just who was this girl?
Rory's mother paused, seemingly in thought. "Okay, I think I understood all those long words...you called me weird, right?"
"Yep," Rory nodded. "But it's okay, cause I'm weird, too. We're weird peas in a pod."
"Yeah, an alien spaceship pod, like in E.T."
"No, don't, you promised never to bring up that particular Spielberg movie ever again! You know it makes me cry." Rory turned to Logan, offering her hand. "Hi, I'm Lorelai Gilmore. That," she indicated her mother, "is also Lorelai Gilmore, so my nickname's Rory."
Logan took her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Rory. I'm Logan. You've got good taste in books."
Her smile was one of the nicest things he'd ever seen. "You think so? Colour me shocked: I thought I was the only kid under fifty who appreciated a good tragic slice of Russian literature."
"No, you're definitely not. I like stuff like that, too. Always have."
"I haven't seen you around here before, and we know everybody," Rory remarked, scrunching her nose adorably. "Are you just passing through?"
"My dad's car broke down while we were on our way to the Gilmore Christmas party..." Logan trailed off, eyeing the two. "Your last name's Gilmore, you said?"
"I did," Rory acknowledged with a frown.
"And is it a stretch to say that you're related to-"
"Richard and Emily?" the elder Lorelai cut in. "Sadly, it's true, I'm not descended from superheroes or Gwen Stefani, just plain old Gilmore's. And I'm guessing by your hair, extensive vocabulary and old-worldy manners you're Logan Huntzberger."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean anything to me," the kid was quick to assure her. "I hate going to these things. And the jumpers my mom makes me wear are always really itchy." He plucked at his gaudy holiday jumper, festooned in snowflakes; it wasn't his taste, to say the least. "I feel I should be in Santa's workshop with a bell on my head."
"I'm sorry," Rory said sympathetically, "we don't like them, either. We ducked out if this one because we're both sick. Right, mom?" the girl remarked pointedly.
"Oh, right, yeah. Super sick." Lorelai coughed for effect. "Got a case of that old favourite, the Black Plague."
Rory rolled her eyes. "The Black Death and The Great Plague were two different diseases, mom. One was in the thirteen hundreds and spread throughout Europe while the other was in the seventeenth century and mainly in London."
Lorelai looked down at her little girl in wonder. "Gosh, you're smart. You might even be too smart. What do you think, Logan? Is her head gonna explode like a watermelon if she learns any more?"
Logan grinned conspiratorially. "Definitely. You should stop learning stuff now, otherwise your head is gonna get so big, you and your mom won't be able to wear matching bobble hats."
The pair gasped dramatically. "No matching bobble hats? Well, we can't have that. Guess I better give up my dreams of going t Harvard and being a Foreign Correspondent and I'll have to start trying to shrink my brain into the size of a raisin." Rory shrugged. "I'm sure it's achievable."
The Huntzberger was naturally taken aback: he didn't know many seven year olds who knew what they wanted to do when they grew up -then again, he didn't know many seven year olds in general. "You wanna be a Foreign Correspondent? Really?"
"Yes, I do. Cristian Ammenpore's my personal hero, and I follow her work with a religious fanaticism."
Logan let out an appreciative whistle. "I'm impressed. I only know who she is because my father's in the news business." He eyed her critically before announcing extravagantly, "I think you need a new nickname."
Rory gazed up at him. "I do?"
"Yeah, one that captures your grand ambition." He thought for a moment, then it came to him. "What about 'Ace'?"
"Ace, like cards?" Lorelai asked. "I always thought she'd make a good gambler. What shmuck wouldn't trust such an innocent and adorable face?"
"Mom!" Rory chastised her. "I'm seven now: I'm not adorable. I'm composed and sophisticated."
"You screamed your head off in excitement this morning when they had a Care Bears special on TV!"
"You were right there with me, missy! You have no leg to stand on."
Lorelai arched a brow. "Oh, I don't, do I? Well, I guess I better learn to start hopping," and she then proceeded to hop up and down on the snowy street, Rory letting out peals of laughter.
"She's impossible."
Yeah, Logan thought, impossibly awesome.
He must have let too much show on his face, for Lorelai stopped her antics and said, "Hey, Logan, cars around here take pretty long to fix. Do you want to ask your dad if you can stay inside with us for a little while? There's a place 'round the corner that has some great cakes, despite being called 'Al's Pancake World.'"
He was tempted; of course he was. Rory and her mom seemed like really nice people, and he could definitely see himself being friends with the little girl, despite the age difference. But...he didn't want to get attached. He couldn't get attached. At the end of the day, his life wasn't his own, it was all mapped out for him by his parents, every step already set in stone before he'd even learnt to tie his shoes, and as much as he hated it, he didn't want to drag them into it: he knew the story, knew how hard Lorelai had fought to be independent, to raise her daughter away from all the false sincerity of their societal circle, and she'd obviously done an amazing job, if Rory's great personality was anything to go by. So he said, "I'd love to, but my dad's very persuasive when he wants to be: I'm sure we'll be out of here in a little while."
Lorelai gave him an all-too-understanding smile. "Okay, then. I better get this one home before she makes a dash back to the library for some quality Bronté. It was really great to meet you, Logan. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas to you, too."
"If you need an escape route," Lorelai offered sagely, "the study on the second floor is usually clear. My bedrooms got a big window, too, but I wouldn't suggest climbing down in the dark with all that snow. Bring a flashlight, or one of those Husky-pulled sledge's."
"What good is that gonna do him?" Rory asked confusedly.
"The Husky can bark out encouragement," Lorelai supplied as if it should be obvious.
Rory just rolled her eyes before unexpectedly putting her tiny arms around Logan. "Please don't be sad on the holidays, Logan. No one should be sad ever, but especially not at Christmas."
"Don't worry, Ace," he said as he returned her embrace, I'm sure I'll do just fine."
Lorelai held her arms out, and he had to admit, he kinda didn't want to let go after she hugged him, certainly not as she said, "Don't let the grown-ups get you down, honey. You're just a kid, and you deserve to be one, alright? You call the shots when it comes to who you want to be and what you want to do," words he'd always remember, would cling to when he was sad or lonely or felt suffocated under the weight of his families expectations.
After the Gilmore's had left, Logan made his way back to Gypsy's -Lorelai watching to make sure he got there okay, of course- and as it happened, his dad was just finishing his call.
"God, I hate the holidays," Mitchum cursed, piercing his son with a sharp look. "Where did you wander off to? Logan, you really shouldn't walk off on your own like that. This town could be full of weird people who will take advantage of you and our family name, and I don't want to have to sort out a ransom for you, certainly not over Christmas when banks are closed." He likely meant it as a joke, and yet any other day, Logan would have felt heart all the same. But today was different, so he brushed it off.
"I don't think so, Dad. It seems nice." The two 'weird' people certainly had been.
"Not everything is as it seems, Logan. You'll learn that when your older. Now, get in before we freeze to death. Or worse, your mother comes down here and kills me herself for being late."
Christmas, Yale, 2002
Slumped in a booth at The Pub, Logan surveyed his tankard of pumpkin-spiced ale wearily, attention half on his friends and half on the article he was writing notes for. Colin and Finn were in the process of masterminding some great expedition for next year -which unfortunately they wanted to include his father's new yacht in- and honestly, he just wasn't in the mood for their rambunctious energy, coupled with their drunkeness and love of the holidays. His aversion to them had only gotten worse, but every year, he still thought about Rory and her mother, that sweet little girl who had been so kind to him, who hadn't treated him any differently when she found out who she was, and neither had her mother. In all that time since, he hadn't found anyone else who could truly offer him the same. He wondered what they were up to now...
"Well, if it isn't Mr Russian Literature himself. Glad to see your appreciation of the holidays hasn't abandoned you after all this time."
She was older. She was older and stunningly gorgeous yet her smile was just the same, the same tilt of her chin and the same sparkle in her eyes.
Logan lifted his head from the back of the booth, smiling like he hadn't in years. "Well, if it isn't Cristian Ammenpore Jr herself, lover of Care Bears everywhere and tragic heroines," he shot back smugly.
"Maybe not every Care Bear: the pink one was undeniably my favourite, and the grumpy fella never made it into my toy collection."
Finn squinted at her skeptically. "I'm sorry, do we know you? Did we meet in another life, and I've just forgotten? If so, that is a crying shame: you're gorgeous, love."
"Thanks? I guess?" She turned her attention away from the Aussie and back to him. "Why am I not surprised you ended up here of all places? Even though we only met for ten minutes, I could tell there was a brain somewhere under all that hair."
Logan lowered his drink and cried indignantly, "My hair was perfectly fine, Ace, thank you very much. All the boys were sporting that look."
"Then no wonder they all formed boy bands and sang about girls dumping them," she shot back, saccharine-sweet, and a chorus of "Oohhs," struck up around the table. Jerks.
"Last I checked, you had to be over eighteen to go to university," the Huntzberger remarked boldly. "What are you doing here, Rory? You're a long way from Stars Hollow." Yes, he'd remembered the name of the town. No, that didn't mean anything, thank you very much.
"As it happens, I'm currently weighing up the options for my academic career moving forward, and Yale were having an Open Day, so I decided it was worth having a wander around, get a feel for the place."
"You mean we could be permitted to see your ravishing beauty on a daily basis?" Finn piped up hopefully, and received a kick to the shins -courtesy of one Logan E. Huntzberger- for his troubles.
Rory laughed, merry and bright. "Maybe. I haven't decided yet. I brought someone along who's very interested in helping, though, or maybe it was the eggnog. It's always so hard to tell with her."
As if she possessed some supernatural sense of when she was being mentioned, Lorelai Gilmore did indeed wave at he daughter from the bar, pointing to her glass of what did indeed look like eggnog with a grin that hadn't changed.
"Who's that?" Colin inquired, tuning into the conversation.
"My mom."
Finn gasped over-dramatically. "Good God, those are good genes."
Rory offered tentatively, "Do you wanna go say hi? I'm sure she'd love to see you." It was true, he hasn't seen her in over a decade, bar brief glimpses at her parent's various functions, but her words had never left him.
"I don't want to impose..." Logan trailed off, unable to meet Rory's penetrating blue gaze.
She turned to the other two sides of his friendship trio and asked, "Is he always so stubborn?" to which she was met with an emphatic, "Yes," which wasn't exactly what you wanted to hear from your best mates, and he told them so.
"Go off with your mysterious girl, Logan, or I will," Finn mock-threatened. "We can plan our extravaganza later when we're much more inebriated."
"Don't worry," Colin chuckled, "I'll make sure to cut him off early, or at least before he gets up on the table and starts singing the SpongeBob theme."
"That'd be appreciated."
As Logan let Rory drag him from the booth, she whispered in his ear, "I didn't forget you. I don't know why, but I didn't. Fate has a funny way of working out, it seems."
Logan smiled back at her, amazed that the sweet girl he'd met all those Christmases back had considered him worth remembering.
"I didn't forget you, either," he confided to her softly. "You're pretty unforgettable, Ace."
"You think so?"
A flash of a grin, brighter than the fairy lights strung up behind the bar. "Definitely."
When Lorelai saw him, she instantly tackled him in a warm hug before she pulled back to survey him. "My, you grew up handsome. I like this hair better."
Logan rolled his eyes. "What is it with you two and making fun of my hair? That's the second time tonight."
Rory threw an arm around her mother's shoulder, simultaneously scooting away her glass of eggnog. "You know what they say, Logan: great minds think alike."
"Care to show this pair of crazy Gilmore's around your fine campus?" Lorelai inquired hopefully. "When my parents did it, it was kinda boring, and I wanna see all the fun places!"
"Mom, we're not here to see the 'fun places,'" Rory chastised her sternly. "We're here to weight up the merits and gather data so I can make an informed and critical decision that could decided the course of my whole future!"
"Ten years, and she hasn't changed a bit, has she?" Lorelai said to him with a smile.
"No, apparently not. But, I promise not to bore you: I am known for being an avid indulger in all things fun."
"Well, if our kiddo here decides on Yale, it'll be your job to make her loosen up a little!"
"Mom!"
Logan grinned, offering Rory his arm. "It would be my pleasure, I'm sure. Now, I'm sure you've already been to the library..."
"Rory, I'm getting cold! Hurry up!"
"I know, Mom! The whole of campus can hear you moaning about it!" Rory fired back as her and Logan walked across the courtyard, stopping at the entrance to his dorm.
"Well, maybe not the whole of campus..."
Logan laughed, and Rory had to admit, she really liked his laugh. She liked him. All those years ago, she'd had a gut instinct about him, and, as it turned out, her git had been right.
"Thank you for the tour, it was really helpful. You certainly know an awful lot about this place."
"I was just showing off," Logan said breezily as he fished for his keys. "I wanted to impress you, which is a lot harder than it looks."
"Logan, you didn't have to impress me," Rory murmured quietly, "you did that over ten years ago, just by being you."
"I did?"
She smiled at the soft surprise blooming on his face. "You did."
"Colour me shocked."
"And colour me blue. That is the Yale colour, isn't it?"
"Does that mean...?" Logan trailed off hopefully.
"It does," she promised him. "I'd already decided, and meeting you here only cemented it further."
"Guess I better work on my game plan for getting you to have some fun, Ace."
"Somehow, I'm sure you'll do just fine, plan or not. Do you think it would be weird if we hugged or-" Rory was cut off by Logan pulling her into his chest, wrapping his arms around here. "Thank you, for being here today. The holidays are always tough," he confessed with no small amount of sadness, "and it's really great to know you're getting everything you wanted."
"Well, not everything..." Rory trailed off, staring at the tops of her shoes.
Logan crossed his arms, leaning against the door. "What's his name?"
She looked up sharply. "Who's name?"
"The name of whatever guy obviously isn't treating you right and who I have to therefore talk some sense into, or possibly punch in the face, just depends on my mood."
"Logan! Don't be an idiot! And...his name's Jess. Things were going great, and they still are but, I don't think it's gonna last. I don't think I'm enough to make him stay."
"Oh, Ace, anyone who makes you think like that doesn't deserve to be with you in the first place. Never define your sense of worth because of anyone else, certainly not over some teenage boy. You're amazing, and anyone who could ever think of giving you up is the greatest fool alive," he told her, the words flowing out if him without him even thinking about it, judging by the startled look in his face.
"You really believe that?" she sniffled.
"Without a doubt."
"Thanks, that's really sweet of you to say. Merry Christmas, Logan."
Logan smiled at her brightly. "Merry Christmas, Rory. I look forward to spending the next one here, with you."
"Me, too."
Author's Note: Hello, everyone! I know it isn't Christmas just yet, but I've had this sitting around for nearly a year and wanted to get out of a posting slump, so here we are. I hope you enjoyed this little one-shot, and, if you did, please feel free to leave a review.
Thank you for reading and I hope you all have a lovely rest of your week!
All my love, Temperance Cain.