AN: This is part 1 of 2 of a little flash forward piece that takes place February 2021 in the Rediscovering Logan Huntzberger World. I think you can still enjoy this even if you don't read RLH, but I, being the completely unbiased author that I am, think that you definitely should check it out. Also, if you're interested in MORE stories from the RLH universe check out my profile because there are quite a few other companion pieces to go with the story as well.
A haze of grey woke Rory from her slumber. She wasn't quite ready to face the day, so she kept her eyes shut, rolling over and draping her arm over the warm body by her side only to find her bed mate was far hairier than her husband. Her companion squirmed in excitement at the contact and then, Rory felt a warm tongue drag itself over her cheek. She scrunched her face up in annoyance and pushed the beast away.
"Truman," she scolded wiping the slobber away and pushing herself up into a sitting position. She glanced around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings; the exposed wooden rafters of the sloped ceiling, the stone fireplace, the plaid curtains, the—what she assumed were—antique snowshoes on the wall, the wooden furniture. Dear god there was so much wood.
"How did I let your Dad talk me into this?" she asked the dog who had rolled over on his back and was waiting expectantly for a belly rub. She rolled her eyes and submitted, scratching his underside in exactly the spot she knew he loved. She glanced over at the bedside clock and noted the time—7:10. "And speaking of your Dad? Where the hell is he? No one should be awake this early when they're on vacation."
Truman rolled back over, nudging her with his muzzle, then jumping off the bed and heading to the door. "Ugh, fine," she conceded, "I guess we're getting up." She pulled herself out of bed, grabbing her robe off a hook by the door and sliding her slippers onto her feet.
Her objections to the ungodly hour started to dissipate as she made it to the stairs and the scent of coffee and bacon started to manifest themselves. Her stomach gurgled in anticipation.
She made her way down to the main floor, stopping at the base of the steps. She leaned against the wall, her hand at her side scratching Truman's head as she observed the scene before her. At the kitchen island, in purple footsie pajamas with pink horses on them, was her daughter. Her little legs swung back and forth with the kinetic energy and excitement that naturally came from being three and a half—and a Huntzberger. She rhythmically banged her little plastic utensils on the tabletop in front of her as she waited for her food.
"Are we gonna build a snowman?" she asked her father. Rory silently groaned as the singing voice of Kristen Bell invaded her mind unbidden.
"Of course we are, but not while you're skiing," he informed her.
"Do I have to ski?" she asked.
"You have to try skiing," he told her.
"But I scared Daddy. They go so fast."
Logan smiled adoringly at her as he scooped a pancake onto her waiting plate. "Well, you're going to learn to control how fast you go."
"But what if I fall?"
"Then you'll get back up again."
Logan turned around to open the microwave and pull out a bottle of maple syrup; Lila steadfastly refused to take her syrup cold. He brought the bottle over and went to pour some on his daughter's plate.
"On the side, Daddy," she instructed him.
"Really?" Logan asked, feigning surprise. "Are you sure, because I could have sworn you preferred your syrup squirted aaall over your pancakes."
"No, I like to dip!" Lila crossed her arms over her chest and pouted dramatically.
"I don't know," Logan hedged, bringing his index finger up to his lips in a thinking gesture. "That doesn't sound right. Are you absolutely positive?"
"Daaaaaaady!" she whined dramatically. Rory couldn't help but laugh at the incensed look on her daughter's face. Logan looked up, finally noticing her presence and smiled.
"Morning, Mommy!" Lila said, her pout immediately morphing into a beaming grin.
"Morning, Ace."
"Yes, it is," Rory replied with a raise of her eyebrows, referring to the early hour. She and Truman made her way into the kitchen area. Coming up behind Logan, she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Remind me again why I let you talk me into a vacation that involves early mornings and exercise?"
"Because I'm rich and good looking and I did that thing we can't talk about in front of our daughter."
Rory sighed, rocking back on her heels. "Ahh yes, the thing. That was very convincing."
He turned around to place a quick peck on his wife's lips. "Besides, pandemic approved vacation options are limited. Vermont is driving distance, and skiing involves being outside, and wearing a mask. And also, I promised to do that thing again…" Logan smirked.
"What thing?" Lila asked, through a mouth full of pancake.
The adults gave one another an awkward look.
"Umm, Daddy just gave Mommy a present," Rory subverted.
"Isn't it Daddy's birfday? Why did he give you a present for his birfday?"
"My birthday is next week, Bean," Logan replied, muffling a laugh. "And it wasn't a birthday present."
"What kind of pwesent was it?" she continued to question. "Was it a toy? Was it a My Little Pony? I loves My Little Ponies."
Rory shot Logan an exasperated look. This was his fault; he was the one who brought up the "thing" in the first place.
"Hey kid, you want some bacon?" Logan asked, turning to the sizzling frying pan.
"Is it extra cwispy?" Lila asked.
"Just like you like it," he assured her.
Rory sighed in relief. Thank goodness for short attention spans. Logan doled out a piece of bacon onto his daughter's plate, then divvied up the rest onto his and Rory's plates. Rory poured herself a cup of coffee, making her way around the island to take a seat next to her daughter while Logan poured some pancake batter onto the griddle to finish making their breakfast.
"You and Lila have lessons at 9, but we need to get there a little early so we should leave by 8:30." The cabin was ski-in, ski-out, but since neither Lila nor Rory knew how to ski yet, they would have to drive down to the base to meet their instructors.
Rory groaned. "How about I just stay here and read by the fire while you go skiing?" she suggested.
"Mommy, you have to twy," Lila told her sagely. "You can't know if you likes something or not if you don't twy."
"Kid's got smarts," Logan grinned as he placed a couple pancakes on Rory's plate.
Rory rolled her eyes. "That's just for kids," she pointed at her daughter playfully, tapping her lightly on the nose. "Adults already know what they like."
"Nuh-uh," Lila protested. "It's for everybody."
Rory sighed, turning back to Logan. "It's just for the morning right?"
"That's all you're committed to," Logan assured her. "If you hate it, you're free to spend the entire afternoon rereading your Outlander books," he grinned knowingly.
Rory's eye narrowed in irritation; was a girl not allowed an occasional guilty pleasure—on vacation no less? "You're just jealous that you can't pull off a kilt."
"I would totally rock a kilt. I have great legs! It's all the skiing."
Rory rolled her eyes. "What about Lila?" she asked, changing the subject back.
"They'll have her out on skis for about an hour, then it's basically day care for the rest of the day."
"Fine," Rory huffed. She glanced down at her plate. "But I'm going to need more than two pancakes to sustain me if you intend for me to actually exert myself."
Logan leaned across the island to give her a peck on the lips. "As you wish, Ace. One…" he stopped short at the pointed look on Rory's face and quickly corrected course. "Two more pancakes coming up," he said, pouring two more globs of pancake mix on the griddle.
Rory smiled back in satisfaction. It was true that this was far from her first choice for vacation, but though she'd never admit it to Logan, she supposed there were a few upsides to this place. If only she didn't have to have to actually go skiing.
Rory's face was frozen. And she'd spent the majority of the morning on her ass. On purpose! Her instructor had spent over an hour making her fall and stand back up again. She'd finally taken her up on the magic carpet, which was a very hyped-up name for what was essentially a moving sidewalk, and started showing her how to snowplow—or as the five-year-olds who were skiing circles around her called it—pizza wedge. After another hour of that, Rory finally got to try her first turns.
It was almost noon, and time to call it quits (thank god) but the instructor had decided that she couldn't end without getting onto a ski lift and sliding down an actual mountain. The top of the lift was fast approaching and Rory's chest clenched anxiously as the instructor lifted the safety bar.
"Okay, get your poles in one hand," the instructor advised. "You can put your other hand on the seat for support. You're going to tilt the tips of your skis up just a bit and when you feel them touch the ground, push off with the hand on the lift and stand up."
Rory's heart raced erratically as she made contact with the snow. Gritting her teeth, she stood up and her skis immediately started to move out from under her. She wobbled precariously as she caught her balance and tried to force her skis into a triangle to slow her momentum. She breathed a sigh of relief as she finally came to a stop. The Instructor was standing there smiling reassuringly. "That was great," she told her. "Now let's ski!"
Rory wasn't really feeling all that excited about the prospect, but she supposed she didn't have much of a choice now, considering she was at the top of a ski slope. The only way out of this situation was to ski back to the lodge, or to get some buff, cross-fit loving guy to pick her up fireman style and ski down for her. At least all she had to do was make it to the bottom once, then she had lunch, a warm fire, and a hot, time traveling Scotsman to look forward to. She took a deep breath in preparation, then pushed off with her poles and felt her skis start to slide.
The momentum started to build as she picked up speed. She tried to slow herself by forcing her legs to turn inward, widening the triangle at her feet. It had minimal impact.
"Turn," she heard her instructor yell. With great concentration, she shifted her weight to the outside leg, feeling her skis start to shift beneath her. She was doing it! She was turning! She felt a flare of triumph, just for a moment, before she hit a patch of ice, throwing her weight into the back of her boots and pushing her skis out in front of her.
Just stay calm. Just stay calm. She chanted to herself, trying to keep from completely freaking out. But as her speed picked up, it was becoming harder and harder not to imagine slamming headfirst into a tree or laying on the snow with her legs bent at an unnatural angle. No matter how hard she tried to regain her balance and take back control of the evil contraptions strapped to her feet, it was no hope. With the last shred of rational thought in her head, she made herself fall to the ground as she'd been told to do as a last ditch effort if she couldn't stop herself. But even that was unsuccessful, and gravity continued to pull her down the mountain on her butt until…wham! She collided with the legs of another skier who flew backwards over her head as she continued to slide downward.
Finally, mercifully, she came to a stop. One ski had detached itself about 30 feet up the mountain, but all her limbs seemed to be still attached—and unbroken.
"Oh god!" she cried out, trying to turn over and look up the mountain to see the poor soul she had crashed into.
"Are you okay?" she heard the voice of her instructor ask as she skidded to a stop right next to her.
"I'm fine," she insisted, her voice panicked. "Who'd I hit? Are they okay?"
"I think so, another instructor is checking on them. I've called for ski patrol. Just relax." The instructor started side stepping up the mountain to grab Rory's errant ski and bring it back down.
Rory finally managed to prop herself up enough to see up the mountain to where her victim was. A young man was sitting up and appeared to be in one piece. At least it hadn't been a little kid. "I need to make sure they're okay."
"They're being taken care of, it's alright. Let's just make sure you're okay."
"But…"
"Here," The ski instructor got down and detached her second ski, freeing her to roll into a more comfortable position and push herself up. "Ski patrol is coming."
Rory craned her neck to see a couple of skiers in orange jackets headed towards them with toboggans trailing behind. One of them stopped by the man she had turned into target practice and the other continued down to her. "Oh hell no," Rory screeched. "No way am I getting on that thing." It was embarrassing enough that she'd had a mortifyingly attention-grabbing crash on the bunny slope, now they wanted to strap her down to a sled and pull her down the mountain flat on her back like an invalid? Not gonna happen.
"You had a collision. Ski patrol has to bring you down to the infirmary and check you out. It's a liability thing," the instructor calmly informed her. Rory groaned, burying her face in her hands. Curse her spectacularly bad coordination…and her husband for making her go skiing in the first place. She was going to hold this sled ride of shame over his head for eternity.
As she sat on the exam table waiting to be discharged, Rory was having deep thoughts. Deep, existential, what is the meaning of life, type thoughts.
Like how she wound up here. How had she ended up with this life she was currently living? She remembered, long ago, standing in the kitchen of the house in Martha's Vineyard with her mother and having the realization of what her life could be. She could have a happily ever after with a wonderful man who loved her. She could picture family vacations in that house with all the kids of the extended family playing in the sand while she sat on the porch and wrote. She could have the fairy tale dream that Disney shoved down every little girls' throat. The one she spent most of her childhood scoffing at, thinking she didn't need a prince to come save her; she was going to travel, and write, and make a name for herself—her name; Rory Gilmore. And she was going to do it all by herself.
But standing in that kitchen she thought, maybe she didn't need to do it all by herself. Maybe she could do all those things and have love and a family.
But as quickly as the dream had materialized, it started to fade, for it wasn't even a day later that she'd found out that Logan would be leaving her for London. And as vividly as Rory remembered standing in that kitchen with her mother, she also remembered, a few months later, standing in an elevator with Logan's father, informing her in no uncertain terms that Logan needed to grow up and accept his life and his responsibilities. And she knew he was right. And that was all good and well, except that in order to do it, it meant being away from her. And while they'd made long distance work, remaining committed and happy, a dark little part of her had started to fester. The part that reminded her that she couldn't have it all. The part of her that realized that career and love were often at conflict and that for each of them to achieve their potential, it would mean they'd be faced with the frequent need to sacrifice in their relationship.
And so, when Logan had proposed, that dark part had reared its ugly head. It was true that she wasn't ready to get married. She was young and just really starting to figure out who she was. But she hadn't even tried to salvage their relationship from the ill-timed and poorly considered proposal. She hadn't suggested a long engagement, or a set amount of time for each of them to figure out their careers doing long distance before committing to move back together. She hadn't suggested making the engagement ring a promise ring; and sure, promise rings were cheesy and saccharine (a combination that was as culinarily cringe-worthy as it was emotionally cringe-worthy) but if young love wasn't a time for being sickeningly sentimental, when was?
No, instead, she had let Logan walk away because when he had insisted it was all or nothing, she had believed him. She had believed that neither of them could achieve both love and success.
And she'd punished herself for that decision for years, never fully believing herself destined for a happy family life. But somehow that life had found her again anyway. And it turned out she could have it all; she just had to learn to believe she could again.
She hadn't; not at first. She hadn't believed and so she had kept her secrets. But Logan had found out, and being the eternal optimist he was, he'd agreed to look past his anger and betrayal and decided he would believe enough for the both of them as long as she was willing to try. And she decided to try, because she wanted it more than anything, and because even though she didn't believe, he did, and his optimism was always contagious.
And eventually, love, and hope, and fate had won out—and Logan's confidence (in her and in them) had infected her too. Which is not to say it was easy. It wasn't; and it did often involve compromise and sacrifice (like agreeing to spend her vacation skiing.) But Rory had finally come to realize that sacrifice and compromise were not the boogeymen she'd made them out to be. They were just vehicles to connection, and new experiences, and so many other wonderful things that life had to offer. They were ways to ensure you didn't have to go through this life alone.
And right now she was so beyond glad she had made those compromises. She was comforted to know she wasn't going to be alone for this. But still, with Logan's birthday coming up, she figured she could keep this secret to herself just a little longer.
The door to the infirmary flew open and Rory looked up to see Logan clomping in in his ski boots. His helmet was hanging by the strap over his forearm, his hair was all askew, and the little bit of his face that was visible above the neck warmer he was using as a mask, was red from the whipping of the ice-cold wind. Any animosity she had had towards him for making her go skiing had disintegrated with the news the doctor had imparted on her just a few minutes before; but the site of him sealed the deal. Kilt or no kilt, her husband was incredibly sexy.
"Are you okay, Ace?" he asked, rushing to her side.
"I'm fine," she told him.
He pressed his cloth covered lips to her forehead. "Thank god. I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. I'd gone up to the summit and then I didn't get to check my phone until I was on the gondola on the way up to the summit again which meant I needed to get all the way back up and back down the mountain. God, that was the longest run of my life. And by the way, could ski patrol have been any less informative. Seriously, you tell a man his wife was in a ski accident and don't give any details?"
Behind the medical mask, her lips curled up into a warm smile at Logan's worried rant. She reached up to pat down a particularly unruly cowlick. "I'm okay," she assured him. "And so is Jason."
"Jason?"
"The human bowling pin to my human bowling ball," Rory informed him.
"Ahh, good. I'd hate to see you survive this only to wind up in jail for negligent homicide."
"Hey," Rory protested, "You're the negligent one, coercing me onto skis in the first place. You've seen me try to be athletic before."
Logan turned to the doctor who was making his way over to their curtained off area. "She's really okay?" he asked for confirmation. Rory glanced at the doctor, expressing with her eyes that he was not to say a word. He nodded back at her in silent agreement.
"She's completely uninjured."
"You checked everything?"
"I was very thorough."
"Okay," he sighed with relief, turning back to Rory. "Let's get you back to the cabin."
"Okay, just one thing."
"What?" he asked.
"There is no way I'm putting those ski boots back on so," Rory swung her leg straight out in front of her and pointed at her foot, "you need to get me something else to put on these puppies."
Logan smiled accommodatingly; though Rory couldn't actually see his mouth she was sure it was there. Tyra Banks would be satisfied with his ability to smize. "I'll run out to the car and get your furry snow boots. Let me pack up our skis too and I'll be back in ten," he assured her.
"Thank you," she smiled playfully. She watched as he turned and clunked his way out of the room and she felt her whole-body ache—not with the soreness of trauma, but the glow of love. Love for the man she knew would always be there to take care of her and their family.
AN: My fragile ego really like reviews so please take a second to leave one. I'd be super grateful!
