AN: So this took me quite a while to write. I was having trouble getting the emotions right without being all over the map. Plus sometimes my characters have a mind of their own and I'm writing and they just do something completely unexpected, but completely wonderful (for story/character development, not necessarily something actually wonderful.) Logan did one of those things about halfway through. And then I needed to work that out. But I think I finally got things right and I'm pretty happy with it. Hope you enjoy.

"I'm having one of those moments, right now…" She snuggled further into his side, his one arm cradling her head, the other on his chest, fingers entwined with hers.

"What moments?"

The faint aroma of motor oil surrounded them. They were in a car—or what had once been a car, and one day would be again. It had no wheels and no roof, the seats were unupholstered, and the door had fallen off. But the air was crisp, and cool, and mason jar lights hung above them, like stars they could reach out and touch. And they were together.

"One of those moments when everything is so perfect, and so wonderful, that you almost feel sad because nothing can ever be this good again." It had truly been the perfect evening. From the three different types of pasta, to the meatball; the Firelight Festival, to the most romantic, thoughtful gift she had ever received—he was building her a car.

"So, basically…I'm depressing you?" he joked.

"Yep." They both chuckled softly.

"You're very weird," he told her. His voice was almost reverent, letting her know that 'weird' was code for 'special.'

"And you're wonderful."

They were staring into each other's eyes. The gap between them closed slowly until their lips touched. Gently, tenderly.

The kiss broke. He shifted nervously. "Rory…"

"Yeah?"

He hesitated for a moment before finding the courage to say what he was feeling. "I love you."

Silence.

"Rory?"

She stared down at him, mouth gaping open. She didn't just hear what she thought she'd heard, right? There was no way. It was crazy to even contemplate. It was too soon. And the timing was all wrong. Everyone knew you didn't say "I love you" for the first time right after sex. She was imagining it. It was a strange, euphoria induced hallucination; it had to be.

"I love you," he repeated, propping himself up slightly on his forearm.

…Or not.

Rory's heart was beating madly in her chest. She had the undeniable desire to flee. It was too much. She couldn't breathe.

"Pineapple," she cried out desperately.

"Excuse me?" He blinked.

"Pineapple, pineapple, pineapple!" she repeated.

Logan narrowed his eyes at her. "That's not how safe words work," he informed her, trying not to panic. This wasn't exactly the reaction one wanted after a declaration of love.

"I don't care," she replied. Her one hand clutched the top sheet to her chest while the other gestured frantically. "You said if I was uncomfortable to say the word and you would stop. Well I'm uncomfortable, I called pineapple, you have to stop."

"I can't just stop how I feel, Rory," he persisted, pushing himself all the way up into a sitting position.

"You don't mean it," she insisted, scooting back slightly to maintain some distance between them.

"Yes, I do." Was this some sort of karmic retribution for earlier in the evening when he told her he could argue with her about her feelings? When he told her she didn't hate him the first time they'd had dinner together? Because that was just supposed to be light-hearted banter. It was supposed to be fun. This was definitely not fun.

"No," she shook her head adamantly. "It's just the sex talking."

"Is that what you think?" he asked, his words tinged with hurt. "That I would just say something like that as…what? A thank-you?"

"No, that's not…" she threw the covers off and got out of bed. She couldn't think straight; not with him all warm and naked and looking at her with those disappointed brown eyes of his. She didn't want to disappoint him. "It's the oxytocin," she replied. "It makes you think you feel things you don't."

He was definitely feeling something—a few things actually—as she stood in front of him, naked, and indignant, and gesticulating wildly. How could he be so damn turned on by a woman who was actively breaking his heart? She seemed to suddenly remember her current state of nudity, and she got down on the ground to dig through the pile of clothes, grabbing his button-down shirt and putting it on, drawing the fabric tightly around her torso until she was hugging herself. He didn't know if he was grateful or disappointed.

"Huh?" he asked as he shook the image of her naked from his mind.

"Oxytocin," she repeated. "The love hormone. It's released after sex."

"Yeah, I know what oxytocin is," he replied with an eyeroll. "And I can assure you, it's never made me feel like this before."

"You don't mean it," she said again, willing it to be true. It would ruin everything.

Logan sighed, getting out of bed to approach her. "Rory, please," he said. "Will you please just get back in bed so we can discuss this like rational adults." He reached out to touch her arm and she flinched, pulling away.

"No! I'm sorry, I can't do this…" She stormed from the bedroom.

Logan watched her go, momentarily frozen. How the hell had this happened? One minute everything was perfect—literally perfect—and then suddenly it all exploded. He let out a sigh, raking his fingers through his hair in exasperation. He took a second to take a calming breath. She was just scared; she was freaking out. This was Rory, Queen of the Freakouts. A couple weeks ago she freaked out because she was studying at his place and he didn't have any yellow highlighters. She accused him of sabotaging her study efforts so they would make-out instead.

He could fix this. He just needed to not let her bait him into saying something he would regret. He grabbed his boxer briefs off the floor, pulling them on and following her into the living room.

Her suitcase was open and she had a sweater and pair of jeans in her hands already. "What are you doing?" he asked. The calm he was trying so hard to maintain instantly gone.

"I'm leaving," she replied, not looking up.

"It's after midnight, we're over 50 miles from home, and you don't have a car. Where are you going to go?" he asked. "The craps tables?"

"I'll call a cab."

"The hell you will," he growled, walking over to her and slamming the top of her suitcase shut.

She dropped her clothes and spun around to face him. "Why are you doing this?" she cried.

"Doing what? Keeping you from getting into a car with a stranger in the middle of the night and travelling through rural Connecticut? Sorry for not wanting you to get raped and murdered."

"Why are you ruining this?" she cried out in distress. Tears were building behind her eyes. She pressed her palms to her eyelids, trying to hold them back.

"Why am I…?" he stuttered? "Are you serious? You're the one throwing the toddler-sized temper tantrum." So much for not letting himself get baited.

"Everything was perfect. Why couldn't you just leave well enough alone?" The tears were falling now, and a part of him wanted to reach out and hold her, to take away her pain, whatever was causing it. But he was hurting too.

"Well gee, Rory," he snarked. "I guess I just didn't realize that the mere thought of me loving you was so terrible it would send you fleeing."

"You're mad," she sniffled, crossing her arms and hugging herself.

Why? Because I say I love you and you want to think about it? I mean, go home and discuss it with your mother? Make one of your pro-con lists? The sense of deja vu was overwhelming.

"Yeah, I'm mad. I didn't ask for this. I didn't want this. I was perfectly content living my life not getting attached to anyone. But then you showed up and you made me fall for you."

"I didn't make you anything. This isn't my fault."

"No, you're right," he replied. "You didn't make me. But I fell anyway." He took a step towards her. "I fell in love with you, Rory." Another step. "I love you. And for the life of me, I can't figure out why the hell that scares you so damn much."

"Because you'll leave!" she shouted, collapsing into his arms.

"Huh?"

"I'm not ready," she cried into his chest as he gently stroked her back, unsure what else to do at this sudden shift. "And if I can't say it back, you'll leave. Just like he did."

"Like who did?" He was very confused.

"Dean," she sniffled into his chest.

"I thought you left Dean for Jess…"

"No, the first time," she shook her head. "On our three-month anniversary. Everything was perfect, then he said he loved me and when I couldn't say it back he broke up with me."

"Hey," he said. Things were starting to make sense. He was still hurt by her reaction, but at least this was something he could work with. "Dean's an idiot. And I'm not going to leave you." He guided her over to the couch and they sat down. She curled herself into a ball, head in his lap.

"But…" she resisted, tears trailing down her cheeks.

"No buts," he told her, gently stroking her hair. "I know I'm new to this whole 'love' thing, but one thing I know is that it means that I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me."

"Even if I don't love you?" she sniffled.

Logan cringed. "Wow, you really like to pour salt in the wound there, don't you, Ace."

"I'm sorry," she replied meekly.

"It's okay," he nodded, trying to get passed his own ego. He did love her. He meant it. So it had to be okay, even if it hurt. Even if she didn't love him back—yet. What was the alternative? There was none. He couldn't for the life of him fathom how Dean could have walked away from her. Not if he really loved her. Not if he felt like this. "I mean, if you could refrain from actually saying it, that would be great…"

"I'm sorry," she said again, glancing up at him. Her tears were drying up now, and she was starting to feel a little embarrassed by her outburst. But despite it all, he was still there, consoling her. She pushed herself up, wiping at her cheeks.

"I know. I know you. Always overthinking things in that pretty little head of yours." He stroked his thumb over her temple. "It's not easy for you to open your heart up like that. But even if you're not quite there yet, you opened yourself up to me tonight in a way that you've never done with anyone else. That means a lot."

Rory blushed at his allusion to sex. She had really done it. She'd laid herself bare before him. She'd given him her body; her trust. And it had been amazing. He had been amazing. He always was. He was always patient with her. He always knew the right thing to say—to rile her up or to calm her down. He got her.

"I don't regret it," she told him, biting her lip coyly. She was suddenly feeling all tingly inside.

"That's good to know," he smirked.

She placed her hand on his thigh and leaned in until her mouth was right next to his ear. "I really enjoyed myself," she whispered.

He inhaled sharply as her hand slipped between his legs. "Ace" he hissed, placing his hand over hers to still her. "You don't have to…I didn't mean…" This was all wrong. She was upset…vulnerable. She thought she had something to prove to him. But it took very little to have him at attention; after waiting so long, and finally being reminded of how good sex felt. Plus, it was Ace—a pure dichotomy of shy, unassuming school girl and fierce, confident woman.

"I know. I want to."

"You're still upset," he said breathily, using every ounce of his restraint.

"No," she shook her head, taking her hand back and bringing it up to start undoing the buttons of the shirt she wore. "You're right—you're not Dean…"

"Please don't mention your ex-boyfriend while you're…doing that." He stared helplessly as her shirt fell open.

"I just mean you're patient, and you understand me. I should have trusted you. I overreacted." She kissed his neck.

"Yeah," he ground out through gritted teeth. "That seems to be a theme here."

Her hand slipped below the waistband of his underwear to grasp him.

Fuck it, he wasn't a saint. There was only so much self-control a man could be expected to have. He grabbed her leg, pulling it over his lap so she was straddling him and pulled her head down for a bruising kiss. She lowered herself down, rubbing her center against his growing bulge.

"Ace," he growled.

"Bedroom," she panted.

He wrapped his arms around her and stood up, carrying her across the living room, back into the bedroom and depositing her on the bed. She was still wearing his shirt but it was open, and she was naked underneath. He quickly rid himself of his boxer briefs and joined her on the bed.

"You're sure about this?" he managed to ask with the last vestiges of sane thought he had left.

"I want you," she told him. And she did. She wanted to feel him inside her again. To feel connected to him. To know that he was still hers; that she was still his.

He reached over for a condom, tearing the package open with his teeth.

"Let me…" she took the half open package from him. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth and her hands rolled the latex down his shaft. He opened his eyes, staring down at her lustily. He hastily shoved her legs apart.

She knew instantly that this was nothing like the first time. The first time had been slow, and gentle. He'd made her feel precious, and fragile. This time was rough and needy. She could feel his frustration, but also his desire. And she wanted it. She wanted to be devoured.

He shoved into her and her hips rose up off the bed. "Fuck!"

He didn't slow down this time, or stop to ask her what she wanted. He just took what he needed, pounding away inside her, hard, and fast, and rough.

"So close," she breathed out as she felt her muscles start to quiver. "God, Logan!" There was no holding back; he exploded inside of her with her coming just a second later.

He rolled off her and as the orgasm induced haze faded, he felt the self-loathing bubble up inside him. What had he just done? He sat up, turning away from her, feet on the floor. He removed the condom and threw it away.

"Hey," she reached up to touch his back reassuringly.

"I'm sorry," he replied, still not able to look at her. "I shouldn't have…" He shouldn't have let himself give into his baser instincts like that. He'd lost all control.

"I wanted to." True, it wasn't like the first time. He wasn't gentle and kind. He wasn't selfless and loving. He was…vulnerable; unvarnished, imperfect. He'd needed her—in every sense of the word. And she hadn't realized until that moment how much she'd needed that. How much she'd needed him to lose control and let go of the perfect veneer he always seemed to wear.

"No," he shook his head. "Not like that."

"You're mad." It was a statement of fact.

"Yes, I'm mad. I shouldn't have treated you that way."

"No, I mean at me." Despite all the right words, and his assurances that he understood, deep down, he was mad at her. And he had a right to be.

"What?" he finally did turn around to face her. "No!"

"Yes." She nodded her head. She scooted herself around to sit next to him, his shirt was still on her and she pulled it closed. "It's okay. You're allowed to be mad at me." And it was okay, because he had meant what he'd said. He wasn't going anywhere. He could be angry and upset, and still stick around. He wasn't Dean, or Jess…or her for that matter. He didn't run away when things got tough.

"I meant what I said. I understand why you're not ready to say it back. I don't need you to say it."

"But you want me to." She put her hand reassuringly on his leg.

"Of course I want you to," he snapped. "I did everything—everything—to make this perfect for you."

"And you did. It was perfect."

"Great. Your first time was perfect. Well guess what? This was a first for me too. I've never loved anybody before. And your response was far from perfect. You literally ran crying from the room. And I get it. I get why you freaked out, but that doesn't stop it from hurting," he blurted out.

"Feel better?" she asked, resting her head on his shoulder. Rory understood, better than most, the healing powers of a good, emotional rant.

"A little, maybe. At you. But not at me." He went back to staring at his feet.

"You don't have to be perfect, Logan," she assured him.

He laughed derisively. "I'm far from perfect."

"But you're expected to be."

"I'm a Huntzberger," he replied bitterly.

"I don't care."

"I know you don't," he answered, finally able to turn and look her in the eye.

"I don't expect you to be perfect. I don't want you to be perfect."

He reached up to cradle her face in his hand. "You deserve someone perfect."

"I don't deserve anything," she replied. "This is a relationship. It goes both ways. You don't need to protect me from everything. And you really don't need to protect me from you. I'm a big girl, I can take it."

"I'm not so sure about that." He shook his head, drawing his hand away from her face.

Rory was silent. His reaction stung, but she needed to let him get it out.

"I'm sorry, Rory. I love you, I do…but you're a flight risk. You were worried about me leaving, but you're the one who ran away. And it's not the first time. You say you don't expect me to be perfect, but…" he let out a sigh, "but your actions say something different."

She fought her natural inclination to get defensive. What he said was not untrue. She was a runner. She'd given him plenty of reasons to be skeptical. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, searching for the right words to explain herself. She took his hand in hers, entwining their fingers together. "It's not your imperfections that scare me, Logan, it's your lack of them."

Logan scoffed, turning his head away again.

"I'm serious," she said, climbing into his lap and taking his face in her hands. She needed him to hear this. "You are insanely smart," she told him. "One of the smartest people I've ever met. You're gorgeous," she smirked, caressing his beautiful face. "You're adventurous and outgoing; charismatic. And despite your best efforts to hide it," she added, "you're kind, and loyal, and generous."

"I think your brain is the one being clouded by oxytocin," he replied half-jokingly.

"I'm serious," she said. "You could have any girl you wanted…"

"I want you…" he immediately interjected.

"I know, I just don't always understand why."

He opened his mouth to reply, ready to spout off all her amazing qualities, but she silenced him with a finger. "This isn't 'validate Rory' time. You've done enough of that tonight. This is about you." She leaned down for a quick kiss.

"You're amazing," he replied anyway.

"Sometimes," she agreed. "And sometimes I'm a hot mess. But you love me anyway."

"I do," he agreed.

"Would you love me as much if I wasn't a mess?" she asked.

"Now what would be the fun in that?" he asked with an impish grin, starting to relax.

"Exactly," she replied. "I care about you so much, Logan. I am falling in love with you. But if you want me to get all the way there, you need to let me see the messy sides of you too."

"Messy, huh?" he asked. She nodded her head. "I can do messy," he agreed. He was feeling better now, and ready to put this serious business to bed. And that wasn't all he suddenly wanted to put to bed. "Hell, I can be downright sloppy." He placed a wet kiss on the side of her neck.

She giggled. "Again?" she asked, more than a little impressed. Not that she was completely opposed to the idea. But then again, he'd been doing most of the work all night. He had to be tired.

"I think we've earned it, don't you?" he asked.

"Absolutely," she replied earnestly, leaning in for a kiss on the lips.

He rolled them back on to the bed, until he was hovering over her. "Let's get messy."

AN2: There you have it. A bit of an emotional whirlwind, but a happy ending nonetheless. Logan got a little dark there in the middle which was the unexpected thing I was talking about. But I was kind of sick of how perfect Logan was in this story. It was feeling a little unrealistic, so I'm glad he let it out. What do you guys think? Do you prefer perfect Logan or do you want to see more of his messy side too?

I've still got a little more of this story in me, but since they're on a good note now with no cliffhangers, I'm going to concentrate on RLH for a bit (that's my post AYITL fic for those of you who don't know)