All right, all right, my recent atomic explosion of Rory/Logan muse is bugging me to do this, and you know how the muse hates to be ignored... ;-) Warning: THIS FIC IS STRICTLY ROGAN [SOPHIE] / JAVAJUNKIE, because *I* am strictly Rogan [Sophie] / JavaJunkie. If you're into Literati, that's great, *I'm* not, NOT at ALL, so either please, enjoy this fic, or find one you can enjoy. Flames on the basis of pairing preference are uncalled for: know what you're stepping into, people.

Okay, this is usually right about the place where I talk a little bit about what's coming up, but you know what? I really don't want to give anything away here. I'll just say that I have NEVER done something like this before (I like Gilmore Girls too much, and there was always a lot of pressure associated with making up the rest of their lives), and that you'll see a whole bunch of familiar and beloved characters. (And yes, before you say anything, I AM still working on the other fics-in-progress.)

Also, I don't own anything I might reference in this story. And I do own my idea of Rory & Logan's daughter, Ellie, and if somebody out there has used that name for her before, I'm sorry, I didn't take it, it's a common idea and there are only so many nicknames for "Lorelai." Oh, and the title of this story is the name of a Chuck Berry song, which they played when Rory and Logan were at Finn's birthday party in the season 5 episode "Pulp Friction."

This first chapter isn't really the beginning...more like a...pre-beginning, hence the chapter title, "Previously On Gilmore Girls." I just wanted to set up the basis for the main story. Okay! Let's get this show on the road---literally. We're on the Obama campaign trail in late June, 2007, about a month after the series finale....



"...So like I was saying, I kept telling him, 'I don't have the hard copy, you never gave it to me,' and of course he's looking at me like something out of a Wes Craven movie with six heads, and so he says 'Why would I say I gave it to you if I didn't?' I wanted to say, 'do the words Jose Cuervo mean nothing to you, Ty?' But of course the idiot didn't think to save the copy on the Mac, and there was a deadline, so we had to hunt for it.... Rory? Are you listening?"

At the sound of her name, Rory stopped walking and looked up, and Myra stopped along with her. "What? Oh, yeah, yes, absolutely---Jose Craven, I'm with ya."

Effectively, yes, that was a lie---Rory just didn't want to admit it. More specifically, she didn't want to admit that she didn't want to be here, a month into the campaign trail, racing around and staying in seedy motels and walking down a Manchester, New Hampshire street with Myra from the Newswire talking about...whatever she was talking about. Sure, the campaign was everything she'd ever dreamed for a starting job, but....

"Rory?" The sound of her fellow reporter's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. "Yeah, 'cause I hear Jose Craven's real big with the red carpet set. What's with you? You okay?"

It was sweet of Myra to be concerned, it really was, but she had no reason to be, really she didn't, and Rory put on a succinct smile. Shook her head, too. "Really, I'm fine. Just a little wired, I guess. Too much coffee, not enough sleep. I swear it's nothing."

"You sure you're okay Ace?"

What? Rory stared at Myra in disbelief, blinking just to make sure her eyes weren't acting as freaky as her ears. "What?"

"I said, you sure you're okay Gilmore? God, I guess that answers my question."

Oh. Well. Good. "No, no no no, Myra, that doesn't answer your question, I'm fine, I promise. Just tired---maybe a little overheated too, come to think of it... But I'm okay. Really. Scout's honor."

One more convincing Rory smile, and that was enough to satisfy Myra for the moment. "All right, Gilmore, I'll buy it. Just do us both a favor and don't write anything while you're in la-la land; distraction does not bode well for the editor, and we all know how fun those red pens are." A quick laugh at that, then she pointed to a café down the street. "I'm gonna get one of those big soft pretzels; you want anything?"

"No, I'm gonna wait here, see if I can find my notes on the similarities between the senator and Noam Chomsky---I had 'em yesterday, but I think I might have left them on the bus or something, I don't know."

Myra shrugged---she was somewhat used to the note-taking whirlwind that was Rory. "Knock yourself out."

Staying behind from the pretzel hunt, Rory found a bench and started sifting through the stack of notes she'd been carrying whose width rivaled that of a compact dictionary. Everything for her current story was there, and everything for the one she'd sent in on Thursday, but so far nothing on the Chomsky angle.

Of course, as the sadistic Luck would have it, the wind chose to kick up at that moment. Rory managed to keep most of the stack in order, but one lone, stupid sheet of paper blew from the bottom and went tumbling and fluttering down the street.

"Agh! No!" Clutching a death-grip onto what she had left, Rory bolted out of her seat and went gracelessly running after it. There was tripping involved, some 'excuse me' -ing and a certain amount of undignified scrambling---this stupid stubborn paper seemed to think that the gutter was the only place to travel in. And then, after almost taking out a pedestrian and two bikes, her journey ended. At a black pair of shoes. And the black-clad pair of legs that went with it.

"Hi Rory."

She knew that voice. She'd known that voice for three years, and she wasn't hearing things this time. She imagined if she looked up, she'd see probably a shirt and a jacket and then after that a head, 'cause that's usually the next thing you found on a human, and the head would have the face on it that she hadn't seen since graduation.... So she did look up, and she stood up, and she was right, except he was scruffier than usual.


"Hi," she managed. There was a fighting chance that she was actually awake right now, so she figured it would be best to actually say something, you know, just in case.

With the slightest shadow of his old smirk, Logan pulled a sheet of paper from behind his back. He handed it to Rory, who took it tentatively. "I'd keep a tighter leash on page ninety here. Caught him makin' a break for it. Must have been some mutiny---you use the non-eco-friendly highlighters again?"

"Thanks," was all she said to that, indicating her notes.

Logan sighed, shuffling a little in his place, and then: "Big story, huh?"

Rory nodded.

"So you're actually comparing Noam Chomsky to Barack Obama."

"Oh, now, come on," she said suddenly.

"That's like saying Dick Cheney and Winston Churchill would have made good golf buddies."

"Well which one's Cheney, Barack or Noam?"

"Not the point, Ace."

"I stand by my reasons."

The smirk was back in full now. "You always do." Something about that---probably the note of nostalgia and caring in that; more than a note, more like a letter, actually---proceeded to bring any comfortable banter to a screeching halt.

There was another beat of silence as the breeze floated over them, and then, quietly---really, was there any other way to do this?---Rory spoke. "Logan, what are you doing here?"

"Here? What, New Hampshire's a cool scene; thought I'd come by and drop a few tax dollars on one of those, 'My friend went to New Hampshire and all I got was this lousy t-shirt' t-shirts."


Another sigh; this one somehow saying so much more than the last one. That he was exhausted, that he didn't know how to say this. "I miss you, Rory. I thought just splitting up would be easier than going backwards, back to the long-distance thing, but it didn't take long before I realized I'd rather spend five minutes a day catching you on the phone than not spend the rest of my life with you. I was an idiot to walk away like I did. In fact I'm a little surprised you didn't bolt in the other direction when you saw it was me."

"Well," Rory said carefully, more than a little blindsided, "For a while there I would have. I wanted to hate you. I tried to hate you, but I just couldn't do that." Her words came slowly, like Bambi learning to walk. "First I tried to just...push everything away, and not deal with it, and that didn't last.... Then I was mad at you for leaving, because it killed me to watch you walk away like that, until I realized...I kind of killed you too. By saying no. I..."

"No, Rory, don't blame yourself for that; you weren't ready, I should've known you weren't ready. It's just...for the first time in my life, I was ready, and I didn't want to wait." Logan paused again, and again this time, what he said afterward was more than a little surprising. "I quit that job in California."

Rory's eyes went wide. More so than usual. "What? Logan, no! That job was---"

"Not where I wanted to be," he finished. "Relax, Ace; It went very well, they took it very professionally, I even got a severance package, not much, but it was something. In fact one of the guys out in Palo Alto must have liked me, 'cause he gave me a reccomendation for this online business consultant. I got the job---I can work from anywhere that gets an internet signal, no office required."

"Wow, Logan, that's...that's amazing," Rory managed. All of this was just so...out of the blue, and it wouldn't have been so hard to wrap her head around if she hadn't just spent the past month hoping for it, wanting to see him, hoping to hear what it sounded like he was saying....

"Yeah, well. I've got a lot of time to make up for," he told her, the sincerity in his voice apparent. "Rory, when you were trying to figure out whether to take the job at the ProJo, and you had the pro-con list, I told you I'd factor you in. Now I don't know when I must have forgotten that, but I'm not anymore. I've memorized the campaign schedule, I've been following your route for three days, I took a plane and two buses just to get here to tell you that I love you, and I'm sorry, and if you still want me I don't care if I have to wait a hundred years for you to be ready, I'm not going anywhere. I love you, Rory."

Once the speech was over, Logan just stood there, looking like he'd just done a 20-yard dash and waiting for her to say anything, anything at all, just some small sign that at least she'd heard him and wasn't about to kick him anywhere unpleasant without proper warning.

But he only had a millisecond to wait. Rory kissed him, without hesitation, more grateful than ever that she actually was awake. And if she wasn't...well, she'd just as soon stay here anyway.

After a thousand years they pulled apart just enough to catch a breath, and you would've had to have been blind to miss the giant grins across their faces. "You're factoring me in?" Rory whispered.

"I'm factoring you in."

"And you don't mind waiting?"

"'Till the cows come home."

"And you're coming with me?"

"Following the whole route, just try and stop me."

"You're too good to me, Huntzberger."

"Kiss me, Gilmore."

When Myra came back from the shop, giant pretzel in hand, she stopped in her tracks when she saw what was going on. Suddenly it was perfectly clear what had been wrong with Rory---a guy thing, something to do with Mr. Tall Blonde and Handsome, no doubt---and something told her it wasn't going to be a problem anymore.

A smirk crept across her face, and she shook her head, chuckling to herself. She'd been right. Ty owed her twenty bucks.



^^ Yay! XD I really tried to work it out so that they could be together without Rory giving up the reporter job, so ditching Logan's job in Palo Alto seemed the best way to do that---I'm hoping it came across like I wanted it to. At any rate, please review, and let the story begin!