Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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!

Chapter Text

"I gots to go on the magic carpet, only it wasn't like Jasmine's. It didn't fly, and it wasn't pwetty colors. But it was still fun. And I made pizza with my skis. And then I had pizza for lunch, only it was yucky." Lila's little face scrunched up in distaste.

Logan chuckled silently as he listened to her tell them all about her day. Seeing the world through the eyes of a three-year-old was always amusing. There was so much joy in her, even when she was describing things she didn't like. "Why was the pizza yucky?" he asked. Why wouldn't it be yucky was probably a safer question. Pizza from a cafeteria in Vermont was a long way away from real New York Pizza. Their kid had been brought up on the good stuff.

"The cheese was weird," she explained. "And the crust. And also, the sauce."

"So basically, all of it," Rory surmised from her spot snuggled up against Logan's side, the paper she'd been reading folded in her lap as she listened to Lila talk while playing with her LOL Surprise dolls.

"Yuh huh," Lila nodded in agreement. "But we gots a bwownie for snack and I love bwownies. And then Miss Susie read us a story about Squirrels on Skis before nap time. And after nap we got to play in da snow and I made a snow angel. And Madison likeded my hat because it had a horse on it and it was purple which is her favowit color, just like mine. And I got to tell her all about how I have my own horseys and she thought that was sooooo cool."

"You don't have any horseys," Rory reminded her daughter. Gramcy Lorelai has horseys at the inn, and Uncle Colin has a horsey, but you don't have a horsey…" she turned to give a pointed look at Logan. "And you won't be getting one."

"But I thought Unca Colin's horse was yours too, don't you share?" He heard Rory sigh. She hated horses. But Colin, for some strange reason, had gifted half ownership of his racing thoroughbred to Rory. She'd tried on more than one occasion to give up her stake in the beast, but Colin refused. Which meant Lila likely would have her own horse eventually, once Queenie's racing days were over.

"That's not exactly how it works, Bean," Logan informed her. "Queenie is a special kind of horse who runs races. She lives with a special trainer. That's why we only get to see her at the racetrack."

"Yeah, but sometimes after a wace Unca Colin lets me give her a cawot. That makes us fwends."

"Can't argue with that logic," Rory laughed. "I know giving me food is the quickest way to earn my friendship."

"I don't like cawots," Lila said. "Or peas. Peas are yucky." She stuck out her tongue.

Logan laughed. "One of the few things you have in common with Grandpa Mitch. That and the way you take so naturally to bossing other people around."

"Hey," Rory objected sitting up. "Lila is not bossy, she just knows what she likes."

"I didn't say bossy was a bad thing."

Rory tiled her head and glared. "You compared her to your father."

"I was joking," Logan defended. "And besides, by comparing her to my father that takes away any gender-based connotations to the word." Rory continued to glare.

"Fine," Logan acquiesced. "She shares Mitchum's dislike of peas and his innate leadership abilities. Better?"

"Yes," Rory agreed. "Hey Lila, why don't you and I go make some popcorn for the movie while Dad takes Truman for his walk?"

Truman, upon hearing the "w" word, immediately jumped off the couch and started running in circles around the room, barking and wagging his tail. Lila giggled jubilantly at his antics. Lila had been begging them for a dog for about as long as she'd been able to pronounce the word "doggy." And when Paul Anka had died last year, even Rory had found herself missing the presence of a canine companion. But their work schedules and constant travelling had not been conducive to the introduction of a new dog into the house. But then the pandemic hit and they'd both found themselves working from home the vast majority of the time. So, with the extra time on their hands, and the lack of other social interactions, they'd finally given in. And when Lila met the lovable, enthusiastic, doofy, black lab mix, her reaction had made it all worth it; it had been love at first site.

"Can I go wit Daddy?" she asked, chasing after Truman.

"No, Bean," Logan said standing up from his spot on the couch. "It's dark and there's a lot of snow and ice. You stay inside with Mommy. I bet if you ask reeeeal nice, she'll let you make unicorn popcorn." Unicorn popcorn was Lila's favorite. The popcorn was tossed with pink food dye and drizzled with pink and blue candy melts to create a disgusting rainbow confection.

Rory groaned but relented. "We'll make half unicorn and keep half plain for us boring grown-ups." Logan laughed, knowing that Rory would wind up eating the unicorn crap anyway. She was a Gilmore, the sweeter and more disgusting a treat, the more they loved it.

"Yippee." Lila jumped around. She ran to her Mom and grabbed her arm, pulling her up off the couch and guiding her into the kitchen.

Logan headed for the sliding doors that led to the deck and the yard behind. He put on his coat, scarf, hat and gloves, then leaned over, slapping his legs to summon the pup. "Common Buddy." Truman came running over, skidding to a stop and sitting in front of Logan's legs, his tongue hanging out of his mouth and almost down to the ground as he wiggled excitedly. Logan snapped on the leash and headed out the door.

Logan breathed in the fresh, crisp air as he made his way down the deck stairs to the snow-covered lawn. His mother-in-law had this thing about being able to smell snow, and some people thought she was crazy, but Logan knew exactly what she meant. Maybe it wasn't so much a smell, as a feeling. The feeling of fresh, crisp, snowy air coating the inside of his nose and throat and tingling in his lungs. It was one of the great pleasures of life. That feeling, that smell, it always brought him back to the slopes. Back to those rare moments as a kid when his family had actually felt like a family. Most of their vacations were to places like Paris or Rome where they'd walk around museums and visit his parent's stuffy friends and business associates. But ski vacations were family vacations. Logan remembered sitting aside his father on the chair lift as a kid with his Dad giving him pointers on how to master those moguls. He remembered his Mom greeting him and Honor at the end of the day with a cup of hot cocoa (The instant kind, of course because his mother was still Shira, but at least she did it, because during ski trips they would give the nanny time off). He remembered them all sitting together in the evenings and duking it out over a blood thirsty game of Trivial Pursuit.

That's why he'd worked so hard to convince Rory to give this a try. Skiing was the only time in his childhood he'd felt happy, the only time he'd felt like he was part of a real family. And he wanted to be able to recreate those moments for Lila.

But he should have known better. Rory could barely walk down a hill without stumbling, let alone ski down one. And when he'd gotten that voicemail earlier telling him she'd been in an accident he'd almost thrown himself down the mountain just to get to her quicker. The only time in his entire life he'd been quite so scared was when Lila was just over a year old and she'd rolled of the bed when he'd had his back turned to grab her clean onesie. But at least then he'd been right there with her.

Logan had lost Rory more times than he cared to admit. And most, if not all of them had been his own fault. But if he lost her now… He didn't know how he'd go on without her; how their daughter would go on without her. He never should have pushed her to get on those skis; she sure as hell wouldn't be getting on them again.

The only good thing about all this was that she didn't seem to be mad at him. If anything, she'd been acting even more attentive and devoted all afternoon. Actually, it was kind of weird.

Logan's thoughts were interrupted as Truman stopped to do his business. He pulled a doggie bag out of his pocket and bent down to clean up after him, then headed back into the house, disposing of the waste in an outdoor trash can near the base of the deck steps.

He made his way back in to see his wife and daughter preparing the candy melts while the air popper popped away.

"Did we pick a movie?" he asked as he disposed himself of his outerwear. "We're not watching Fr—"

"Shh!" Rory hushed him with a panicked look in her eye. "Don't mention the 'F' word." Logan grimaced in distress. "We're going to watch Ice Age," she informed him. He breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't exactly Schindler's List, but at least it wasn't Frozen. Or Frozen 2.

"I'll get it set up," he said with a smile, heading over to the family area to pull the movie up on the Roku and start the fire. He glanced back over at Rory and Lila who were smiling as they drizzled melted candy over a bowl of pink popcorn. Maybe Rory would never get on skis again, but ski vacations would always fill him with joy.

Truman's big, blocky head rested on Logan's left thigh. Lila was asleep, her torso reclined against Rory's with her little legs draped over his lap, her toes precariously close to Truman's notoriously overactive tongue. The fingers of Rory's left hand were interwoven with his, while her right hand gently combed through Lila's flaxen locks.

His legs were going numb but he had no desire to move as the movie credits played.

"Skiing's not so bad," Rory said softly so as not to wake the slumbering child.

"Really?" Logan chuckled.

"Okay, well skiing sucks. But this part I could learn to live with."

"Well, as long as you can 'learn to live with it,'" he joked with a laid-back smile.

"I aim to please."

Logan reached his left hand across his body to gently caress her face. "You succeed," he told her, leaning in for a quick kiss. "Thank you for doing this for me. It means a lot. My family, well…ski trips are some of the few good childhood memories I have with them."

Rory closed her eyes, inhaling softly as a peaceful look washed over her face. "I want our…" there was an infinitesimal pause, "family to have lots of good memories."

"Me too," Logan agreed.

"We should get her to bed," Rory nodded at the kid they were trapped beneath.

"Just another minute," he replied. He took a few seconds to revel in the feel of being wrapped up in everyone he loved before finally moving to shift Lila into his arm so he could carry her to bed.

The three of them made their way upstairs with Truman tagging behind. Rory opened the door to Lila's bedroom for him and he proceeded to the bunk bed along the wall, laying Lila down on the bottom bed where the covers were still mussed from the night before. He took the quilt and straightened it out, tucking her in tightly. He paused for a moment, reveling in the sweet innocence of her. As much as Logan adored his daughter's youthful enthusiasm and zest for life, watching her sleeping so peacefully was the best feeling the world.

Finally he turned around to see Rory leaning against the door frame, watching with the same serene look he imagined he'd had a moment before as he had watched Lila.

"You're an amazing Dad," she told him as he walked her way.

"Well, I've got a pretty great kid—and an amazing wife."

Rory shook her head languidly. "I agree she's pretty great, and your wife is amazing, but you…you are…" she paused, "well I don't have my thesaurus on me at the moment, but even if I did, I'm not sure there's a superlative strong enough to describe you."

Logan looked at her suspiciously, cocking his head to the side. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head on that fall?"

Rory just chuckled quietly, reaching up to stroke his temple, then leaning forwards to press her lips forcefully into his. "I love you," she whispered.

He smiled contently. "I love you too." They stood there for a couple of minutes, just staring into each other's eyes like lovesick school kids.

"So," he finally broke the silence. "What do you want to do now? We could watch a grown-up movie."

Rory just shook her head.

"Ooh, we could go in the hot tub," he smirked. "Very therapeutic after a sports injury."

Rory seemed to perk up for a moment as she contemplated this idea, but then her face fell and her shoulders slumped. It was an odd reaction, Logan noted. "I think it's supposed to be ice first, then heat," she said.

"We could roll around in the snow first," he teased.

Rory smiled sanguinely before grabbing his hand. "Truman, go sleep with Lila," she told the dog, pointing to the bed with her free hand. Truman looked back and forth from the adults to the sleeping child, before trotting over to the bed, jumping on, and curling up by Lila's feet. Rory dimmed the lights in the room and tugged Logan's hand, guiding him out of the room and down the hall to the master bedroom.

Rory opened the door and backed into the room, pulling Logan with her. Her eyes were dark and heady, her pupils dilated. It was a look that was unmistakable to Logan.

"Are you sure?" he asked, closing the door behind them. "You're feeling alright? You're not too sore or anything?"

"I'm a little sore," Rory acknowledged. "But it's mostly from several hours of being made to stand in my 'athletic pose, like I'm getting ready to hit a volleyball,'" Rory laughed. "I didn't have the heart to tell her that, aside from that one tragic gym class junior year at Chilton, I've never played volleyball."

"I doubt you missed your calling," he backed her up against the wall.

"Probably not."

He leaned his head down, pressing his lips to the pulse point just below her ear. "You're sure there aren't any injuries. Nothing you might need me to kiss better?" he asked, his voice husky.

"I fell on my butt," she giggled.

"Well, then," he spun her around so her front was pressed against the wall, running his hands down her sides to her ass. He kissed the back of her neck while his fingers curled around the waist band of her flannel pajama bottoms, pushing them down to expose the swell of her bottom. He got down on his knees, his hands caressing her back side before placing a whispering kiss on one cheek, then the other. He felt her body melt a little. "Better?" he asked teasingly.

"Mmm," Rory hummed. "A little."

He let his hands travel down the outside of her legs, then stroked lightly back up the insides, pushing them apart to give himself room. He grabbed her by the waist, tugging her butt towards him so she was bent over, her forearms perched against the wall for support.

He palmed the round of her ass with both his hands. "Where does it hurt?" he asked. He leaned forward to place another kiss, this one more firm, on her ass.

"A little lower," she whispered throatily.

Logan moved his lips infinitesimally lower. "Now?"

"Lower."

He inched his way down ever so slightly, letting his fingers dance at the crease of her bottom, so close to her center he could feel the heat starting to pool there.

"Lower."

He moved his fingers inward, using them to spread her lips apart before finally bringing his mouth to its prime location and placing a tongueless kiss to her opening. He felt her weight shift forward a touch as her head dropped down helplessly.

"There?" he asked with a grin, not removing his lips from her skin.

"There," she hissed. He let his nose drag along her slit, spreading her wetness. "Oh god."

He finally released his tongue, letting it lap against her folds. She sighed and he felt her legs tremble. He used his hands to steady her as his mouth plundered her pussy; licking, sucking, laving at her opening, his tongue darting deeper and deeper.

She tried to muffle her cries as best she could but as he brought her closer and closer to the edge, she couldn't hold back any longer. "Fuck, Logan. Yes, yes, yes," she chanted. Then, with one final thrust of his tongue, a deep, guttural groan came tumbling from her mouth as her whole body shook and went limp, leaning forward into the wall to catch her weight. Logan remained where he was for a moment, continuing to help hold her up until he was sure the strength had returned to her legs. He stood up with a satisfied smirk on his face.

"How we feeling now?" he asked over her shoulder.

'"It's a start," she shrugged, feigning nonchalance. She turned herself around to face him. She took her thumb, running it over his lips and then bringing it to her mouth to taste.

Logan groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. "The things you do to me, Ace."

The corner of her mouth turned up friskily. "I haven't even begun to do the things I'm going to do to you," she warned, pulling her pajama top off and walking naked towards the bed. She gave a flippant glance over her shoulder at him before crawling onto the mattress. Logan quickly divested himself of his clothes and joined her.

He lay on his back, one arm folded under him and the other out to his side supporting Rory's head. She was lying on her side, an arm draped over his torso, a leg wrapped around his. He was thoroughly sated and the drowsiness was starting to take over.

"Logan," Rory said, startling him out of his post sex stupor. He let his head flop to the side to look at her. She propped her top half up on her forearm, the blankets slipping down to reveal her naked breasts. Logan felt a slight stirring at the sight, but not enough to overcome the torpor that ran through him. It seemed so very not long ago that he could go all night. He missed those days, but as he approached his 39th year, he had the feeling they wouldn't be coming back. Still, these days he appreciated just lying together, skin against skin.

"What's up, Ace?" he mumbled.

"I have to tell you something."

"Hmm?" he asked, feeling his eyes start to shut again.

"Logan," she whined, reaching her hand out to shake him.

"What?" he shook his head, blinking his eyes. "I'm up, I'm up."

"I have to tell you something," Rory repeated.

"Can't it wait until morning?" he asked sleepily.

"No," her voice squeaked anxiously. "I need to tell you now."

He sat up at the urgency in her voice, suddenly very awake. "What's going on?"

Rory sighed, sitting up too, folding her legs underneath herself and shifting to face him. She wrapped her hands around her middle protectively.

"I wasn't going to tell you this…"

His eyes widened and his heart clenched. They had no secrets from each other. Not these days. Open communication, full disclosure. It had taken them a long time to get there but it was the very foundation on which they had salvaged their relationship. No way was she planning on keeping something from him.

"Yet!" she clarified. "I wasn't going to tell you this yet. I mean, with your birthday coming up, I just thought…" she trailed off.

He relaxed a little, though the peaceful sex induced haze was gone for good, replaced by an air of tension.

"What's going on, Rory?" he growled.

Rory sighed, gazing down at her lap.

"I found something out at the doctor today."

Logan's whole body froze as his stomach churned. "You said you weren't hurt. I mean, we just…" he gestured frantically to the bed. The things they had done were quite advanced and not conducive to any kind of healing.

"I'm not hurt," she cut him off, grasping for his hand to squeeze. "And I wasn't keeping this a secret from you. I just wanted to tell you in the right way. But I couldn't wait. I was just lying here and I realized that I couldn't keep this from you for a single day."

Logan took a shuddering breath. "So they found what?" he asked. "Are you sick?"

"I'm not sick," she shook her head.

"Rory, I really need you to just tell me what's going on." Logan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to center himself. He was going to be sick in a minute. "What did the doctor find?"

Rory reached forward, smoothing out the worry creases on his forehead, "Don't fret, silly boy," she assured him softly, then she dropped her hands to grasp his, twining their fingers together. With her left hand, she guided his right one towards her. Flipping their grip around, she pressed his palm flat against her stomach.

Logan gasped, leaning back to stare at their hands. He pushed back the overwhelming swell of emotion, needing to get confirmation first. He glanced up to meet her eyes and he watched as her lips slowly curled up into a smile and she nodded her head.

"You're pregnant?" he whispered reverently, needing even more corroboration before he could let himself feel it.

"I'm pregnant," she beamed

"We're pregnant," he laughed with joy.

"I'm sorry," she told him. "I thought it would be a good birthday surprise, but I just couldn't wait, I…"

He watched as her eyes darkened and tears started to brim at the bottom of them."

"Hey," he said, reaching up to wipe away the moisture. "No crying."

"I know," she nodded with a sniffle. "It's just, I made you miss it all last time and I suddenly realized that if I waited until next week I'd be robbing you of part of it all over again."

"Oh, Ace," he breathed out. "That is not the same thing."

"I know," she sniffled again. "But I just couldn't risk it."

He knew what she meant. He'd forgiven her for not telling him when she was pregnant with Lila. They'd both had to forgive each other for a lot to make this work. But a part of him had been worried about how he'd feel if this moment ever came around. He wasn't even sure he wanted it to. A part of him longed to be able to have a do-over. To be there for all the moments he'd missed with Lila. To feel the first kick, to see the ultrasounds, to find out the sex; hell, even to hold Rory's hair back as she puked, or go running to the store at 3AM for ice cream and pickles. And most of all, to be there, holding her hand as she pushed their child out into the word. And yet, a part of him had feared it. Things were so good with them now. He was afraid of messing that up. He feared that experiencing all those milestones with a new baby would bring back the resentments he had felt over missing them with his first. Was it worth the risk?

And so, when Paris started making heavy handed comments about Rory's aging eggs and geriatric pregnancies, he and Rory had had to decide what they wanted to do. Only neither of them were really sure, and so they'd decided to leave it up to fate. They would stop all forms of birth control and just see what happened. That had been almost a year ago.

He'd had no idea how much he'd wanted it until this very moment.

"Rory?" he asked.

"Hmm?"

"Are you happy?"

Rory swallowed, licking her lips. "Yeah," she nodded, her voice choking up, "I'm really happy."

"Me too," he assured her. He brought his hand back to her stomach, trying to silently commune with the little clump of cells growing in there. He knew they still had a long way to go. Paris had no qualms about talking miscarriage rates and birth defects until her face was blue. But Logan didn't care about any of that right now. It would be okay, he knew it; he could feel it. They were having a baby. And at that moment, he couldn't be happier.