Hey, it's been a while. But a little bird told me that DFC had recently tackled some new early season 7 fix-it stories after years of me begging her, so I was inspired to dip my feet back in there too. No comparison of course; as usual, my work is shorter, canon-based (meaning no actual reconciliation, just hopefully some hope) and not nearly as good as hers. Also, since I'm rusty and not really confident channeling Luke and Lorelai's voices right now, they're not even going to talk to each other -actually, they're not going to talk at all- in this story. Gee, I'm not selling this too well, am I? :) For what's it's worth, Eledgy read it over, fixed a few rust spots (thanks again for the beta, Edgy!) and declared it ready-to-post, so let's see how it goes.

GETTING HAMMERED

For the second time that week, all Lorelai Gilmore wanted to do was run into a store without running into anyone she knew, especially not anyone who was a member of the Danes family. For the second time that week, she was colossally unsuccessful.

She didn't want to see or talk to anybody, but she just had to get out of the house. She'd been wallowing for days, and her running toilet kept taunting her, reminding her that Luke would never be by to fix it ever again. So this time around, she headed to Home Depot. Not exactly the best place to go to forget about Luke Danes, but nevertheless there she was, scanning the plumbing aisle for that thingy she'd didn't know the name of but had seen him install and reinstall many times. Lorelai was determined to get this done for herself. She could fix a running toilet, dammit. She did it for years before she ever knew him, and- OOF!

"Hey, lady! Watch where- Holy CRAP! LORELAI! Hey Lizzie!" TJ's unmistakable voice, with its unique combination of booming and screeching, carried throughout the cavernous warehouse store, "LIZZIE! You won't believe who's here with me in this aisle over here!"

"Which aisle?" came a distant reply.

"With the toilet doohickeys! Follow my voice." TJ turned back to address Lorelai, still speaking mortifyingly loudly, presumably for Liz' sake. "You got bathroom issues, Lorelai? I could help with that, both as a professional contractor and an experienced full-fledged homeowner myself now. Hey, Liz!" he called out to the air, "They have those cushy padded seats here, the classy looking ones! Sold out of white, though. You want almond? Or bone? Heh, bone. Lizzie?"

"Coming!"

"Liz will be right here." TJ helpfully supplied. "She's in another section of the store, looking for something as a favor to Luke. We try to help him out wherever we can, you know how it is. He counts on us. But once we got here, I realized there were like a million other homeowner things to take care of for ourselves. I mean, the list just does not end. It's a damn money pit, being a full-fledged homeowner, amiright? If it's not a problem with the heating system, it's the HVAC. If it's not the electrical circuits, it's the damn ac/dc wiring. And don't even me started on the plumbing! Since Lizzie's preggers, man, she must flush that toilet 87 times a day, and even a professional contractor such as myself can only do so much before the parts are just gonna give right out and need replacing."

Lorelai smiled awkwardly and nodded as she noted that TJ yammered more than anyone else she had ever met, present company and offspring excluded. But maybe that was a good thing, Maybe she could get out of there without having to talk after all. TJ was just the type not to notice. Maybe she could just stand there and let him rant about no longer being in esca-row without being sucked into small talk. Or worse, personal talk. Although she wouldn't have been surprised if he was oblivious to her relationship drama anyway. Knowing Luke, he probably didn't even tell his own sister and brother-in-law about the breakup.

"So, Luke told us about the breakup."

Lorelai closed her eyes.

"Well, I mean, he told me, and I told Liz. -Lizzie! Where the hell are you already, babe?- I figured that was okay. I mean, she's my honey, I tell her everything, especially huge family stuff like this. That's what you do, right?"

OOF

"Lorelai!" Liz had her in a bear hug before she knew what hit her, and Lorelai reflexively bristled. "Oh, sorry," Liz stepped back. "I'm getting too big for that. Don't worry, I'm not gonna swallow you with my boobs. Although, can you believe the size of them?" Liz gave her best spokesmodel demonstration.

"Ain't no one complaining, babe."

"I wasn't talking to you, TJ." Liz swatted his arm. "I'm talking to Lorelai. Girl talk. Hey, did your boobs get huge with Rory? I don't remember this happening with Jess, of course I was 18 at the time and now I'm in my forties. Totally different. Different but completely amazing, though! I'm so totally stoked I get to experience this again now, at this point in my life, and with my soul mate. Never thought that I'd get that lucky. Oh, look at you, Lorelai. You look totally freaked out, you poor thing. Is it awkward to be around us so soon after your breakup? Or is it because I'm pregnant?" she whispered that last, very obvious part for some strange reason. "Oh, I hope you're not feeling awkward because of me. I really don't want it to be awkward between us. Regardless of what happened with you and my bro, I really hope we'll continue to share our special bond. You feel it, too, right? Our special connection? Pretty hard to deny, of course you feel it, my sista."

As Liz stopped talking just long enough to squeeze hug her again, Lorelai realized that she was wrong, There WAS someone who yammered more than TJ. What a great couple those two made. She always thought opposites attracted, but, what the hell did she know about sustaining a long-term relationship anyway. Obviously, she'd been getting it wrong her whole life.

"So how are you, Lorelai? I was going to reach out in person when I heard about you and my big brother breaking up, but I wanted to give you some space. I sent vibes though. Healing, loving vibes. Did you get them?"

Lorelai could only blink as she tried to determine if Liz was being serious or not.

"I am just really sorry we're not going to be sister-in-laws." Liz continued unfazed. "Wait, or is it sisters-in-law?" she wondered out loud. "TJ's the linguist, I always get mixed up."

Lorelai, courtesy of Rory, knew it was the latter. But even if she were inclined to start filling Liz in on culs-de-sac and panscake, which she wasn't, TJ the linguist tagged himself back in to the conversation, making her participation mercifully unnecessary. So she just continued to watch and listen to them in stunned silence.

"Hey, how 'bout sisters-in-slaw? It'd make a great floor show at KC's. Great for bachelor parties. Instead of mud, twin sisters roll around in a giant tub of coleslaw. Sisters. In. Slaw. Get it?"

"That's my linguist!"

"Creamy. of course, because otherwise, OUCH, amiright, ladies?"

"TJ!" Another arm swat. Seemed to be their thing.

"What? I'm just trying to lighten the mood round here, Liz. You said you wanted less awkwardness for poor Lorelai over there."

"Ew, you think that makes things less awkward?"

"Okay, how's this?" He turned back to Lorelai, "I too am very sorry that you are not gonna be my smoking hot sister-in-law. Well, I am and I'm not, to be honest. Sorry because you look a little... sad right now, and I don't like to see you looking sad. NOT sorry because I don't think you should be sad. I think you should be happy! You really dodged a bullet there, if you ask me. The guy's a dick."

"TJ! That's my brother!"

"Okay, he's a... hothead then. Better? Can't debate that one. And very unappreciative to his loved ones, too. Luke Danes is an unappreciative hothead. I mean, here I am offering my professional services helping him out, at a largely reduced rate off my normal contractor fee, I might add, because that's what family does. Steps it up in times of crisis..."

"There was a problem at the diner" Liz began to explain. "Kirk..."

Lorelai managed another nod to indicate her awareness of the situation while TJ carried on his anti-Luke crusade.

"…and as thanks, he just goes off on me for no good reason! So what if I painted the whole counter base without checking with him first? I took initiative!" TJ over-pronounced each syllable of that word. "You'd think he'd appreciate my i-ni-ti-a-tive." Every. single. Time.

"Luke yelled at TJ, so he's a little upset." Liz informed Lorelai.

"Yelled? No, 'yelled' is what he did last year when we had that little, uh, miscommunication upon commencement of the contracting work at your house, Lorelai. Remember that whole hole thing? Whole hole, heh. Also me taking initiative, by the way. But at least then, I could see the issue, from your point of view especially, I mean, there WAS a hole, I'll grant you, but this reaction to a much, much smaller deal today was nuclear thermal by comparison. He went nuts on me, and he was MEAN, not to mention a big baby! You'd think his whole world ended 'cause his stupid secret graffiti was gone. I was doing HIM a favor! Talk about an ingrate! He was ridiculous. All that yelling like a lunatic and carrying on right in front of his sister and her unborn child! And in front of his BORN child too! Poor April. You should have seen that poor kid trying to console HIM, the big baby; trying to help him get his little scribbles back. I'm telling, you, Luke is just a ridiculous giant baby lunatic hothead. You're lucky you're out, Lorelai."

Swat. "TJ!"

"So I painted over some dirty words," he continued. "Big fricking deal. Not dirty, like, inappropriate for a family diner, mind you, at least not that I remember. Just literally, dirty, like old and written ages ago. Something about a guy named Phillip. I mean, I don't think Luke even knows a guy named Philip. I've never seen any Phils hanging around the diner. Luke ever mention a Phil to you, Lizzie?

"Well, I think he was saying that Dad wrote it, TJ. That's why he was yelling and mad. Let's see, there was old Phil Slutsky..."

"Like I was supposed to know that?" he cut her off. "I was being considerate! I was taking initiative! It was all dirty looking, and it looked like he just missed a spot the last time he painted that area, and who the hell even knows how long ago that was anyway. It's not like Luke's a big sprucer upper kind a guy, right? So I offered a free spruce- INITIATIVE! -and I was being thorough! Didn't want to skip any spots! Hey, you okay there, Lorelai? You look…weird."

"TJ!"

"What?"

"Don't say she looks weird." Swat. "She doesn't look weird, she just looks…overwhelmed. You are upsetting her with your ranting! Lorelai, I'm sorry, TJ is just a very sensitive soul, and Luke really hurt his feelings so he's lashing out. But they're both great guys, they've got to just learn to communicate better. Lorelai? Uh, come on, TJ, I think we should leave Lorelai alone now. You've got to come back to the paint section with me anyway. The manager says he he doesn't know about any special reverse paint for contractors. Maybe he'll listen if you explain it professional-to-professional. Plus, the bathrooms are back that way and I really, really need to pee and you've got to hold my purse." As she dragged TJ away by the sleeve, Liz shouted over her shoulder, "Lorelai, It was great seeing you. Really great. Please reach out anytime, even if it's just spiritually. I'll know. I'll feel it. Bye!"

And just like that, the whirlwind was gone.

For the second time that week, Lorelai Gilmore was left standing alone in the middle of a store aisle, hopelessly shell-shocked. and trying to process what in the hell just hit her.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

With no deliveries to wake up for, and no customers to serve, Luke Danes decided not to crank up his trusty alarm clock and instead let himself sleep in for once. So when his cellphone rang at 7:33 am, it took a few minutes before he managed to flip it open and grunt into it. Fortunately, the person on the other end was not one concerned with formal greetings and salutations.

"So, listen, Dad..."

Of course it was April, no one else called his cell anymore. But he could tell from his daughter's tone that she was unharmed and there was no pressing emergency, so he let himself wake up slowly as he settled in to listen to her morning ramble.

"...just wanted to give you a quick update in the very short amount of time I've got. I have to speak really fast though because I'm not supposed to be using my phone in the mornings anymore, and Mom will probably kill me, or at least ground me until 2010 if she catches me. So it's now or not until later tonight, because we have to turn cells off and keep them in lockers during school hours, which completely defeats the purpose of allowing phones in school for emergencies, but whatever, typical school board policy logic for you..."

Despite everything, Luke found himself smiling- for the first time in ages, he noted. The smile felt even more unnatural than usual, given the current state of pretty much every aspect of his life, but he just couldn't help but express some outward enjoyment at his verbose daughter's idea of a 'quick update'. She was talking a mile-a-minute to get to her point, yet veering charmingly off-course in doing so. So even though he was certain she was about to be confirming some bad news to him, he still felt strangely comforted and amused by her meandering way of leading up to it.

"So I researched on the internet last night, and, unsurprisingly, what Liz and TJ reported was correct. There really isn't a commercial solvent available that will dissolve fresh paint while safely restoring the original surface beneath. At least, not at Home Depot, or Lowe's or anywhere like that. Sorry. But, I'm not giving up hope yet, and you shouldn't either. I have pre-pre-AP honors Chem first period so I'm going to check with my teacher, If anyone would know a literal solution, it would be Mrs. Steinberg-Chin. She's a regular Ms. Frizzle. Actually, more Bill Nye, really..."

Luke cleared his throat to try to find his voice. He wanted to tell April that it was okay, and she could stop wasting her time, but he was suddenly distracted by a ruckus in the alley. It sounded like a loud car engine pulling up behind the diner, followed quickly by a thunk, as though someone dropped something at his back door. But he had definitely cancelled all his deliveries. Was there yet another screw up in his life? He threw on his boots, and, with April still yammering away in his ear, hurried down the steep steps to catch to whoever it was before they drove off. Damned if he was going to pay for someone else's mistakes again. He was paying enough for his own.

"...also, I just remembered my Grandma's neighbor in New Mexico is a chemistry teacher too so I'll ask her to ask him. She's mentioned that Mr. White loves to home experiment, always seems to be cooking something up, so he might have some…"

By the time Luke navigated his way down the stairs, all was eerily quiet once again. Except for April's voice, of course.

"...too early to call there, though, even though Mom would probably approve of that call, and Grandma doesn't text, so…"

He headed straight to the back of the diner and peeked outside the tiny window in the delivery door, but all he saw was an orange and white plastic shopping bag sitting on the loading area. He debated whether or not to even open the door. Last time something like this happened, it was just a nasty smelling prank "delivery", likely the work of the Banyan boys.

"Dad? Dad? You still there?" Luke mustered up another grunt and April continued. "Oh, good, listen, I know this isn't the most encouraging news to be getting first thing in the morning, and I'm sure you're really disappointed, but I wanted to say that I think you're handling it really well. I'm proud of you."

Luke cringed at his daughter's patronizing tone. It sounded like she were the parent and he was the child. Maybe TJ was right. Maybe he was being a big baby. It was just some words on a wall, after all. At least, that's what they all saw it as, and he just could not seem to convey to them otherwise. Losing his shit on TJ didn't help. He was kind of embarrassed that he exploded at him the way he had, especially right in front of April. But then again, with what he had recently come to realize were his obviously impaired communication skills, it was the best he could do for now. If that was the only way he could show April how much his own father meant him in the limited time they had together, then so be it. He just wished he could learn to express himself better, or at all, when it really mattered. Then maybe his 13 year-old kid wouldn't need to start her day by giving him condescending pep talks.

"I'm also really proud of you for telling me right away, so I could help you deal with the issue. Well, maybe not so much telling me, but at least making me, us, aware of why you were so freaked out instead of hiding it. And I know you said you shouldn't have yelled and cursed at Uncle TJ like that, which, Dad, I'm not a little kid, it's okay, and I totally get it. But if you hadn't, then we wouldn't have known how much it meant to you and we wouldn't be working together to try and find a solution to get your father's writing back on that wall for you. I mean, let's be honest, it's still a real long shot, but you never know, right? The paint's not even cured yet, so maybe there's a chance. The great thing is you told me right away. If you had waited too long, it definitely would have been too late to reverse the damage. At least now, there's a glimmer of hope."

Luke closed his eyes.

"Dad? Dad? - What, Mom? No one! I'm not, I swear, just studying, doing some oral mnemonics. Ok, coming! - Sorry, Dad, I really have go, talk to you later, bye!"

And just like that, April was gone, leaving just the sting of her words echoing through the empty diner. Luke looked around despondently. Glimmer of hope, his ass, he thought, as he dusted off a chair and dropped said ass into it with an oof.

Luke knew there was no real possibility of that writing being recovered. April had to know that too, she was no dummy. He wasn't sure if it was just youthful naivete or an eagerness to help a parent that was driving her unrealistic crusade, but in terms of really helping to fix things for him, she was barking up the wrong tree. Not that he didn't appreciate her efforts. She was such a great kid. But she was just a kid, and she didn't even know him that well yet. What she didn't understand, what none of them seemed to understand, was that that wasn't about losing the physical words, or not seeing his father's writing again. Hell, he had other samples of his dad's handwriting stored upstairs- letters, cards, even some old order forms that said almost the same thing that was on the wall. He was a lot more nostalgic about that kind of stuff than he let on to most people.

And it wasn't about putting the diner back exactly how is was, either. Let's face it, that side counter wall was damaged in the crash, and would have needed at least a good scrub and fresh paint to pass a reopening health inspection. And truth be told, in the past couple of years, the writing had started fading badly anyway. So, sorry, TJ, he wasn't just being a baby about suddenly losing some sentimental markings on a wall.

No, this was about a much deeper loss. It was about the loss of his father's eternal presence in that room with him.

All Luke ever wanted was to work where his Dad did, doing what his Dad did- serving people's needs. That spot on the wall connected his work to his Dad's work; it was a concrete reminder that his father took down customers' requests in the very spot he was taking his. He just...liked the feeling of knowing that while he was filling orders for coffee and burgers and other diner junk, the real, original orders, the ones for hammers and nails and other hardware junk, were there with him, sitting right there below the counter. And he liked that it was his tucked away little secret, a private place he could sneak a peek at whenever he needed grounding. He took it for granted that it would always be there, and now it was gone in flash. A connection severed, seemingly forever.

That's why he was so distraught. That's the loss he was mourning. That connection is what he needed help recovering, not the actual words. But how could he possibly explain all that to April? How could he make her understand that complexity when he could barely process it himself? He honestly did not know. The only other person whom he'd ever even dared to confide in about the hidden message seemed to just get it, intuitively. No explanations needed. But that connection was likely lost for good now too.

Luke did know one thing though. The next time he had something that meant so much to him, he'd make sure to take better care of it. He'd make sure it was protected, solid, less vulnerable to outside forces. He'd make sure it was damn near indestructible, dammit.

Luke suddenly remembered his reason for coming downstairs. With a heavy sigh he got up and went to check out that mysterious plastic shopping bag, fully prepared to fling it over Taylor's way if necessary. When he opened the door, he was relieved to see that it actually was triple bagged, so it did seem to hold something of more substantial weight than dog crap. Although, ah, jeez, had the Banyan boys finally perfected those makeshift pipe bombs they'd been working on? Sure, figures, why wouldn't they test them out on his warzone of a dine-"

OOF

It wasn't a pipe bomb explosion that caused Luke to lose his footing, stumble backwards, and bang his head back against the door. It was the mere sight of the small handwritten card stuck in between bags two and three that had almost knocked him flat.

Important Order- put aside for pick-up

It wasn't his father's handwriting, but the scrawl was every bit as familiar to him.

And the message every bit as meaningful.

PS I thought you might want to keep this particular order safely UNDER the counter from now on.

PPS I was wrong. Apparently, you shouldn't always take the spruce.

Luke didn't need to peek inside the heavy Home Depot bag to know its contents. But he did anyway.

Three Hammers. Phillips Head Screwdriver. Three boxes of nails, assorted sizes.

He carefully placed the card back in-between the shopping bags, tied the flimsy handles together, and tucked the whole package away for safekeeping. On a shelf behind the counter. Next to the door. By the right side.

For the second time that morning, Luke Danes found reason to smile.

At least now, there's a glimmer of hope.