Champagne High

A/N - I named this story after the song Champagne High by Sister Hazel. I would like to thank Jewels for her awesome beta work on this one. I somehow let Jamie Fraser slip in there for a second by accident, and she led me back like a good lass.

I wasn't looking for a lifetime with you
And I never thought it would hurt just to hear
"I do" and "I do"
And I do a number on myself
And all that I thought to be
And you'll be the one
That just left me undone
By my own, hesitation

He probably shouldn't have driven his fist through that plaster wall. He probably shouldn't have let her see him like that. He probably shouldn't have asked her to come with him, and he probably shouldn't have come at all. But he did. And she did. And there they were, one bloody fist between them, the hand itself still steaming with enraged testosterone.

The sleeves of his tuxedo shirt were rolled up and he was leaning over a stone balcony railing, his lower arms tense and flexed. She stood to his left, uncomfortably shifting from one foot to the other.

"What the hell is going on?" she demanded, wrapping her black shawl tightly around her body to ward off the cool evening breeze coming from the crashing waves behind them. He directed his gaze to her barely concealed shiver, but the glint off the stone on her hand caught his eye and he focused his attention back on the setting sun.

He swallowed, clenched his jaw, and shook his head.

She reached a tentative hand up to brush a short curly lock of raven hair from her eyes. Her shawl fell open for a moment, revealing a dark maroon ball gown.

"Your hand," she whispered, reaching her own out towards his outstretched grip on the marble balustrade. "It's ... It's-"

"It's fine," he told her angrily, causing her to draw her hand quickly back into her shawl.

"Why the hell did you say yes to him?" he suddenly demanded, spinning and standing up straight, his eyes level with hers.

She blinked, startled, but didn't back away. "Luke," she said softly. "You never asked."

~oOo~

June Kennedy was his first real girlfriend. She was his Junebug. They were fourteen, clad in cut-off jeans, stretched out tye-dyed t-shirts, beat up Chuck Taylor's, and rattily-knotted friendship bracelets. She had asked him to put sun screen on her back at the lake, which he did before playfully throwing her into the water. She dragged him in with her.

After forcing him to tye-dye with her, while picking at dye under her nails, June told him about her father who had passed away the year before. Her confiding in him brought Luke out of his shell. She was the first person he ever spoke to about his mother.

She never called him Luke. Even if it was nerdy, he was her Skywalker. He didn't care how many people turned their heads when she voiced their special endearment.

They planned to do it; they wanted to trade in their V-cards on the same night to each other. They wanted to do it during the Empire Strikes Back, when it was supposed to air on TV one weekend. He was going to drag his Dad's old TV and rabbit ears down to the canoe shack near the lake. He had already stashed a blanket and two pillows under a damaged green canoe.

There she was. The love of his life for two years, his Junebug, her strawberry blond hair spilling over her shoulders. Her completely bare shoulders. He was just going to cover the window in that damned shed so no one could see them when they finally crossed the line. The door was locked, but he could see through that damn window. Someone else's arm was around her back, and her bottom was completely bare. Her head fell backwards, that strawberry blond hair hanging in the air.

He could still hear her moaning softly as he walked home, fists clenched, willing himself not to cry.

She never knew that he saw. She broke up with him in a note she passed to him in homeroom. She asked him to stay her friend, and he, being who he was, agreed. How could he not? Even after he saw his childhood friend, Alex Hayes, walking down the hallway holding her hand. He knew he might never be able to say no to her.

There would be a string of women in Luke's life that he'd never be able to deny. Junebug was just the first.

~oOo~

He sat stiffly in the pew, shaking his knee nervously. She had to go and marry him, didn't she? It really was a wonder that June Kennedy stayed with Alex Hayes all those years. It was a wonder that when they finally decided to wed, it was a black tie affair, and they insisted that Luke attend for 'bringing them together.'

Luke was shocked that when he finally saw her again, walking down the aisle, he immediately smelled the phantom scents of summer—sun screen mingled with tye-dye. His gut clenched.

For the first time in ten years, he was in a room near Lorelai Gilmore and forgot she was there. He knew it had very little to do with that old girlfriend he once called Junebug.

~oOo~

"Will you just go with me?" he pleaded from behind the safety of a coffee mug held against his abdomen, still warm from the dishwasher. He was behind the counter in the diner, busily putting recently cleaned mugs back into their individual slots.

"I don't even know this couple. You said you went to high school with them?" Lorelai asked, leaning on the counter. "That's a Friday night. It'll cost you."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he said brusquely as he turned to fetch another stack of mugs from the kitchen.

"Chili topped Pringles!" she shouted triumphantly.

He returned to the counter and set the mugs down, a disgusted look on his face. "Aw, come on!"

"Nuhuh! You said whatever."

"That stuff'll kill you!"

"I'll die happy." She smiled, leaning forward on the counter just enough so Luke had an enticing view down the front of her top.

"It's in the Hamptons. We have to stay the night," he said, ducking down with suddenly red ears to replace the rest of the mugs.

"There better be an open bar," Lorelai muttered under her breath, still leaning over the counter, admiring Luke's backside as he crouched.

~oOo~

"I'm sorry I couldn't get us two rooms," he shouted nervously from one of two double beds. His knee was bouncing frantically.

"It's okay," she shouted back from behind the closed bathroom door. "Just don't be surprised tonight if you suddenly find yourself smothered under a pillow!"

"I do not snore!"

"Yeah, sure, you betcha!" she said laughingly.

"Jeez, you almost ready?" he asked, standing to gather his tuxedo jacket.

"Yeah, yeah, five minutes."

"You said that a half hour ago!" he grumbled, shrugging into the coat.

"No wonder you don't have a girlfriend!"

"Thanks for the reminder," he muttered under his breath, starting to pace across their small room.

He heard the door open from behind him, and when he turned he forgot how to breath. Beautiful barely defined what he saw before him. It was what he had dreamed of in the most private recesses of his heart. She was wearing a maroon ball gown, made of pleated chiffon draped over satin with a deep vee neck. The shoulder strapps criss-crossed, leaving her entire back bare and revealing a tantalizing sprinkling of freckles. When she walked, a trail of chiffon floated behind, giving her the illusion of moving in slow motion. Around her neck, she wore a thin chain with a single diamond solitaire. Her hair was pinned up, displaying the long, thin column of her neck, but with several springy tendrils of curls loose and barely touching her shoulders and back.

"Is this okay?" she asked after a moment. "L-Luke, are you okay?"

Having been shaken from his trance by her words, he shook his head and smiled. "You look beautiful," he said, his voice husky.

Her smile was bright and wide, and she blushed furiously. After a moment, she looked down and lifted her hand to brush a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. The overhead light suddenly caught in the stone on her ring finger causing it to shine brightly before Luke.

He was speechless for a second time in less than two minutes. She noticed his eyes focused on her hand and frowned.

"I just … I wanted to-" she tried to explain.

Luke shook his head and motioned towards the door. "We're late."

~oOo~

What was he thinking? Really, what the hell was he thinking? He'd go to this gaudy wedding on the ocean, a real romantic setting, forget to rent two rooms - an amateur move – and hope to hell she finally notices him after he goes and rents the most expensive tuxedo known to man. He got a damn haircut, trimmed his nails, and shaved with a straight edge razor. But the second he saw her standing there looking more beautiful than ever before, the second he thought, 'hey, maybe I can do this!' … that very second a giant diamond appeared on her finger. She's taken! Some other schmuck had the balls to approach her sooner. What was wrong with him anyway? He was a nice guy, he owned a business, he made a decent amount of money, he was handsome. Why couldn't he get a girl like that? Why couldn't he keep a girl like that? Why did they all leave; why did they all look at him like there was something wrong?

As if seeing the first girl he ever loved standing on the altar saying vows to the guy that used to be his best friend wasn't enough! There Lorelai was sitting next to him, after he practically begged and bribed her to come, sitting pretty with another man's ring on her finger. Who the hell was this guy anyway? He didn't even know who she was seeing. He couldn't put a face to the man that he wanted to punch … to kill.

He bounced his knee with such reckless abandon that Lorelai was forced to reach out and steady it. He hadn't said a single word to her after they entered the church for the ceremony. His mind was just running in continuous circles of frustration. And dear God, did he love the feel of her hand on his thigh! What the hell was wrong with him? On second thought, what the hell was wrong with her?

The second the ceremony ended and the happy couple retreated in marital bliss to the reception hall, Luke rushed from the church and made for the men's room. His fist soon found the wall, several times, until there was a large hole and his hand was nearly broken. It didn't help. He retreated to the back veranda after a startled groomsman walked in on his vandalization of the men's room.

It was cool out that evening, but he was still boiling. He draped his coat over the railing, carefully removed his cuff links, and rolled his sleeves up. He welcomed the chill of the sea breeze and the cold marble biting into his hands that were grasped tightly on the balustrade. Like a magnet—or a moth to a flame—Lorelai appeared at his side, wrapped in the black shawl she had brought along.

"What the hell is going on?" she demanded, breaking the awkward silence. Luke directed his gaze to the stone on her hand, then forced his focus back on the setting sun nestled in the low tide. He swallowed, clenched his jaw, and shook his head.

"Luke, your hand," she whispered, reaching her own out towards his outstretched grip on the marble balustrade. "It's ... It's-"

"It's fine," he told her angrily, causing her to draw her hand quickly back into her shawl.

"Why the hell did you say yes to him?" he asked brusquely, spinning and standing up straight, levelling his eyes with hers.

She blinked, startled, but didn't back away. "Luke," she said softly. "You never asked."

"If I ask now, will it make a difference?"

"Yes," Lorelai answered without hesitation, still facing him, only inches away.

Luke stepped back and looked at the low waves falling lazily towards the shore. His pulse was still racing. He knew it was now or never.

He shook his head as if to dislodge imaginary water droplets from his hair, and stepped forward. Grabbing her elbows with an iron grip, he pulled her towards him and lowered his head so his forehead rested against hers.

"Lorelai," he said softly, eyes locked with hers. "I've known for a long time how I feel about you. I think … I think I fell in love with you about five minutes after we met."

Lorelai's eyes filled with tears, and to Luke, her face soon became blurry, his own vision obscured with unshed tears. Luke released one of her elbows so he could cradle the side of her face in his hand.

"I want to marry you," he stated gruffly. "And never let you go."

A single tear spilled down Lorelai's cheek, accompanied by a brilliant smile. Her eyes never left his.

"Lets get out of here," she whispered, still dazzling him with that smile. Luke stood unmoving from shock, watching as Lorelai threw down her shawl and removed her shoes. He laughed as she vaulted the marble railing and ran towards the breaking waves, laughing at him over her shoulder. He bent to remove his shoes, still mesmerized by the way the maroon gown flowed behind her in the evening breeze.

Like a speeding cannonball, as soon as his feet were bare, he shot over the balustrade and made for that spinning mass of satin and chiffon. Grabbing her firmly around the waist, he twirled her in a circle, laughing and crying.

The bottom of her gown was soaked from the icy sea water, his tuxedo pants suffering a similar fate. Neither noticed as their eyes locked and their lips finally met for the first time.