A Real Princess Never Dies

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my imagination.

Summary: A celebrity passing hits Lorelai hard, and Luke knows what to say. A short drabble, post-finale, in "real time", so to speak.

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Luke Danes looked up after the lunch rush to see his wife standing in the diner doorway, eyes red, mascara tracking black and smeared down her face.

He threw his order pad aside, nearly striking Kirk in the head, and rushed to her, taking her hands. "What is it, what's wrong, is it Rory?"

Lorelai's voice cracked on a sob, and her shoulders shook. Alarmed, Luke guided her outside, into an unusually warm December afternoon. The snow that carpeted the town square was fading into slush, the sidewalk pavement bare under the sun that drove away scattered clouds. The temperature was springtime, but Lorelai's face was cold with grief.

He led her to the gazebo, and sat with her on the steps, hands still locked in hers. "Is it your mother?"

Lorelai's lower lip quivered, twisting down harshly. "Princesses aren't supposed to die. Princesses can't die, Luke, it's not right, princesses don't get to die, they're not allowed, a princess isn't supposed to die!"

She buried her face in his ever-present flannel, sobbing as if she'd lost a personal friend. Confused, Luke stroked her hair, waiting for enlightenment. Lorelai rarely kept him waiting, unless it involved some deep existential crisis like wanting children or a wedding ring. And that, he admitted unwillingly, was something he'd helped shape between them. Cryptic syllables spoken every few years did not make for clear communication.

Neither did Lorelai's sniffling, "Princesses don't, they can't, they're not supposed to! I mean, when it was Diana, that was bad, because she was so pretty and it was so sad and it was so beautiful but it's like, this is worse, because, y'know, I wore cinnamon rolls on my ears because she made it look cool, and I wanted to kick bad guy ass the way she did, and she was always perfect anyway, and even in the awful one with the warrior teddy bears…"

"Lorelai," he rumbled, and she breathed.

"She died, Luke. She's gone. Princess Leia is gone. She had a blaster and she got them out of things and for like a year I wanted to be Princess Leia, do you get it? Not Cinderella or Snow White, I wanted to be the princess who kicked ass and had a laser gun and got the hunky guy anyway, and when she… When she said I love you and he said I know, and…"

Luke was ignorant of a lot of pop culture, but not science fiction. He preferred Star Trek, a world of exploration and diversity and, yes, butt-kicking, but anyone his age, American, and alive, knew what Lorelai was talking about.

"Oh, sweetheart," he sighed into her hair, and hugged her. "Shh. It's okay."

"No, it's not!" cried Lorelai. "Don't you get it? Princesses get to live happily ever after, not happily-sorta-kinda-till-the-middle-is-over!"

She managed to make that last a single word. Luke wondered if her native tongue was German. It liked long words.

"Like, ever after, Luke, not till they're too young to get retirement!"

He kissed his wife's forehead. "Hey. We're not going anywhere. You, me, we're forever."

"But we're not young and I'm gonna be a grandma and…"

He placed fingers on her mouth. "We're forever, Lorelai. You, me, if the last twenty years didn't get us, the next twenty can't. Okay?"

"But…" she mumbled around his hand.

"And," he said, drawing inspiration from only God knew where, "a real princess lives forever." He laced his hands in hers. "Everyone knows that. They just…" He fumbled, found his words. "They just live in a special place, far, far away."

Lorelai said, "I like that," and put her head against his shoulder.

Arm around his wife, Luke Danes stared up at the sky, scattered with clouds, hoping he was right, and that a real princess did continue to live, in a galaxy, far away.

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AN: Rest in peace, Carrie Fisher. Being in the same generation as Lorelai, I remember her well. The above explanation, about real princesses not dying, was what we told a friend's daughter about Princess Diana.

I had the chance to meet Ms. Fisher for about ten seconds at a book signing. ("Surrender the Pink".) She had a very wry sense of humor. She definitely made an impression.

Peace on us all.