Summary: She wants to follow him, but thinks that he would rather be alone. For him, that is what this day is about: being alone with his memories of the past.
Post But Not as Cute as Pushkin
A/N: Thanks to my marvelous beta NicoleMack for her comments.
She watches him walk away from her, his shoulders slumped from the weight of more than fifteen years of grief and loss. He moves slowly, but purposefully, as if he has a distinct destination in mind. For a moment, she wants to follow him, but thinks that he would rather be alone. For him, that is what this day is about: being alone with his memories of the past.
The chill in the night air makes her shiver and as he disappears around the corner, she turns away and slides the door to the dance studio open, joining the revelry within once more. Miss Patty is still singing and she wasn't really joking when she said you could get drunk from standing next to the punch. As the song ends, Kirk once again becomes engrossed in his 'Yoga for Dummies' book. She passes Taylor and grins when she notes the cup of punch in his hand and the fact that he is swaying slightly, a befuddled expression on his face as he takes another sip. She crosses back to where Sookie is standing, shaking her head in answer to Sookie's quizzical expression. She doesn't really want to talk about it just now. She is just relieved that whatever disagreement they'd had about his boat has been smoothed over, or at least partially resolved. They are okay, he will be okay and that is enough for now.
Patty begins another song and she tries to enjoy the entertainment as she inhales the punch fumes, but mostly her mind still dwells on Luke and the events of the day. When she bought the boat, she had been certain she was doing the right thing. Because in spite of the words said in anger when he found out, he did hold onto the past. He'd held onto the horoscope, a fact she'd stupidly blurted out to him as he ranted at her. He'd kept her horoscope for eight years, even in the face of Rachel and Nicole and Jason and Alex and Max and Christopher. It is something she still cannot believe sometimes. The fact that that somehow, even all those years ago, he'd had an inkling that they'd end up here.
His diner, his apartment, the Williams Hardware sign above the diner, the boat. They are all an homage to times long past and they demonstrate how much he wants to hold onto those memories of his father and his family. Despite his occasional comment about being a damned fool, she knows that however much he denies it, those things are important reminders of the loved ones who have left him behind. So she had been certain that one day he would regret getting rid of the boat.
And so she bought it. She hadn't worked out when she would tell him about it, but she certainly hadn't expected him to find out a mere two hours after it had been delivered and manhandled into her garage after he stumbled over the relics of Mrs Thompson's mysterious thighmaster collection. He had ranted and raged at her and then stormed off, but cooled off just as quickly and sought her out again.
It occurs to her then, that even today, when he usually wants to be alone, he has twice sought her company. She thinks that maybe, when he returned her glasses to her, it was a thin excuse to see her for a few moments, on this day of all days. She remembers that he has sought her out before when he has been troubled. He came to her when he was avoiding Rachel all those years ago, unable to handle the realities of sharing his life with her; when Jess left him after all his hard work trying to encourage him to be a functioning member of society; and months later when he got drunk after the stupid punk insulted him and he hurt his hand trying to fix her window. The fact that he came today to see her here, at a party, speaks volumes. She can't decide if she is flattered that he felt that need or terrified at the realization that he might need her. And she knows that she needs him even more.
She has never really needed many people in her life and few people have ever really needed her in return, apart from Rory and with Rory there is no choice. She gave birth to her, raised her, loved her and cared for her. Being needed by Rory and needing her in return comes as naturally as breathing. Her parents needed her to fill a role in their lives perhaps, but it seems never really needed iher/i. As she considers the other men in her life, she discovers that she's never truly needed any of them as she needs Luke. Even with Christopher, it hasn't really ever been that way. She knows that for years Chris has called her when he's caught up in the middle of one disaster or another and she has dropped everything to sort it out. She flushes a little guiltily when she realizes she did this again a short while ago. He'd wanted someone to bail him out and it was a role she'd often played in the past. So she'd done it out of habit, without thought, and then just as easily forgotten about him again.
If she's had any doubts at all about the nature of her feelings for Chris, they've been dispelled by her recent encounters with him. She feels nostalgia for their past, for their shared childhood and connection through Rory, but nothing more than that. She knows enough about herself to realize that, in the future, she will probably be unable to stop herself from helping him again. She'll do it for the sake of Rory and for the memories of her childhood friend. She'll do it because she's so used to doing it and because he is weak and that's what she does. But he doesn't need her, specifically, he just needs someone to pick up the pieces. And while she wants Chris to be there for Rory, she certainly doesn't need him herself and never really has.
She knows that she needs Luke however, and she did so long before they ever were together. He is someone she has relied on for years, in ways she hasn't even thought about. He is the person she has turned to so many times when she has needed someone to talk to. He has fed her, fixed countless items in her house, listened to all of her petty problems, given her money without question when she needed it, and held her as she cried. Luke isn't weak; he is strong but she suddenly accepts that he idoes/i need her. He may need her in a different way perhaps, but certainly just as much as she needs him. To teach him how to smile, how to connect with other people, and it is to her that he expresses the feelings he can't explain to anyone else.
The realization that he needs her suddenly is terrifying, because what if she isn't capable of being there for him in the way that he wants? It almost makes her want to run, so that she won't have a chance to let him down. But then the feeling passes and she knows that she wants to try to be there for him. When she was the age Luke was when he lost his father, she had gained a daughter, a mentor and mother figure in Mia, a best friend in Sookie and a whole town of misfits as a quasi-family. But at that age, Luke probably only had a dim memory of his mother, then he lost his father, and watched as his sister ran away. So he was left alone, except for the times when Rachel chose to come back into his life only to leave him once more. He has been alone for years and she doesn't want him to be alone any longer, particularly not today. Dark day or not, she wants to be with him, if he'll let her.
She says her goodbye to Sookie and leaves the party, heading to the diner. It is in darkness, as is the apartment above it, but she knows where the key is hidden and she uses it. He isn't there however, and she sighs in disappointment and heads for home, resigning herself to seeing him in the diner tomorrow instead.
When she arrives home however, she notices the garage door is ajar and the light is on, casting a beam of light out into the still darkness of the chilly night. She stands at the door and sees that he is sitting on a box he must have excavated from Mrs Thompson's junk outside, his back against the garage wall, his eyes fixed on the boat that takes up most of the room in her garage. She wonders how long he has been sitting and figures that it's probably been since he left her outside the dance studio over an hour ago.
She speaks his name softly and he looks vaguely in her direction. Her heart aches when she sees the expression on his face. His eyes are red and she doesn't know if he has been crying, but she knows she would do almost anything to not see that expression on his face again. He stands up slowly, his hand coming out to touch the boat for a brief second before he mutters an apology and moves to leave. She stops him with a hand on his sleeve and asks him to stay. He meets her eyes for the first time since she came into the garage and seems torn. When he doesn't move, she takes his wrist and guides him out of the garage, shutting off the light and closing the door as far as it will shut. She maneuvers him up the stairs and fumbles in her purse before opening her front door and then stands aside to let him enter.
He stands unmoving in the foyer, seemingly in a trance, so she reaches up to unzip his jacket, pushing it from his shoulders, then removes his gloves from his hands. She places them on the table in the entry way, and still he stands there, so familiar in his cap and flannel and yet not the strong, steady man whom she has come to rely on. She offers to sacrifice her principles and allow vegetables to enter her dominion if he wants something to eat and she is rewarded with a ghost of a smile. He shakes his head however, and mutters that he isn't hungry. So she gently removes his cap and takes his hand again, leading him upstairs to her bedroom. She is astonished by the ferocious feeling of protectiveness that washes over her as she leads him into her room. She wants to rail against the gods or against fate, at whoever or whatever it is that dealt such an awful hand to such a good man.
In her room she begins to unbutton his flannel shirt and he finally seems to shake himself out of his trance and unbuttons the rest of his shirt himself. She turns away to her wardrobe to pull out her pajamas, pulling her dress over her head and dropping it in a puddle in the corner. She moves to the bathroom and when she returns he is sitting on the edge of the bed, clad in T-shirt and boxers. She turns off the overhead light and switches on the lamp beside her bed instead. He is staring at his hands, but he looks up when she crosses to stand in front of him. She is startled when he suddenly reaches out to pull her to stand between his parted legs as he wraps his arms around her waist, holding her tightly as he rests his cheek against her stomach. She holds his head against her and gently strokes his hair.
Then he pulls away slightly, hands still clutching at her waist as he stands up, and she meets his gaze. His eyes seem to express a plethora of different emotions: pain, loss, love, desire, need. She understands that he wants to feel connected, to know that he is alive and so she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls his head down for a kiss. It starts gently, but rapidly escalates as he clutches her to him, fiercely kissing her as his hands slip under her pajama top and run across the bare skin of her back. Soon they are snatching at each other's remaining clothes and he mutters her name as she allows him to guide her down to the bed.
She can feel his desperation in the way his hands hold her to him, the way he urgently runs his hands over her body. She responds eagerly, arching up into his embrace, her mouth opening for his kiss. They kiss hungrily before he pulls away to lavish attention on her neck and she threads her hands through his hair as he moves down to suckle her breasts. They are moving at a rapid pace and she knows that for him, tonight is less about the act and more about the need to connect with someone. She murmurs encouragingly and gasps his name when he enters her. For a moment he is still, his eyes dark with passion and need as he stares down at her. But then he slips his hands under her shoulders to pull her up against him and he kisses her lips softly before he lowers his head to her shoulder. She wraps her hands around his shoulders and her legs slip up around his hips as he begins to move inside her.
She is rarely silent during sex, but tonight both of them are quiet and the silence of the room is only permeated by their gasps and rapid breathing. All too soon she is shaking with pleasure and he follows her seconds later, his face buried in her shoulder as he groans her name. She is overwhelmed by the emotion she hears in his voice.
He lies above her for a few moments, still holding her to him tightly. She rubs her hands soothingly over his back and presses a kiss to his shoulder as her heart rate begins to slow. Then he moves to lie on his side facing her, their legs tangled together as he drapes one arm across her waist to draw her close to him. She meets his gaze steadily in the pale lamplight, lifts a hand to stroke his cheek and softly kisses his forehead. He blinks sleepily at her and eventually his eyes drift shut. He seems more at peace now.
As she watches him, she notes he seems years younger, his face relaxed as the tension of the day is forgotten in the depths of sleep. That fierce feeling of protectiveness washes over her again and her breath catches with the realization of something she has felt for some time but only now will admit to herself. Maybe she isn't ready to tell him yet, but she knows that it is true. She going to try to not to be afraid of how much they need each other because she loves this man. He moves in his sleep, and his arm slips from her waist. She watches as a frown flits across his face. Does he think he's been left behind again? She reaches down to link his hand with her own and pulls it to close to her, watching as his frown fades away again. He isn't alone any longer. This time, he has her.
End