Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls.

Author's Note: Hi! Okay, so new to the fandom. So ummm hello, I'm a bit fandom ADD but don't worry, this story is really lodged in my mind so I'm highly doubting I'll abandon you with it. But yeah, it's another one of your AUs where Luke and Lorelai meet earlier on, and a look at how it affects their relationship. There will be fuzz, fluff, angst, the rating may even be upped or I'll write a companion to fill in all smuff and smut and whatnot. I've taken some liberties, of course. Um, what else? This chapter may seem a little odd but don't worry there's a lot of explanation already written into chapter two, which was originally the end of this chapter, but it was looking to be really long at the rate this was going, so I just decided to cut it off here, at a fairly logical place. All that out of the way, hope you enjoy the story:)

Homecoming

Chapter One

When Luke Danes woke up that morning, he just knew it would be another long, boring day working at his dad's hardware store. It was inventory day, even; quite possibly the most boring activity one could imagine at a hardware store. He was in the stockroom, going over the contents of their most recent shipment, checking off the last of the items on a clipboard, when he heard the bell above the door ring, signaling the coming of a customer. He ducked outside the door, wiping his hands on his pants and waving a hello to the man who was already comparing the prices of their nails to those of a chain store somewhere in Woodbridge.

Groaning a little, Luke settled down in his chair, kicking his feet up on the checkout counter. What a way to spend a Friday afternoon. He looked out the window, like he often did, watching the day-to-day happenings of the small town around him. They were fairly predictable – the same people doing the same things, week to week. It was peaceful, sometimes infuriatingly so. You couldn't do anything without the entire town knowing within an hour or two.

Across the street was the park, or a playground at least. It wasn't anything special. Every Friday afternoon the same families came with the same children and played the same games, kissed the same bumped knees, quelled the same tantrums . . . but not today. In addition to the usual children was a young woman, maybe a couple years younger than himself. She looked out of place for Stars Hollow, in what appeared to be a private school uniform, rocking herself back and forth on the swing, a backpack discarded nearby. He watched her, thinking she looked awfully sad, just swinging there, watching the children play.

The man broke Luke from his reverie, clearing his throat and dropping a few boxes of supplies on the counter. Luke mumbled the general line, "Find everything okay? Great," and rang the items up, putting his purchases in a bag. "Come again soon," he said and kicked his feet back up, gazing out the window.

A few hours and several customers later, Luke looked out the window again and saw the sad girl was still there, having not moved an inch since he first saw her, still gazing forlornly at the playground. Most of the children were gone now – it was nearing dusk and any sensible parent demanded their child home by the time the streetlights came on.

He slipped upstairs to put the coffee on for when his dad came to take over, and set about brewing himself some tea. His dad had been gone a lot lately, actually anytime Luke was scheduled all day (after all, he had a habit of skipping Friday classes to work), sometimes leaving all day, coming back in time to close down the store and help Luke with dinner at home. The tea kettle whistled and he automatically set about pouring himself a cup and dropping a tea bag inside. Honestly, Luke had no idea where his dad went, but he knew better than to ask – ever since his wife died, William was distant. And now, a few years later, he was only getting worse. Instead of focusing on his work, he was entirely withdrawn. No doubt Liz leaving was a contributing factor . . .

The coffeemaker beeped, indicating it was ready. He pushed back the curtain and saw she was still out there, just as woeful as before.

It was a split second decision a long time coming, a contradiction, but like jumping off a plane – one spends weeks training, learning how to work a parachute, but the jump, the jump is the decision one makes in the blink of an eye.

He poured a cup of coffee, grabbed both mugs, and determinedly set off down the stairs, flipping the sign on the door to 'closed' and went across the street. Normally, he wasn't a very social guy, ask anyone in town, but something compelled him to do this. Maybe it was Miss Patty's voice, echoing in his head, telling him to 'put himself out there'.

Or maybe he just thought she was pretty.

And pretty she was. Not many people can pull off the schoolgirl thing, and, though it didn't seem like her thing, it certainly wasn't unpleasant-looking on her.

"Coffee?" he offered, holding the mug out to her.

She looked up at him with tired, bloodshot eyes. She'd obviously been crying, but she cracked a small smile and accepted the beverage. "Thanks," she said meekly.

He sat down on the swing next to her, wincing a little as the chains squeaked in protest of his weight. "You know," he said, "Drink too much of that and it'll kill you."

"Ah, but I bleed coffee. Take it away and I'll die." She took a sip and gasped. "This, my friend, has to be the best coffee I've ever tasted. I thank you."

He turned a little pink.

"And served by such a handsome gentleman, too!" She giggled half-heartedly when he blushed some more. "Wow, those are six shades of red I've never seen before. Crayola would kill to study you." She took another drink, then looked over at him. "How did you know I'd want coffee?"

He shrugged. "You just . . . seemed like a coffee girl, I guess. I don't know."

She smiled a little.

They quickly settled into an uncomfortable silence, both rocking back and forth on their swings, sipping at their drinks.

"So," he began awkwardly. "You new around town?"

"I guess. Just . . . passing through."

"Oh," he said, a little disappointed. "Then why are you here? This isn't exactly the most exciting place to be."

She was sounding more depressed by the second. "I just needed to get away. There was a bus coming here, so I took it." She took another sip of her coffee. "I'm Lorelai, by the way. Lorelai Gilmore." She held out her hand.

"Luke Danes," he said as he gently squeezed her hand. "My dad owns that hardware store," he gestured to the building with his mug. "Nice uniform," he mentioned, grinning into his tea.

She rolled her eyes. "Believe me, I didn't ask to go to private school."

"I don't blame you," he said. "But you make it look good."

"Why, Mr. Danes, are you flirting with me?" she asked slyly.

"What? No, of course not . . . maybe, I guess, if you want me to."

She chuckled a little and shook her head, tucking a dark curl behind her ear as she worked on the coffee, her previously saddened demeanor returning. She looked about ready to cry.

"Hey," he said softly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she dismissed.

He looked skeptical, but just nodded, not wanting to pry. "Okay."

A few minutes passed, and finally she drew her backpack closer to her and dug around until she found what she was looking for. She pulled out a small plastic device and handed it to him.

He looked down at the pregnancy test, the little pink strip. "Oh," he said, full of understanding.

"Yeah," she agreed, taking it back and shoving it in her bag again. "That was pretty much my response, too." She swung back and forth thoughtfully. "I never expected this to happen, maybe I didn't think it could. But who does expect to be a mother at sixteen?"

"Well," he said thoughtfully. "I don't know how or if this'll help, but . . . my little sister's about your age, her name is Liz, and she's pregnant, too. She left home."

"And your parents? They just let her?"

"It's just my dad," he corrected. "And he made sure she was safe and told her she was welcome home anytime, and that we'd do anything to help her. But he didn't want to pressure her."

She smiled a little. "God, I wish my parents were like that." She took a sip of coffee. "My parents are a little . . . strict. I come from a 'high class' family in Hartford, you know. And they have their own morals and stuff. Their own opinions on child-rearing. They had our futures planned out for us, Chris and I, before we were born, I think. They're not going to be exactly happy about this little . . . obstacle."

He frowned. "So have you . . ." he trailed off.

"Told them?" she supplied. "No. Actually, you're the first person I've told. I'm pretty surprised I haven't started blubbering and crying all over you."

"That's, uh, probably a good thing. I don't do really good with, ya know, crying and stuff."

She smiled a little at him. "That's okay. You're a good listener, you know that? Thanks."

"No problem," he said, thinking. He was a little disappointed that she was apparently taken and definitely pregnant, but she was nice, slightly infuriating, but nice. Maybe making some friends wouldn't be too bad for him after all. "So . . . what are you going to do?"

"Well," she began, "I was going to move out on my own as soon as I can after the baby's born and . . . find a job, I guess. Raise the kid as a single parent."

"What about the father?"

"Oh, Christopher? No doubt our parents are going to try to get us to walk down the aisle, but . . . no. I'll tell him, of course. He deserves to know, but it's going to be a, well, a very interesting conversation. But he's a smart guy, he's got a lot ahead of him and he shouldn't give it up for five minutes on the balcony."

"The balcony?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Uh, yeah," she blushed. "I'm pretty sure that was it. I mean, it wasn't the only time, but I don't remember using a con-"

He cleared his throat, cutting her off, bright red. "Umm, I got it, thanks."

She looked up at him and smirked a little. "Seriously, I'd send you to Crayola right now if you didn't make such amazing coffee."

"Liquid death," he corrected, finishing off his tea.

The streetlights started flickering on one by one, illuminating the picturesque little town.

"Hey," he started, a little awkward, "It's getting late and kinda chilly. Why don't you come back to the store with me for a little? My dad's probably wondering where I ran off to, and I would feel pretty bad leaving you two, ya know, alone in a strange place like this." He was rambling and quickly cut himself off.

She frowned at him. "Two?"

He gestured in the general direction of her stomach.

"Oh, yeah," she said, placing her hands on her abdomen. "I'm still getting used to the idea, I guess."

He nodded. "So?"

She considered her options for a moment. "Go with this nice stranger I've just met, or go home to my parents? What kind of a decision is that?" She grabbed her backpack and saluted him. "Lead the way, Captain."

He led her across the street and through the door that clearly said 'closed', the bell above announcing their entrance. "Dad?" he called.

"Upstairs," came the reply.

Lorelai looked around for a second. She'd never considered what a small-town hardware store would look like, but if she had, this would pretty much be it. Aside from that dancing pork chop. Seriously, what's up with that?

Luke called back to her from the foot of the stairs, "Come on."

She turned her attention back to him and followed him up to the office. Luke took her mug with his to toss them in the sink, while Lorelai, set her backpack down by the door. "You came in the back way?" Luke asked, turning on the sink, and was greeted with a grunt.

A man, the source of said grunt, got up from the desk and approached her. "Well, who is this?" he asked Luke, apparently having not expected company.

"Lorelai Gilmore, sir," she smiled.

He shook her hand and grinned back, "Call me William."

"Nice to meet you, William."

"Lucas, where on earth did you find such a polite young lady?"

Luke scoffed a little. "Polite? Just wait, you'll see how sarcastic she really is."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Lorelai said.

William chuckled and looked between the two. "Well, it looks like you two know each other pretty well."

"Actually," Luke interjected, "We just met today. Lorelai's from-"

"Hartford," she provided. "Your son was just helping me. I was having a tough time."

William raised his eyebrows questioningly. Luke was about to step in, but Lorelai answered frankly, "I just found out I'm pregnant."

William stared at her a moment, eyes wide, then he replied lamely, "Congratulations."

She toed the floor lightly, mumbling a half-hearted thank you.

"How," William began, "how old are you?"

"Sixteen," she said. William and Luke exchanged knowing glances.

"Lorelai, would you like to join us for dinner?" the elder Danes offered.

"Sure."

Lorelai set her backpack down in the entryway of the Danes' home, looking around, enjoying the simplicity of it, the slightly cluttered, lived-in feel it had – something unheard of in her parents' world. "I love your house," she commented.

"Yeah," Luke grunted.

"Hey," she said. "When does the last bus leave here?"

Luke glanced down at his watch. "Um, twenty minutes ago. Shit."

"Oh," she looked down, suddenly finding the floorboards interesting. "I guess I can call for a cab or something after dinner."

Luke realized the awkward situation they just landed in and shyly offered, "Well, I could drive you, if you want. Hartford's not that far away."

"Really?" she looked up at him.

"Sure, it's my fault you missed your bus in the first place."

"Thanks."

William interrupted their exchange. "Lucas, would you mind helping me with dinner?"

"'Course, Dad," and he disappeared into what she guessed was the kitchen.

Lorelai stood there uncomfortably, unsure of how to behave in this situation, before following him into the kitchen. There, she watched the exchange between father and son. It was interesting, the way guys communicate without actually saying anything. 'The sauce', 'Luke', 'Dad' and 'sorry' were the only words uttered by either father or son, along with their fair share of grunts.

It wasn't long before the table was set and the food ready. Taking her first bite, Lorelai's eyes widened and she gushed, "Oh my god, this is some of the best spaghetti I've ever had. And believe me, my parents go through a maid every week and a cook every month. I've tasted some good stuff."

William smiled a thank you at her, "It's Luke's recipe."

She raised her eyebrows in his direction. "Luke's? Luke cooks? I'm impressed." Luke blushed. "Number eight, right there!"

William interrupted this exchange, "Your parents have maids? And a cook?"

"Um, yeah," she turned her attention to her plate. "Did I not mention that?"

Dinner continued to be a bit awkward, as William was caught up with everything Lorelai had explained to Luke earlier at the park – her unexpected pregnancy, her family, her plans.

"Ooh, can I help with dishes?" Lorelai asked when they were through.

"Um, sure," Luke raised an eyebrow and helped her clear. "Well, I should probably get you home. It's pretty late."

"What?" William cut in. "Neither of you are going out this late, especially not to Hartford. Lorelai, call your parents and tell them you're safe and you'll be home in the morning."

Lorelai couldn't help but laugh a little at the protectiveness he had for a total stranger. "Yes, sir," she said in all seriousness and located the phone. She dialed the familiar number and waited while it rang.

"Hello?"

"Um, hi, could I speak to Emily or Richard? It's Lorelai, their daughter."

"Just a moment, Miss Gilmore."

She waited while the phone changed hands.

"Lorelai? Where on earth have you been? You missed dinner and your father and I have spent the past hour trying to track you down!"

"Hi, Mom."

"Well? Explain yourself."

"I was, um, working on a school project . . . thing, with a friend. And I'm going to stay the night."

"Which friend?"

"Huh?"

"Which friend are you staying with? Really, Lorelai, you can't expect me to let you stay overnight with strangers."

"Um, yeah, about that . . ."

"Oh, damn, Lorelai, never mind. Your father and I are going to be late for that fundraiser. I expect you back by lunch tomorrow."

"Of course, Mom."

"Goodbye, Lorelai."

"Bye, Mom," and she hung up the phone with a sigh.

Luke approached her shyly, "So, that was . . ."

"My mother," she rolled her eyes. "The famous Emily Gilmore. Or Emily Post, same difference."

"Emily Post?"

"Never mind," she smiled.

"So," Luke began, leading her up the stairs. "Dad said you could stay in Liz's old room."

"Thank you so much for letting me stay here, by the way."

"It's no problem," he said, opening the door to Liz's room.

Inside she saw what she expected most teenage girls' rooms look like (other than hers, of course). Clothes were strewn every which way, and posters lined the walls (Pat Benatar, apparently the girl had good taste). She did notice that there was a crib and a changing table all ready there. Apparently, they were prepared, or at least hoping, for Liz's return.

"Here," he gruffed, heading for the closet. "I'll find you something to wear."

"Thanks."

He finally pulled out a pink nightshirt and handed it to her. "I, uh, hope it's, um, your size."

"It looks fine."

"The bathroom's across the hall." She nodded and they stood there awkwardly for a moment, before he finally moved toward the door.

"Hey, Luke?"

He stopped and turned around. "Yeah?"

"I'm really glad I met you." She offered him a smile and he returned it.

"Me, too, Lorelai."

She finally just stood back and examined him. He was a handsome young man, in that rugged way, so unlike Chris's boyish charm. He was a senior in high school, or that's at least what he gathered from the discussion at the dinner table. He wore work boots, jeans and a flannel shirt – probably the best thing for working at a hardware store. And a grey baseball cap, turned backward on his head.

She quickly realized she was staring and averted her gaze.

"'Night," he said softly.

"Night-night."

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