A Really Nice Guy

She moved fast - even faster than usual, which was saying something - through the chilly night. It was me, she thought, it wasn't even him. I did it. How could I just lean into him like that? I did everything but give him a lap dance. Even that would have been easy; just a couple more swings of her hips and she would have been giving him that lap dance. They were there, together, sharing secrets, and the next thing she knew her hip was right up against his, her thigh leaning against his thigh, which was even more muscular than she had expected, and she could feel the heat of his body through both of their jeans.

"Arrgh! Giving him a lap dance?" She screamed out loud, stamping her foot in frustration. "How is my mother always in my head?"

A subject change was needed. There would be no more talk of lap dances, or steak, or poker games, or secrets. Home. I've got to go home, she told him. No, that was a lie. "I should go," she told him. She was so weak she could only whisper those words. All he would have had to do was say, "Stay," and she would have, because, to be honest, her mother was right. She would have given him a lap dance, because he was so attractive tonight. Maybe not just tonight.

Instead, all he said was "Thank you," like any stranger would utter after getting his change at Doose's Market. Crap. That was another lie. Nobody said thank you like that at the grocery store. Nobody put his head so close to yours in the grocery store, making it easy to smell all the scents that make up a man – his aftershave, his soap, his work, his breath fresh as he uttered two simple words of gratitude.

Men who could show their soft side were always sexy, she told herself. Again a lie; Taylor Doose showed his soft side all the time, and he was the last person on the planet she considered to be sexy. No, Kirk was the least sexy person on the planet; Taylor came a close second.

"Good," she breathed to herself, "this is finally working. Taylor's epic lack of sex appeal has distracted me from those other, far less gross but tantalizingly dangerous thoughts. Taylor, Kirk. Taylor, Kirk." She repeated those names, managing to suppress any notion of how insane she must be to think about Taylor and Kirk's sexiness.

She glanced over at Babette's house, where Rory was spending the night cat-sitting Morey's and Babette's kitten, Apricot. "That kid is growing up too fast," she grumbled, feeling pride and an unsettling sensation that she struggled to identify. Recalling their earlier discussion about Rory probably moving out in the not too distant future, she sighed. This was not a surprise, but it didn't mean it wasn't going to tear her heart out anyway.

All of her efforts to reduce her fixation on Luke's 'gratitude' were made utterly irrelevant when Stella's empty cage raised the Crap Shack emergency level to Chickcon 1.

"Stella!"

Her frantic initial search yielded nothing, not even a chirp from the fugitive chick. If Stella was dead, Rory would ensure that her dear but hopelessly scattered mother would be next. How did that damn bird even get out? She'd petted her a little while choosing paint chips for Luke, but she locked the cage. At least, she thought she locked the cage.

"That's OK, I can fix this. We can fix this," she told herself, only conscious of the pronoun change after she had uttered it. She picked up the phone and dialed the only person capable of helping her.

"Hello?" She didn't bother waiting for the person at the other end of the line to answer.

"Yeah."

"Luke? Stella got out and…" Luke was bombarded by a vaguely familiar voice speaking a mile a minute, making no sense whatsoever. Who the hell was Stella and where had she been locked up?

When the maniac on the other end paused for breath, he barked, "Who the hell is this?" even as his subconscious already knew the answer.

"What do you mean? It's Lorelai. Who else would call you looking for her baby chick?"

Baby chick? Did she get hit with another crazy stick on the way home? "You're right," he replied with a sigh. "I'm the idiot. Go on." He continued cleaning the counter, making his final pass for the evening.

Her breathless pleas to come help her search for the 'baby chick' did not fall on deaf ears. "Yeah, okay. I'll be right over."

I was right. There was a moment. It felt good to know he could still read the signs.

A baby chick was loose in the house. Luke smiled at that one. Leave it to Lorelai to come up with an excuse no one else had ever thought of before. He'd heard a few in his day, but they were mostly snakes or bats. He ran upstairs for a quick cleanup and a touch of cologne, then headed over to Lorelai's house.

When he knocked, Lorelai opened the door, practically ripping his shirt open as she dragged him inside, pulling her close to him as she turned him to face her.

Man, she really gives this everything she's got, he observed silently, smiling, waiting to see what happened next. His pulse picked up as he focused on her, trying not to miss any signs for his move. He'd kicked himself too many times for missing signs she'd given him in the past. Maybe tonight he wouldn't be too scared to let himself see them.

She grabbed him again, this time by his right hand, and gave him a step-by-step listing of 'Stella's' adventures, never letting him go. Her left hand brushed his thigh as she guided him across the room. He followed willingly, playing along.

As she described Stella's path through the chick magazines, she dropped his hand and used her free one to start tugging on his down vest. "This is definitely one of her best bits," he thought, watching her animated face as she enumerated the reasons Stella must be a girl chick.

"Jeez, what was that?" he asked. Looking under the sofa with her, he added, "You really do have a chick loose in here."

She wasn't kidding! This wasn't a bit, some clever plan to invite him over late at night. That's what drove him crazy about Lorelai. Just when he thinks he has something figured out, she swerves in the opposite direction and he's as discombobulated as ever. Now, he was here, and she needed him to find an actual chick - the kind with feathers.

They chased and searched, practically taking the living room apart as Stella darted under things and between weird little furniture pieces that you only see in girly houses. Eventually Lorelai flopped on the sofa in frustration while Luke continued his methodical search.

"Hey, Luke, what did you mean earlier?"

"What are you talking about?" Just catch the damn bird already, Danes, and find out what happens next.

"When you got here. You made some comment about me not really having a chick in the house."

"Hmm." This was the best reply he could formulate under the circumstances.

She builds up a big emergency on the phone, takes me through a fantasy of chicks using nail polish and reading magazines, then she asks ME why I'm here? We had a moment back at the diner, OK, more than one, but that last one was special. Sitting on the floor there, talking about my dad, it was so easy. It felt comfortable, like we'd been talking about those things forever, yet thrilling in a distinctly uncomfortable way.

"I mean, if I didn't have a chick here, why did you think I was calling?"

A flash of panic raced through his brain. Need to buy some time here, he thought, while I figure this out.

"No, I thought you were calling about the chick."

This must be another bit. My gut tells me that there's something more here than just a favor. What makes sense? The only logical thing is that she let the chick out in order to make the story more real. She must be waiting for me to respond. Jeez. She could have just invited me over. This is so much work… yet maybe the type of work that turns out to be worth it in the end. More than worth it.

"OK. I just still think that -" she started, as he stood up, replaced the fireplace screen and went over to her, holding out his hand.

"Get up." She took his hand and he pulled her up with just enough force to bring her close to him. "I'm not searching for her all by myself."

"OK," she whispered, again feeling the impact of his standing close to her.

This time he took her by the wrist and guided her to the corner where Stella had last been seen. Putting his hand on the small of her back, he pushed her to the doorway, saying, "You get down on the floor here and be ready to catch her as I drive her your way."

"Head 'em up, move 'em out rawhide!" she joked, trying to diffuse the tension that had been building up within her since he arrived. Maybe for several days or weeks or...

"You can show me your boots and cowgirl hat later. Just be ready to catch her."

Lorelai's brain nearly exploded at Luke's joke. She stammered a little, cheeks flushing; she needed a long moment before she could reply. "R- R- Ready," she answered, the word coming out somewhere between a statement and a question.

Luke looked at her strangely. What was wrong with her now? All at once his unintended double entendre hit him and he dropped the multiple D-cell battery flashlight on his foot. "Ow! Dammit!" he cursed. He found himself hopping a little, wishing he could ease the embarrassment which stung more than the physical pain.

"Luke! Are you alright?!"

Lorelai stood up too fast, trying to move towards him at the same time she stood, which sent her careening into the end table next to the easy chair. Luke reached forward to try to catch her, managing only to knock the lemon lamp off the table as he fell to the floor. He narrowly missed Lorelai, who landed in a heap next to him.

Luke was flat on his back, groaning, his foot pain forgotten in the bruises building on his thighs where he'd landed first on the arm of the chair, then on his forearm which had hit the table on his way to the floor. His hat had fallen off and was nowhere to be seen.

"Are you trying to kill me, woman, because you're getting dangerously close to it," he groused, trying to decide which part of his body hurt the most. His ego and pride, he decided. Definitely those.

Lorelai had raised herself to a half-sitting position, and she looked down at Luke with affectionate sympathy, until the humor of the situation forced the laughter to bubble out of her.

He threw daggers at her with his eyes, then closed them, groaning again, wishing the throbbing would ease.

She was sitting next to the top of his head, looking down at his pained face when the feelings she was still reluctant to identify flooded back. Placing one hand on the floor on either side of his head, she bent her head over his and said softly, "Poor Luke, does it hurt much?"

She looked down at him, lying there with his eyes closed. This time she did not resist the urge to touch his hair, twirling one of the soft curls at the back of his neck. She contemplated kissing those lips which had smiled so sweetly at her back at the diner as he shared his father's stories.

Torn between her heady scent that was amplified by his lack of vision and his need to see what she was doing, Luke opted to feel rather than see. He moistened his lips nervously and waited, hoping.

She didn't disappoint. Lorelai turned, leaning herself on one elbow so she was both closer and better aligned with Luke's face. She traced his lips with her finger, then ran her thumb along his long, sturdy jaw, feeling the day's stubble. Returning her attention again to his lips, she bent down and gave him a fleeting, soft, tender kiss.

His mouth widened into a smile broader than he had believed himself capable of as he opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Lorelai," was all he said, but it felt like a caress.

Smiling back at him, she touched the smile creases which had formed at the corners of his eyes. "I just wanted to know what it would be like to kiss you," she offered.

Happiness warmed his eyes, darkening his irises. He said simply, "My turn," pulling her face down to his, taking their next kiss deeper.

Before any real progress could be made, though, Stella reported in again with a muffled "Peep!" Luke sat up and they both looked in the direction of the sound but saw nothing.

"Peep! Peep!" Stella let loose again. The sound came from behind the end table.

Looking under the table, Luke could see his blue cap, lying among the shards of the porcelain lamp. He reached for the cap, then pulled back suddenly when it moved.

"There! Stella's under the cap!" he said, and pointed the location out to Lorelai. The cap moved again, ever so slightly.

"Stella! That's good, honey, that's good, let me save you from the big ol' dark baseball cap," she consoled the chick, carefully wrapping a hand over the opening in the back of the cap, then gently closing the cap over the chick.

"I've got you, I've got you, baby. We'll get you back into your cage, yes we will, everything will be okay."

"She better not pee in my cap," warned Luke, eyeing the chick with trepidation.

"Oh you big baby, nothing's going to happen to your cap, but even if it does, you can always wash it."

"I'm a big baby? You're the one who called in reinforcements to help you find a baby chick."

"Stella's never going anywhere ever again. I'm thinking of slipping some super glue on the bottom of the cage. That would be bad, right? I mean, I know staples are bad but what's the verdict on super glue?"

"Ask Stella."

Luke took a cardboard box and carefully put the pieces of the lamp in it. Once that was done, he said, "I'm gonna take this out to the trash. I'll be back in a minute."

"Great, I'll get a couple of beers out for us. You deserve a break and a big thank you for your help tonight."

They stood there for a long moment, uncertain about what to do next. Finally, Luke swallowed, looked around awkwardly and left via the side door, saying, "OK, let me just take this around back."

Lorelai watched him go, both excited and apprehensive. She finally knew what it was like to kiss him. It was, for lack of a more adequate adjective, good. Very good, actually. She definitely believed they would have to try that again, preferably in the very near future. She dove for the hall closet and began digging through the mounds of crap that she and Rory stored in there.

Once outside the door, he paused and took a deep breath. That was nice, really nice, he thought. It would also be nice if we could do it again. Of course, our track record indicates that something really weird will interrupt us within the next minute or so.

He looked around. Nobody, not even Mrs. Kim, was in sight. Maybe our luck is changing, he thought as he bounded lightly down the stairs.

The sound of Babette's door opening and closing sank Luke's heart and his hopes.