She finally asks the question that's been itching at her brain once they're in bed, after pretty much the most amazing shower of her life to wash away all the hiking stink and with Luke - her fiancé, thank you very much - threading his hand through her hair in a way that almost makes her want to purr, and though she feels deliciously sleepy the image of him stepping into the kitchen with a jewelry box in hand is still driving her nuts.

"Hon?"

"Yep."

She's mostly laying on his chest, smelling his clean T-shirt smell and enjoying how warm he is, so the word comes out more of a rumble than anything else.

"Why did you still have my ring? I mean, where exactly were you keeping it for 10 years and why didn't you ever tell me and how did I never notice a sparkly piece of jewelry in almost a decade of co-habitation?"

Luke's fingers pause, for a second, at her temple.

"Well," he says, "I can't remember the last time you actually cleaned out that desk - in fact, I'm pretty sure the Al's take-out menu from 2005 is proof - and I knew that, so I kept it there."

It's a little rushed, a little stilted, and she knows - in a way that makes her feel warm and hopeful, not unmoored like it used to - that this is still hard for them, the conversations where they have to drop all of their defences. They're freaking middle-aged and still basically scared teenagers when it comes to the big stuff, which hello? Is ridiculous. But they're working on it; she knows that now. And they're going to keep working on it.

They're going to keep fighting for each other.

"After you gave it back to me, I dunno, I held onto it. For safekeeping, I guess." She feels Luke's shrug. "And then I brought it with me when I moved back in, and I know we talked about it early on and decided we weren't going to do the whole engagement thing again, but I kept it. In the desk, because I didn't want you to feel like I felt one way or another, because I didn't, or like I was trying to pressure you, which I wasn't, but - just in case you, uh, changed your mind."

Lorelai smiles wide at his rambling, then leans up to kiss him.

"I'm glad we changed our minds."

"Me too."

"And I'm glad you kept the ring."

"Me too."

"So," she says as she tucks herself in closer to him, her eyelids getting heavy, "you beat your own record, bucko. Knocked that whole 'eight years with a horoscope' thing right out of contention. I mean, pfft, eight years with a piece of paper in your wallet? Who cares when you've got a decade with a diamond ring in your desk!"

Luke rolls his eyes as he settles himself around her, telegraphing equal parts exasperation and love.

"Yep, got the world record for most sentimental idiot."

"Hey, my fiancé is not an idiot." She pokes him, feebly, in the shoulder for good measure, halfway to sleep. "My fiancé, I'll have you know, is actually the record holder for most romantic guy in the universe. And I bet he's going to sweep the 'best husband' category too."

They're laying face-to-face now, Lorelai starting to drift off. Luke's smiling his special Luke smile, the one that seems to light up his whole face.

"He's gonna try."

Lorelai kisses him one more time; a drowsy, happy kiss.

"Until body bags do us part."

She falls asleep to the sound of his laughter.