Title: as time goes by
Pairing: Luke/Lorelai
Word Count: 1,962 (Part 4 of 5)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: spans from a couple of years pre-series to mid-season one
Summary: Five times Luke and Lorelai kissed (or wanted to) before Raincoats & Recipes.

iv.

"Note to self – hey, Luke, write this down."

"With what?" Luke asks, tightening his grip on her waist. It doesn't stop her from stumbling all over the damn place.

"Miss Patty's Founder's Day Punch – never a good idea. Are you writing this down?"

"If it's a note to self, shouldn't you write it down?" he points out irritably.

She frowns at him. "With what?"

"Exactly."

"Huh," she says carelessly. She steps on his toe – again – and it hurts like hell – again. Her face scrunches up in a bewildered frown. "You know, I can usually walk in heels a lot better than this."

"Yeah, well, you're usually not plastered out of your mind," Luke reminds her.

"Excuse me!" she exclaims indignantly, and pokes him in the shoulder. Hard. "I am not plastered out of my mind. I am faintly tipsy."

"Yeah, okay," he says, not even bothering to pretend he's convinced.

She's thoughtfully silent for a couple seconds.

"I'm all over you, aren't I?" she realizes.

"Little bit, yeah," he confirms.

She tilts her head. "Do you mind?"

"I'd mind more if you fell over and broke your neck," he retorts.

"Aw, you're so sweet," she fawns, pinching his cheek. It's a good thing that whole no-hitting-girls rule exists.

"Right." He rolls his eyes.

"Chivalry, thy name is Lucas," she continues merrily.

"Don't call me Lucas."

"Hey!" She drums her fingers excitedly against his arm. "I just realized something."

He sighs. "What?"

"Chivalry – weird word, right?"

"Not really."

"What??" she asks, apparently morally offended. "Are you kidding me? It is such a weird word."

"It's a word. Words are words."

"So you don't think any words are weird?" she asks skeptically.

"Nope."

"Not even, like, onomatopoeia?"

"The fact that you can pronounce that while drunk is very impressive," he remarks, looking over at her.

"Well, I'm an impressive lady," she responds, beaming. "Or haven't you heard?"

"Maybe once or twice."

She nudges him. "Hee, you think I'm impressive."

"Is there any chance you're gonna stop talking?" he asks dryly.

"Nope!" she chirps.

"I didn't think so," he grumbles.

She laughs, and the sound is hazy and warm; it's got that sunshine-on-your back feeling, if that makes any sense. Stuff to do with Lorelai doesn't usually tend to make sense. It's a fact he's come to terms with over the years.

"Hey," she says all of a sudden, thoughtful.

He's got a bad feeling about this. "What?"

"Remember that time you kissed me under the mistletoe?"

Definitely a bad feeling. "Yeah."

"Why'd you do that?" she asks, eyeing him curiously.

"It's mistletoe," he answers bluntly. "It's the rules."

"You don't care about mistletoe rules," she reminds him, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah," he replies, "but you do, and Taylor does, and so does the whole damn rest of this crazy town. It woulda been worse if I hadn't done it, believe me."

She's silent for a couple seconds. "Huh."

"Yeah," he agrees, and tries not to pay too much attention to the feel of her waist against his fingertips.

They take a couple of steps in silence. He's just about to reach the relieved conclusion that maybe this whole walking-home situation doesn't spell disaster after all when—

"Luke?"

For the love of God. "What?"

"No offense or anything," Lorelai says matter-of-factly, "but it was kind of a crappy kiss."

Oh brother.

"It's a mistletoe kiss," he replies as practically as he can. "Of course it was crappy."

"But it so didn't have to be!" she exclaims.

"Oh yeah? Why's that?" Not that he cares, because none of this is a big deal.

"Well, I don't know if you're aware of this, but you and I are a couple of reasonably attractive people, my friend," Lorelai declares.

"You don't say."

"I did say. Jeez!" She slams her shoulder clumsily against his. "Pay attention."

"Sorry."

"And my point here is," she continues, ridiculously impassioned, "we should be able to combine our powers of reasonable attractiveness to create one decent kiss. It just makes sense."

"Huh," he says.

She looks at him in a way that could be classified as disgusted. "That's all you got out of that? 'Huh'??"

"Well, sorry I didn't recognize our mutual attractiveness at the time," he sighs impatiently. "I didn't know you'd hold one crappy kiss against me forever."

As soon as he says it, he wishes he hadn't. It sounds . . . offended, or disappointed, or something else that he's not. That kiss didn't matter, a whole lot like how this conversation doesn't matter. And he definitely doesn't want Lorelai getting the idea that it does.

"I'm not saying it was all your fault!" she says, tightening her grip on his arm. He thinks it's supposed to be comforting. "It's not like I did anything to help along the situation."

"Okay then," he says flatly.

"I could've practiced beforehand!" she continues grandly. "Macked on the bathroom mirror! Unwrapped a Starburst with my tongue!"

"Okay, I got it," he assures her.

"Do you, Luke?" she demands, turning to stare at him dead-on. "Do you really appreciate the gravity of the situation??"

"No," he says firmly, meeting her eyes. "And neither will you, when you're not drunk."

"Well, 'till then, it's a big deal!"

He shrugs. "If you say so."

Thankfully, she shuts up again. Hopefully this time, she'll actually stay quiet.

He's so distracted by trying not to let her step on his feet that he doesn't even begin to see it coming.

"Maybe we should try it again," she says.

He stops walking. "What?"

"You know," she says, perfectly untroubled as she stills next to him. "Redeem ourselves."

"Um," he says. He's gonna have trouble coming up with any more than that.

"Not to put any pressure on you," she adds, leaning into him slightly. "Am I putting pressure on you? Figurative pressure, I mean. I'm obviously putting physical pressure on you."

"Obviously."

"I just always thought that when we -- if we, I mean --" Her eyes are wide and earnest, and he realizes with a weird, sinking sensation (or maybe it's a floating sensation; he's not good with sensations) that she's actually serious. "--it would be -- . . . squirrels."

He doesn't know why he's surprised.

"Squirrels," he repeats flatly.

"Yeah," she says, looking strangely blank. "Squirrels." And then in two seconds she's back at high speed, a-million-miles-a-minute Lorelai Gilmore. "What do you think about them? Weird, right??"

"Weird squirrels," he says dully.

"Like bats without wings, with those gigantic furry tails of theirs!" she proclaims, with all the fervor of some creepy TV evangelist. "Where do they get off??"

"Squirrels." It's kinda hard to get past, is all.

"Squirrels," she affirms, sneering violently.

The sneer disappears pretty quick, though, and then she's just looking at him. Her eyes are really, really blue. He's still got an arm around her waist, and it probably feels way more natural than it should.

"You thought about it," he says, not meaning to, almost in a whisper. It's stupid.

"Well, yeah," she admits uncomfortably. "Once or twice."

"Oh."

She breathes in. "Did you?"

The smart move here would be to lie.

But the thing is, in the spirit of the evening, maybe it's better to just abandon smart moves. Temporarily, at least.

"I--" he starts.

"Luke! Lorelai! Hey, Morey, it's Luke and Lorelai!!"

It's only now that he realizes they're standing right in front of Babette and Morey's.

Fantastic.

"Hey Luke," Morey says dutifully, trailing after Babette out onto the porch. "Hey Lorelai."

"Hey, Morey. Babette," Luke says, trying to get his stupid heart rate to stop whatever it's doing.

Not that it's any different than regular, or anything.

"Say, Luke, honey, why are you two walkin' so close?" Babette asks. Her puzzled frown transforms into a delighted grin way too fast. "Did you finally figure things out? Morey, these two crazy kids! They finally figured things out!"

"Nice," Morey says approvingly.

"We didn't figure anything out," Luke says firmly. "She's just--"

"Oops!" Lorelai exclaims, and giggles as she stumbles into him. "Man, walking is hard!"

"We're standing still," Luke reminds her, bemused.

"Well, that's tough, too," she replies, untroubled.

"Ah," Babette says knowingly. "Founder's Day Punch, huh?"

"Exactly," Luke confirms.

"But I am not drunk, I'll have you know!" Lorelai exclaims, then glares at him. "Luke thinks I'm drunk."

"You are drunk," he informs her.

"See??" she says triumphantly in Babette and Morey's general direction.

"That punch'll really do a number on ya, won't it, honey?" Babette says, shaking her head. "Lucky for you, Luke sweetheart, Lorelai is an adorable drunk."

"Thank you, Babette!" Lorelai beams.

"No problem, sweetie. It's God's honest truth! You've got your ugly drunks, and your sad drunks, and then you've got Lorelai."

"Good to know," Luke deadpans.

"You hear that?" Lorelai asks him, way too pleased. "I'm adorable."

"I heard."

"So you better be nice to me," she orders, poking him in the chest.

"Ya know, Luke, sugar, maybe this is your chance," Babette continues.

Oh no. "Chance to what?"

"You know! Make a move!"

Jesus. "I don't--"

"'Cause God knows you're perfect for each other, but you're not gonna win a girl's heart with one crappy mistletoe kiss, ya know?" She turns to her husband, nudging him in the arm. "Isn't that right, Morey??"

"Okay," Luke cuts in pointedly. He figures Morey will probably be pretty cool about it, but at the moment, he doesn't feel like taking the chance. Instead, he tightens his grip around Lorelai's waist and starts moving. "We will see you guys later."

"Just think about it, would ya, doll?" Babette calls after him.

"Goodnight, you two!" Luke yells over his shoulder.

Lorelai's frowning. "Did they just tell you to come onto me while I'm drunk?"

"Yeah."

"The people in this town are cracked," she declares.

"No argument there."

". . . Maybe it's a sign."

He can't believe this. "What?"

"That we should try again!" she urges.

"Lorelai--"

"No, no, think about it!" she insists, gazing into the distance in front of them like she can see it all on a big dumb movie screen or something. "Mistletoe Kiss, Take Deux."

"I don't think that's the best idea," he says.

"Why not?" she demands.

"Well, for one thing, you're not gonna remember any of this in the morning," he says as rationally as he can, taking a couple of steps forward. It's hindered by the fact that she's suddenly not moving.

"What?" he asks a little impatiently.

She just looks at him. Her expression changes -- turns softer somehow. There's moonlight in her hair. "I'd remember."

She does stupid, stupid things to him.

"Yeah?" he can't help asking.

"I'd remember," she repeats. She's talking quiet, but there's insistence in her voice.

Mistletoe Kiss, Take Deux suddenly isn't sounding so bad at all. Judging by the way she's leaning closer into him, eyelids suddenly heavy, lips parting slightly, it looks like she's thinking the same thing.

There's a second where he's gonna do it -- seize the day, live in the moment, all that bullshit that he definitely doesn't believe in -- but then, with her this close, the scent of alcohol hits him hard all of a sudden. He falters.

Maybe he's thought about it once or twice, and in those scenarios, she actually remembers it the next day.

"Let's get you inside," he says gently, pulling back.

Her eyes open all the way, and she looks at him for a second with this confusion that makes him just want to say to hell with it and -- well.

He doesn't. That's the important thing.

A moment passes.

"Okay," she agrees softly.

They walk in not-quite-comfortable silence up to her front door.