Disclaimer: Not mine, just doing repairs.
Author's Note: I'm sorry it's been so long between updates. Life's been a little crazy, to say the least. I hope to have the rest of this story completed before too long. I also have to give huge thanks to CineFille and Lula Bo for reading this and giving me such insightful feedback.
In the days after their trip to the cabin, Luke feels like he and Lorelai are edging back to the relationship they'd had before fears and secrets had started driving them apart. Right after their return Luke takes her out on a real date, but unlike their last 'reunion' date, he tries not to make a big deal about it. They go to a quiet, out of the way restaurant where no one will make a big fuss. They've spent so long working through everything that pulled them apart and he just doesn't want to dwell on it any longer; instead he just wants to spend time with her.
He wants to listen to her stories, tell her about his day, let his fingers trace circles just above her knee. And, most of all, look her in the eye and let her see what he's been holding back for the last month or more. And when he brings her home he wants her to invite him inside so that when he falls asleep it's with her nestled against him.
That's how it is for the next several days. On nights when April and Lorelai aren't collectively teasing him from the diner counter, Luke and Lorelai go out to dinner, or to a movie, or stay in for a movie, and those are the nights that he stays with her, tucked into the familiar bed under the bedding they picked out together.
He hadn't thought that it would be possible to miss her more than he did during the time she spent in Vermont, when he had no idea if they had any future together or if he even wanted them to. But having her back in his life completely, he's realizing anew everything that he'd missed. The restless little noises she makes in her sleep that quiet when he gathers her next to him. The tickle of the strands of her hair spread across his chest when he wakes. The fierceness of her kisses in the darkness of the bedroom. Now when he lies awake alone in his apartment he wonders when they'll get back to the point where their default is to stay together rather than apart.
There are a couple of nights she's at the diner late and when she leaves he thinks he can see her debating whether to ask him back home. And when she doesn't he wonders if it's because she's not ready for that small shift in their routine, or whether she thinks he's not ready for it. They haven't stayed in his apartment either and he's not sure if that's just the way that it's happened or because his apartment has been redone to make room for his daughter and she's reluctant to invade that space.
On the other hand, his presence is gradually returning to her house. His toiletries mingle with hers in the new larger bathroom and his brand of shampoo rests on the shelf in the shower. There is food in the refrigerator and his teabags are on the counter. And one night when Paul Anka has one of his overnight shoe rearranging fits, Luke's boots are right there in the line with Lorelai's smaller, narrower shoes.
He has to remind himself that it hasn't been very long since their trip to the cabin and that they are making tiny little steps forward. But while he's not impatient exactly, he is sometimes eager to get there sooner, to be fully in her life, to have his stuff in her house and to be in her bed every night. And it's not just about sex, though he's starting to believe the study that says that guys think about sex every 74 seconds or whatever it is.
It's more about getting on with the life he thinks they're supposed to have, and about kicking himself for letting them get so far off-track. So, because of that, one of the nights that she gives one of her tentative goodbyes before turning to go, he says, "Hold on." She turns back, lifting one eyebrow in an unspoken question. "If you want to wait a few minutes while I clean up, I can walk you home," he offers.
She pretends to consider. "Well, okay," she says, drawing out the words, "as long as there's some coffee left in that pot."
He shakes his head in mock exasperation but looking up at her shining eyes lets loose a warm smile. They leave the diner a few minutes later, and after waiting for him to lock up, Lorelai wraps both of her arms around his and rests her head on his shoulder. She doesn't say much on the walk home and that should seem more unusual than it is, but he's noticed that she's more contemplative of late. In recent weeks they're as likely to share a comfortable silence as they are to bounce banter back and forth.
When he walks her up the steps and they stop at the door, he holds her hands in his. Before he has a chance to whisper good night, she leans into him, planting a brief, soft kiss on his lips and then wrapping her arms around his neck. His arms automatically snug around her waist and they stand like that for a long moment before she breathes into his ear, "Do you have to go back home?"
He shakes his head slowly and asks, "Do you want me to stay?"
He half expects an off-color joke, but she's wearing a serious expression when she nods slowly and admits, "I miss you when you're not here."
"So do I. So do I."
Once inside, Lorelai pulls two beers out of the fridge and they settle in to watch a little television. When Luke can feel himself starting to droop, Lorelai drags him upstairs to get ready for bed.
Before heading to the bathroom, he slips out of his jeans and flannel and into the sweats he's left here to sleep in. As he's spreading the toothpaste on his brush, Lorelai asks from the bedroom, "You know, you've accumulated some dirty clothes here. One might think that you're hoping I'll wash them for you." She appears in the doorway of the bathroom with an impish smile and her ice cream cone pajamas. "So, did you want me to throw them in with mine or what?"
"Don't put your back out over it or anything, but if you were going to do laundry anyway…" He's teasing her, but at the same time he can't help feeling a sense of warmth at being included in her domestic routines.
She just grins as she turns to walk back into the bedroom to pull out the laundry basket and begin to sort the clothes. He smiles to himself, but a few minutes later, when he's just finished flossing, he hears her call from the next room.
"Luke?" she says, her voice shaky.
He walks toward her, concerned. "Yeah, I'm right here."
She's sitting on the floor of the bedroom, the jeans he'd been wearing earlier spread across her lap. In her hands is a white envelope, the envelope. "What's this?" she asks tentatively, staring down at her hands, as if she's a little afraid of what she's holding. As if she's not sure she wants to open it to see if the little bulge is what she thinks it is. Finally she looks up at him, takes a deep breath and asks, "Is it?"
He just nods slowly.
She closes her eyes briefly before asking, "You've been carrying it around?"
This time he takes in a breath before ducking his head in a small nod of admission.
"I guess I figured you'd thrown it away," she says with forced lightness.
He's quiet too long and she looks up at him, her brow wrinkled and her mouth half-open. "I almost did," he confesses quietly.
He watches her swallow and when she speaks her voice is strained. "Where? When?"
Before answering he drops to a crouch. "In the river in Vermont. After you told me about…" He can't finish out the sentence, but she nods in understanding, looking down at her hands where she's turning the envelope over, again and again. He lowers himself all the way down, turning so that he's sitting cross-legged in front of her. Reaching out for her knee, he's startled by her voice.
"Why didn't you?"
Even though she's not looking at him, he shrugs. "It wasn't big enough." She looks up at that, her eyebrows raised in confusion. He clarifies, "The river wasn't big enough."
She takes in a sharp little breath, running her fingernail along a seam in the wood floor. "Well, I guess I'm glad that you didn't walk in the other direction, "she says brightly. It's supposed to be a joke, he knows, but there's a vulnerable tremor in her voice.
"Huh?"
She lifts her head, giving him a half-smile. "Lake Champlain?" she explains, still attempting to keep her voice light. "Big lake right next to Burlington?" She can't quite hold her smile. Her lip quivers slightly and there's a helpless look in her eyes.
His hands fall to her ankles, his thumbs tracing reassuring circles over the thin cotton of her pajama bottoms. "I could have been standing over Niagara Falls and I still don't think I could have let go of that ring."
"The American side or the Canadian side? Because I hear that it's much more impressive from the Canadian side, so if you had the time to cross the-"
"Lorelai," he cuts in, sliding one hand around to squeeze her hip gently.
She ducks her head and rubs her knuckles across her eyes. When she looks up, her lashes are wet but she's got the makings of a smile on her lips. "You've been carrying this around in your pants?" she asks in disbelief. "In your pants?"
"You have to stop saying pants like that, or I'm going to have to resort to a 'dirty,'" he teases.
"I just mean, it's not like your wallet or something. You had to decide every day when you got dressed to put that in your pocket." She lifts her eyes to his expectantly, but the way that she captures her lower lips between her teeth betrays her uncertainty.
He can only shrug because he has no explanation. Keeping that ring close has just been something he's needed to do.
"I don't know what to say." Her voice trembles. I'm just…"
"Don't- You don't have to say anything," he whispers, taking her hand gently and folding her fingers around the battered envelope. "Just hold onto it for me? You don't have to…to wear it, if you don't want, but hold onto it?"
She nods as she closes her fist tightly and throws herself into his embrace.
It's just a few days later and they're snuggled together on Lorelai's couch, watching a movie. Fortunately for Luke, they've moved on from romantic comedies. Tonight, in fact, they're watching an old James Bond movie at his suggestion, the only condition from Lorelai being that it has to be Sean Connery as opposed to Roger Moore. He doesn't tell her, would never admit out loud, that he'd gladly watch the worst movie ever made as long as she's here resting her head against his chest.
Bond is in the middle of being instructed by Q on the procedures for using the latest gadgets when the phone rings. Lorelai reaches for the remote to pause the movie then hops up, saying apologetically over her shoulder, "It might be Rory."
He nods and she smiles back as she picks up the phone and says cheerfully, "Hello."
As she pauses for a response her mouth drops open a bit. "Christopher?" she asks, sounding bewildered. Luke can feel the muscles in his jaw tighten and his fists clench. Lorelai throws him fearful glance before turning slightly away from him. "No, I'm fine," he hears her say politely. "Very good, actually. And you?" There's a pause and when she responds her voice is stiff and uncomfortable. "Okay, good. I'm glad to hear it." She takes a deep breath. "Well, is there some reason for this call?"
It's a very good question, Luke thinks as he holds his head in his hands and waits for her response to Christopher's answer. "Yes I know that…No, we don't have any definite plans yet." Lorelai looks up for a moment, her eyes narrowed. "You don't need to ask my permission to do something for Rory's birthday."
There's another long pause and though Lorelai is holding herself completely still, Luke can see strain in every muscle, as if there's energy humming wildly underneath her skin. When she speaks again, he can hear the tension in her voice.
"No," she protests. "You cannot do this now." She pauses for a moment, her voice low and even. "Do you know how many times when Rory was little I wished you would want to help me make plans for her birthday? It would have been enough for you to just be there, or even to call."
There's sadness in her words, but he can hear her fight back against it with anger, throwing Christopher's suggestions back at him. "But now, you call up out of the blue and want to make plans. You want to throw a party, and buy extravagant presents?" Lorelai stops and shakes her head back and forth a few times and Luke captures a glimpse of the helpless look on her face. "Well, go ahead and do it. She's your kid. And since she's going to be 22 years old and doesn't even live here anymore, you don't need to involve me."
There's another pause and her response this time is firm, composed. "No Christopher, if you really want this, you need to do it without me." She lets out a long, frustrated sigh. "No, not even for Rory."
Her words seem to have been heard, because she says simply, "Bye, Christopher," before returning the phone to its cradle. She takes a few deep breaths, then turns slowly and takes a few steps toward the couch.
"That was-"
"I know."
"I haven't-"
"I know."
Almost a year ago, she'd gotten a call from Christopher, after which he'd basically accused her of cheating on him. As unfair as he'd been then, she'd known that once he cooled off they'd be able to talk rationally.
This time, with recent wounds still fresh and their relationship newly healing, he can see the guilt and fear plainly on her face. He can see her braced for confrontation.
There's something else too: a hopelessness in the slope of her shoulders, as if the phone call had actually robbed Lorelai of some part of her faith. His immediate reaction is to pull her into his arms and he's a little surprised that there's no anger, that he feels only compassion for her.
It makes him stand abruptly and cross the room, quickly skirting the coffee table and couch. When he's closed the space between them, he reaches for her hands, but she pulls away.
"What's wrong?"
"What are you doing?" she asks, alarmed
"I'm trying…" he struggles to explain. "You're upset, I'm trying-"
"You're supposed to be mad," she says sharply.
"Why?"
"He called." There's a note of incredulity in her voice, as though she can't quite believe she has to explain.
"That's not your fault," he insists.
"How do you know? Obviously I didn't make it clear enough."
"Or he's an idiot," Luke responds, matter-of-factly.
In any other situation he'd expect her frustration to come through with a raised voice and wild hand gestures, but right now, though she's clearly upset, she's disturbingly still and calm. Too calm, he thinks, like it's taking all her effort to maintain her composure. "Luke," she says, with just the slightest bit of strain in her voice, "You're not supposed to do this."
He stands there staring at her, his mind muddled. "Do what? I don't even understand what we're arguing about."
"You can't just be okay. You can't be fine with it."
"I'm not fine with it."
"See," she points at him, "you are mad."
He lets out his breath in a frustrated huff. "I'm not mad. I'm upset he's calling because I want him to leave you alone, but I'm a lot more worried about you being upset." He reaches for her again, this time capturing the fingers of her left hand in a loose grasp. "Can we…can we just talk about this."
Her face goes stony. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Fine, let's just," he takes her hand more firmly and gestures toward the couch, "watch the movie."
She tugs her hand away. "I can't."
"Why?"
"I can't do this right now."
"Do what?"
"Pretend like everything is fine." Her voice breaks just a bit. "Pretend like this doesn't bring it all back – everything we've been trying to move past."
"Lorelai, this isn't about that. You're upset. You're upset because he's an asshole and I'm…dammit, I'm here and you can talk to me."
"No, I can't."
"Of course you can."
"No. I can't," she repeats, and he's surprised by the force behind her words. She's still got a tight rein on her emotions, but there's a steely determination in her eyes. "Don't you get that? Not about this. Not now." He's trying to form a response, but she goes on, her voice softer now, "You're either going to try to make me feel better, tell me it's not my fault, which will make me hate myself for putting you in that position. Or, you'll just be reminded of all the reasons you're supposed to hate me, if you haven't been already. And either way there's hate and I don't want to go there, so you have to go before it all gets worse."
"Go?" he stammers. "I'm just supposed to leave?"
"We can finish the movie tomorrow."
His eyes widen as he stares at her, realizing that she's serious, that she really expects him to just leave, even though he can tell that she's about to boil over with resentment and guilt, that even now her left hand is holding her right arm tightly to her abdomen in an effort to keep herself from flailing angrily. And even now she's averting her eyes, hiding from him the fear that's etched into the wrinkles in her brow.
He just shakes his head, unable to respond, and stares at the floor, as if the secret is in the grain of the wood. He hears her say, "Please, Luke?"
Crossing his arms across his chest, Luke says quietly, "We can't just not talk about any of it. Not if this," he gestures between them, "is going to work.
Lorelai gives a little nod of agreement. "I just need a little time. I need to figure some of it out myself."
His breath comes out in a sharp huff. Deep down, he knows he shouldn't let her shut him out like this, but she's looking at him a little desperately and it makes him want to grant her a short reprieve. "So you really want me to leave?" She tips her head down in assent. "And we can talk about this? Soon?"
She nods again.
He lets out a long sigh and steps forward, taking her head in his hands. "If you want me to leave, I will, but you have to understand that this changes nothing. I love you and I'm not angry." He takes a deep breath and gives her a kiss on the forehead. "And I'll see you tomorrow." The last comes out firmly, somewhere between a demand and a question, and he's relieved when she nods silently in agreement.
He gives her one more kiss, then backs away and gives her a long look before saying "Goodnight, Lorelai," and walking out the door.
To be continued
