Disclaimer: [points to all the other disclaimers]: Yeah. What they said.
A/N: I'm still overwhelmed at all the nice responses. I'm not going to start holding chapters hostage in exchange for reviews or anything, but I am becoming a feedback junkie. Let me hear from ya!
*******************
The next night, Lorelai stood in front of her mirror, trying desperately to figure out what to do with her hair before Luke came over. The bed behind her was strewn with all the clothes she'd tried on and discarded while trying to find what she deemed a "Luke-appropriate outfit." She took yet another look at the blue shirt and jeans she'd settled on and decided she looked fine. She'd had the shirt for a long time, but it still fit her nicely and really brought out the color in her eyes. She refused to think about the fact that it was the same shirt she'd worn that night she'd gone to help Luke choose a new paint color for the diner (God, that was a long time ago). The night they'd crouched behind the counter to hide from Taylor, Luke's arm around her waist and his breath warm on her face. The night he'd looked like he wanted to kiss her. She'd really thought she'd forgotten all about that night, but like everything else about her and Luke, it was just hiding in the shadows, ready to jump out at her—kind of like Michael Myers, except without all the screaming and bloodletting and stuff. Now Luke was about to show up at any minute, and that time in the diner was all she could think about. As with most of the troubling things in her life, she blamed her current freaked-out state on her mother.
By the time she'd gotten to the Dragonfly the day before, she'd been more than fifteen minutes late for their meeting. And, as she'd predicted, Emily had greeted her with almost the same exact speech Lorelai had performed for Luke a few minutes earlier (except that she'd said "on time" instead of "punctually.") Lorelai, operating according to plan, had offered her mother a cup of Luke's coffee as a peace offering. Emily had enjoyed the coffee, but the results of the whole peace-offering thing hadn't been what Lorelai had expected.
"Lorelai," Emily said, taking another appreciative sip, "this coffee is incredible. Where on earth did you get it?"
"Oh, just a place in town." She responded, not wanting to wave the red Luke flag in front of the charging bull that was her mother's nosiness.
"What place? Does Stars Hollow now have some kind of gourmet coffee house? Because the only coffee I ever hear you speak of is—" Her eyes narrowed as the pieces fell into place. "This is from that diner, isn't it? From Luke's?"
"Well . . ."
"So you were late for our appointment because you had to stop and flirt with your friend the diner man? I hope that you at least asked him to take a look at your water heater."
"I wasn't flirting, Mom, and I haven't asked him about the water heater yet. Luke's got a lot going on right now and I just wanted to stop in and check on him. I didn't go to flirt with him, and I didn't go to ask him for a favor. Just to check on him. Because that's what friends do. And that's what I am. His friend."
"Oh, please, Lorelai. If you expect me to believe the two of you are just friends when—"
"I swear, Mom, if you even think about uttering the words 'lap dance' or 'Porterhouse steak,' I'm out of here faster than Madonna can take up a new religion."
"Well, now you're making absolutely no sense. Why would I say such a thing?"
"Because those are the very phrases you used, like, a million years ago to describe the way Luke and I look at each other. Your little theory was cracked then, and it's still cracked. It's like the Liberty Bell of stupid theories."
"I'm sure I have no memory of saying anything of the sort. But I think the fact that you remember the exact wording of a supposedly 'cracked' comment I allegedly made years ago only shows that there was some truth to it." She looked at Lorelai for a moment. "And if you honestly think that the only thing between you and this man is friendship, then the only person you're lying to is yourself." For once, there was none of the usual Emily Gilmore judgment or criticism or suspicion in her voice. She was simply stating a fact.
Lorelai groaned and ran her hands through her hair in frustration. This was not a road she wanted to go down, especially since this particular road was dark and unpaved and had no street signs. "Fine. Fine. I'm lying to myself. I'm Cleo-freakin'- patra, sailing on my barge down the River Denial. Now can we please just talk about the opening?"
"Whatever you say." She'd looked at Lorelai again, but let the subject drop. "Now, I brought along some artists' renderings of potential ice sculptures . . ."
Lorelai looked in the mirror again and sighed. The truth was that Emily's words were always at the back of her mind, as were Sookie's and Patty's and those of everyone else who insisted on pointing out what she had always sworn wasn't there. She'd always blown those words off, too afraid to look at the truth in them too closely. Somehow, though, she was never able to completely let them go.
*******************
Meanwhile, Luke carried on an internal conversation with himself as he walked from the diner to Lorelai's house. He often had these discussions with himself when he was about to spend time with Lorelai, but tonight his Inner Voice was feeling particularly talkative. If she'd known about this habit, Lorelai would say that Luke was displaying definite Gollum-like tendencies. Luke merely considered it a healthy internal dialogue.
You know this is a bad idea, right?
What's a bad idea?
You. Her. Her house. Alone.
So? I've been to her house lots of times. It's no big deal.
Yeah, you've been over lots of times—to fix a porch rail or shovel the snow from her walk. When was the last time you spent any time over there? Just the two of you?
Well . . . Last fall! When she wanted to have that stupid movie night.
Exactly.
'Exactly' what?
C'mon, you remember what happened on the last 'movie night,' don't you?
Yeah. We ate. We watched Casablanca. She annoyed me. I fell asleep on the couch. End of story.
Riiiight.
What?
Oh, man, please. You could barely breathe all night. You finally had to pretend to go to sleep to keep from doing something stupid. And need I remind you what almost happened a few weeks ago when you got loaded and then went over to fix her window? If she hadn't gotten up to get those band-aids you wouldn't have been able to stop yourself.
Stop myself from what?
From grabbing her and kissing her and going, "I love you! I love you! I love you!"
I would not say it like that.
Oh, yeah? How would you say it, then, Mr. Smooth?
Well, I'd say . . . Oh, shut up.
That's what I thought.
Besides, I'm single now. If I wanted to make a move—which I am not in any way trying to hint that I'm even beginning to consider the prospect of starting to do—why shouldn't I?
How about A). You may be single but she's not, and B). She's way out of your league?
She's really out of my league?
Man, she's starting for the Yankees and you're warming the bench for the farm team. But, hey, if you're gonna make a move, make a move. At least it's better than punking out like you always do.
It really annoyed Luke that his Inner Voice was starting to sound more and more like Jess.
****************
As Luke climbed the front steps of the house, Lorelai threw open the front door to greet him. "I want you to know that against my good taste and better judgment I got one testosterone-dripping total guy movie and one compromise movie. I am begging you, though, to please say we can watch the compromise movie first."
"So that when it's over you can claim to be sleepy, thus getting out of watching the so-called 'guy' movie," he said as he entered the house. "Nice trick, but I saw it coming a mile away." He handed her a cup of coffee he'd brought with him from the diner.
"Luke, please? I promise we'll watch both of them. Really."
"Hey, listen. Whose Wallow Night is this, anyway?"
"It's yours," she said as if it were the most reasonable idea in the world, "but I don't see why that means we both have to suffer."
"You know, I think they had you in mind when they made that 'That's What Friends Are For' song." Lorelai just pouted, and Luke sighed. The damned pout was one of the many things about her he was never able to resist. "Fine. Whatever. We'll watch your movie first. Happy?"
"Ecstatic. Like Hef on a double date with Britney and Pam Anderson. And look! We have dinner." She proudly gestured to the pizza boxes and take-out salad container laid out on the coffee table.
"Aw, honey! You cooked!" They both managed to chuckle at the joke, but there was too much truth in it for to be really funny. Luke looked at Lorelai, and for the first time noticed she was wearing the shirt she'd had on that night in the diner with the paint samples. Lorelai noticed him noticing. They stood there for a very long moment, openly noticing each other for what was probably the first time in all the years they'd known each other. Finally, Lorelai turned to the coffee table and opened a pizza box.
"Let's eat. I need to get at least one slice of pizza in me before the movie starts, then I'll probably need to load up on the carbs again about fifteen minutes in to keep my blood sugar going."
Luke chuckled as he helped himself to some salad. "Only you would think of movie-watching as an event to train for."
"Absolutely," she grinned, settling onto the couch. "It's very serious business."
*********************
A short while later they were watching Bull Durham, Lorelai's idea of a "compromise movie" (Kevin Costner and Tim Robbins for her, baseball and Susan Sarandon for him). To the uninformed observer, they simply would have looked like two friends hanging out on the sofa watching a movie. They sat close to each other without actually making any contact, and they laughed and commented at all the right moments (Lorelai had magnanimously suspended some of the Movie Night rules in deference to Luke's need to wallow). Inside, though, they were both a mass of nerves and confusion. The smell of Lorelai's perfume was driving Luke crazy. The warmth that radiated from Luke's body was causing Lorelai's own temperature to rise. Lorelai practically had to sit on her hands to keep from reaching out and stroking the soft flannel that covered Luke's shoulders. Luke nearly bit a hole in his bottom lip to keep from placing it somewhere it had no business going. About the time Kevin was daring Tim to throw a baseball at his chest, Luke's arm brushed Lorelai's thigh as he reached for a bottle of water, and they both nearly jumped from the electricity that passed between them.
As Kevin went into his "long, slow, wet, passionate kisses" speech, Lorelai came to the belated conclusion that she'd picked the wrong movie to watch with Luke while her feelings were so jumbled and her hormones were, well, raging. God only knew what would happen when they got to the toenail-painting scene. She shifted in her seat a little. "Man, " she said, trying to shake the spell or pheromones or whatever it was that had come over her, "I used to have such a thing for Kevin Costner." She immediately saw that this was the wrong conversational gambit, especially since she'd just realized that Luke sort of reminded her of a darker-haired Kevin Costner.
"Really?" Luke had been dealing with his own jumbled feelings and raging hormones, and he was relived that she'd said something to distract him. He turned to look at her with mild curiosity.
"Oh, yeah." She started babbling in an effort to break the tension. "The year Rory was three we watched Field of Dreams so many times that she started calling him 'Daddy.' I tried to tell her that he was only pretend and that he didn't really live on a farm but that he really lived in a three-million dollar mansion in Laurel Canyon and had limos and agents and probably got a hefty percentage of the gross box office, but you know how kids are. She even insisted on learning to play catch. Only she called it 'tatch.'"
"Cute. So, what brought this great love affair to an end?"
"Uh, hello?!? Did you see The Postman?
"Can't say I did."
"Neither did anyone else." She leaned back against the couch and took a sip of coffee. The crisis had been momentarily averted and they had been pulled from the brink of whatever it was that was going on between them and back to safety. For some perverse, masochistic reason, though, Lorelai found herself wanting to dance back out to the edge again. She gave Luke a sidelong glance. "So, who's your celebrity lust object?"
Luke rolled his eyes. "I don't do celebrity crushes."
"Oh, come on. There has to be someone. Some hot starlet that you think about late at night . . . when you're all alone . . . feeling a little . . . you know."
Luke blushed, both at her words and at the seductive tone of her voice. "You finish that thought and I am walking out that door." He wondered what the hell she was doing.
To be honest, Lorelai wasn't sure what she was doing. She only knew that tonight some invisible force was drawing her to follow this thing through to the end, whatever that may be. "Just thought I'd ask," she giggled.
"Well, don't."
"I'd just like to know what arouses Luke Danes's carnal passions."
Okay, man. Here it is. Step up to the plate and hit the damned ball out of the park. You strike out now, and you'll probably never get another turn at bat. Luke took a deep breath, then turned to Lorelai and fixed her with a serious stare. "You really want to know?" His voice came out huskier than he'd meant it to.
At the intensity in Luke's eyes, Lorelai felt a surge of nervous excitement. But she didn't falter as she met his gaze. "Yeah," she answered softly.
Just then the doorbell rang, taking them both out of the moment. Luke looked at Lorelai curiously. "You expecting someone?"
"Nope. Oooh! Maybe Steven Tyler finally read all my e-mails and I'm goin' on the road with Aerosmith!" She jumped off the couch and practically ran to the door, relieved at the interruption. Whatever it was she'd been doing back there scared her, and she felt like she couldn't breathe. She just needed time to think and to calm down and to clear her mind of all these thoughts she really shouldn't be having.
It wasn't Steven Tyler at the door. Or even Joe Perry.
"Jason!"
"So, I'm sitting in the most tedious business dinner in the history of tedious business dinners," Jason said, walking through the door, "and all I can think about is that thing we did that night with the feather and the chocolate syrup-" He stopped as he saw Luke standing in the living room. "Oh."
The two men just stared at each other. Finally, from somewhere in Lorelai's dim past, all her mother's lessons on manners and good breeding took over. "Um, Luke, this is Jason Stiles. Jason, this is Luke Danes."
"Hey."
"How are ya?" Jason's eyes widened. "You're the diner guy."
"I am the diner guy."
Jason looked at Lorelai "I thought his name was Duke."
"Long story."
"And you," Luke said to Jason, "are the guy with the Mercedes with the tailgating habit."
"Oh, yeah." Jason cringed, and for a minute he seemed scared that Luke would hit him. "Look, I'm really sorry about that. It's just that I'm not used driving in towns where the maximum speed limit can be exceeded by geriatrics in walkers."
Luke shrugged. "No problem. It's a stupid number for a speed limit, anyway." He stood up. "Well, since I am, as you so aptly put it, 'the diner guy,' and that diner does open at 6AM, I should get going."
"Are you sure?" Lorelai asked, not knowing whether she wanted him to stay or not.
"Yep. Positive. I've got to get some sleep, and I'm sure you two have . . . stuff to do.
Luke and Lorelai walked to the door. "So, look, I'll see you in the morning?" She couldn't quite meet his eyes. "I'm supposed to meet Rory at the diner for breakfast."
Luke couldn't quite meet her eyes, either. "Yeah, fine." He started down the steps. "I'll see you later."
Lorelai shut the front door and walked back into the living room. Jason had removed his jacket and was sitting on the couch where Luke had been moments earlier. The look on his face was not, to put it mildly, one of peace and contentment.
"Jason, you really should have called first."
"I tried, but I kept getting your voice mail. I figured your line was just busy so I took a chance and stopped by."
"Oh, yeah. I had the phone of the hook. No phone calls on Wallow Night."
"Huh? What's a wallow night?" He stood up and walked toward her. "Lorelai, am I missing something here? What was Eddie Vedder doing on your camped out on your couch on a Tuesday night, anyway? And why did you have to have the phone off the hook while he was here? Was this some kind of a date?"
"He is not Eddie Vedder. He doesn't even like Pearl Jam. He's more of a Springsteen—"
"You haven't answered my question." His eyes widened and he looked at her almost accusingly. "He's the reason you took off the other night, isn't he? You had to run off and be with the flannel man."
"Well, I told you I had to go help a friend." That sounded lame, even to her.
"Yeah, and I thought you meant Sookie, or that girl Lane, or some other friend who doesn't possess a Y-chromosome." He shook his head. "You take off at one in the morning—and in the middle of one of my best moves, I might add—to go 'help' this guy, you conveniently neglect to mention how much facial hair your friend in need has, and I'm supposed to believe there's nothing there?"
Lorelai suddenly became desperate at the thought of losing Jason—not only because she truly enjoyed being with him, but because if he were gone there would be nothing to keep her from facing this overpowering . . . thing that had developed—or maybe it had just finally surfaced—between Luke and her. And the thought of facing whatever it was, of taking the risk of wrecking her nice, simple, goofy life and her safe, reliable friendship with Luke, was just too much for her to handle.
"Jason, there's nothing going on between Luke and me. We're just friends." She placed a hand on his forearm and looked him in the eye, willing it to be the truth. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about going to help him earlier, but I didn't want you to get weirded out and I didn't want to embarrass him. And I'm sorry I overreacted just now. It's just that Luke's being going through some pretty major relationship problems, and I thought it would be hard for him to sit there listening to another couple go on about their sex life."
"And that's all there is to it?"
"Yes. Absolutely." She prayed to George Burns and Alanis Morissette and any other actor who had ever played God in the movies that if Jason would just believe her, she'd do everything she could to make it true.
He looked at her a long minute, then sighed. "I'm sorry. Of course, if you say that nothing's going on, then I believe you."
Lorelai threw her arms around his neck, "Goody," she breathed, feeling like she'd dodged some kind of emotional bullet.
Jason pulled away a little and gave her a sly grin. "So . . . got any more of that chocolate syrup?"
**********************
A/N: Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, I know. But you guys have trusted me this far . . . haven't you?
Also: Not sure I'm going to keep up the whole "Luke's Inner Voice" gimmick. It's always bothered me that Luke doesn't have a confidante on the show (except sometimes Lorelai), so we rarely get to hear what he's really thinking. This seemed like a good way to do it.
Up Next: Things fall apart. But the water heater might get fixed.