The diner was only this empty in the wee smalls of the morning or after ten at night, when the denizens of Stars Hollow were snoozing to the early night news on UPN. Lorelai threw the door open and made a beeline for the counter, yelling "coffee! Must have coffee! Luke!" She heard herself shouting and Luke's name becoming a cattle call as she stretched out the central vowel.

Luke's throw faltered when he heard the sound of that voice hollering his name, and the ball bounced feebly against the wall and rolled towards the corner, away from him. He pushed himself to his feet and jammed his hat back on his head. He was at the bottom of the stairs by the second time she called for him, back behind the counter before either she or Caesar saw him. He smothered a grin at her appearance.

Lorelai shivered, dripping on the linoleum, her hair plastered to her face and her shirt suctioned to her body. Her jeans were thick with water. Caesar appeared in the doorframe behind the counter.

"Speak, image!" she said.

"Luke's upstairs. You want coffee?"

"Of course she wants coffee," Luke said; "she's breathing, isn't she?"

Lorelai jumped slightly and put a hand to her throat. "Jesus, Luke, scare a person to death, why don't you? But give her coffee first."

He poured a mugful of coffee for her and walked around the counter, holding it in front of him. She reached for it and he began walking backwards, holding it out of her reach. "C'mon," he said.

"Evil, satanic man, what are you doing? Withholding coffee from a dying woman, that's what you're doing!"

"You have to get out of those clothes," he said. "Look at you."

"I don't have to look at me," Lorelai said. "I'm like Helen Hunt showing up at Jack Nicholson's door but with the benefit of a bra," she said. It was only then that she remembered the bra was black and the tee shirt pink, which, while usually not a problem, could be considered slightly inappropriate in the current circumstance. She wrapped her arms around herself and followed him upstairs.

Luke turned and lead the way to his apartment as she covered herself, allowing himself a slight smile. While he normally did not have opinions on the unmentionables of the opposite sex—nor did he, if he admitted it, give himself the opportunity of enjoying a gander at said unmentionables—he had to say the brief glimpse he'd had of Lorelai's own unmentionable had not been unpleasant. Nor was what it protected altogether unpleasant either. Both thoughts, however, were fleeting, nothing more than a twitch of the lips and a flash of an image in his brain, nothing bound to words, as words were often troublesome where Lorelai was concerned.

He put the coffee on the table by the door and went immediately to his own wardrobe, yanking out a long sleeved tee and an old pair of sweatpants he wouldn't admit he'd worn in years. As an afterthought, he pulled a pair of boxers from another drawer and momentarily contemplated them before turning around.

Lorelai held the coffee cup under her chin, protecting her chest, and grinned broadly. "Luke Danes, there aren't enough 'Dirty!'s in the world for that," she said, laughing.

"Right, right," he said, tossing the boxers over his shoulders, "you're right." He thrust the tee and pants at her and she took another sip of coffee, looking at him archly over the rim of her cup.

"What, you want me to get dressed right here in front of you?" she said. "I'm not Madonna and this ain't no peep show, buster."

He rolled his eyes and loudly expelled a breath through his nose. "There's a bathroom right behind you, moron."

"Sweet talker," she said, and placed the coffee cup on the table. She reached one hand out for the clothes and taking them, turned on her heel and went into his bathroom.

"There are towels in the closet there. What are you doing out in this, anyway?" he asked, keeping himself at a distance from the bathroom door.

"I was feeling frisky!" she said. "You know, spring's sprung, I'm just springing along."

"Lorelai," he said.

"Power's out," she said, "and you have a generator." She opened the door and poked her head around, smiled and batted her lashed. "And you're pretty."

"Power's out, I have a generator, and you've got an inn opening in less than a month."

"Bingo," she said, stepping out of the bathroom. She practically swam in his clothes, the shirt falling to mid-thigh. She kept one hand at the waistband of the pants to keep them from falling to her ankles. "Thanks for the clothes," she said. "And for the coffee. Don't suppose you'd let a lady take a gander at your computer, though, would you?"

"What do you have to do on the computer?"

"Inn business, boring stuff," she said.

"What's wrong with your computer?"

Lorelai narrowed her eyes and smiled tolerantly. "Well, it's at my house, where there's no power, and where my laptop is gasping its final dying breath, pleading with me not to abuse it by taking it off the power source. Ever. What, do you not have a computer?"

"I have a computer."

"You have illicit material on there you don't want me to see? 'Cause let me tell you, that stuff? Not going to upset me."

"What?"

"Girlie type pictures. On your computer. You're a man, you download things."

"I do not download things."

"Then what?"

"My computer's… busted."

"Busted."

"Broken. Malfunctioning. Not working. Out of service."

"I know what busted means. That was an attempt to get you to elaborate."

Luke shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet, not meeting Lorelai's eyes as he spoke. "I broke it last week," he said.

"Doing what?"

He cleared his throat. "You know. Hit it with a bat."

"You hit your computer with a bat?"

He looked up. "Yeah."

"A baseball bat?"

"No, a fruit bat that flies at night. Yes, Lorelai, a baseball bat," he said. Suddenly feeling too big for the space they were sharing, he pushed past her towards the bathroom and picked her wet clothes off the floor.

"Why did you hit your computer with a baseball bat?"

He threw the tee shirt over the shower rod, adjusting it so it hung evenly. "It was irritating me."

"What, did it start singing Gilbert and Sullivan at you in the middle of the night? Tell you, 'I'm sorry, Luke, I'm afraid I can't do that,' when you placed a bulk order for flannel shirts on the L.L. Bean website? What?" Lorelai came to stand in the doorway, cradling her coffee mug in her hands. "Luke?"

He held her jeans in his hands and twisted the waistband, looking once again at the floor. He shrugged. "Just hit it," he said, absently working his hands into the pants pockets. He latched onto what felt like a wad of wet tissues and pulled it out, turning to hang her jeans alongside the tee shirt. He looked down at the crumpled black ball in his hand for a moment before turning and offering it to Lorelai. "Lose these?" he asked.

She snatched the thong from his hand. "Sorry." She stood uncertainly, her eyes darting about for a safe place to put them. She had no pockets. She swallowed. "You want to talk about it?"

"You're the one with the panties in your hand." When he heard the word 'panties' leave his own mouth he could feel himself blush to his hairline.

Again with the grinning, he thought, seeing Lorelai's face blossom with glee. "I just got Luke Danes to say 'panties,'" she said. "Do it again, I want to get it on tape and charge tickets!"

He grabbed the tangled lace from her hand and tossed it in the sink, pushing her out of the bathroom. "I'm not saying pant—that word again and we're not going to talk about anything."

"Luke," Lorelai began.

"Not talking," he said. "Caesar! Pour the lady another cup and turn off the generator!"

Lorelai gasped. "Turn off the power? Why, why, why would you do that?"

"So it'll last longer," he said. "Sit, I'll make you a sandwich."

"I can come," she said, moving to follow.

"Sit," he said, putting out his hand, his palm towards her. "Just sit."