Thursday—Interlude

Luke found himself suddenly awake at three AM. He lay in bed, blinking rapidly, trying to figure out why exactly he was no longer sleeping when the phone began to ring.

He answered before the first ring ended. "Hi."

Lorelai's voice was petulant. "How'd you know it was me?"

"It's three in the morning, Lorelai. Who else would it be?" He paused. "Where are you?"

"Outside."

He rose and went to the window. "What the hell are you doing outside?"

"Waiting for you to let me in."

"I'll be down in half a minute."

"Hey, if you're naked and getting dressed is going to slow you down, don't mind me. Just go on with the naked."

"I'm hanging up now," he growled.

She was hopping from one foot to the other on the front steps, hugging a short terry cloth robe about her. Her hair was off her face in a loose, high ponytail, and her face was pink with cold. She smiled as he peeked around the door, her eyes bright with sleeplessness. He shook his head as he let her in, taking in the thin cotton shorts and the flip flops she wore.

"You know, it's a good rule of thumb to get dressed before you go out in the cold in the middle of the night," he said dryly.

"Says you," she said, gesturing at his attire of boxers and a thin, worn undershirt with a hole in the shoulder.

He adopted a posture familiar to Lorelai, his hands on his hips, his head down as he contemplated the floor. It signaled extreme irritation. She was relieved to see the chagrined, tolerant smile on his face when he looked up. "What are you doing here, anyway?" he asked.

Lorelai seated herself on a stool at the counter. "I wanted to see you," she said.

"Something wrong?"

She rolled her eyes. "Does something have to be wrong for me to want to see you?"

"I'm serious," he said.

"So am I. Nothing's wrong. I couldn't sleep and Rory was dead to the world, and I sat there thinking, gee, I would really like some company right now, who in the world can I get to sit up with me who will want to kill me but would only look daggers instead of actually throw them? Why, Luke, of course!"

"And?"

She looked up at him through her lashes. "And I'm hungry."

He rounded the counter, shaking his head. "What'll you have?" he asked wearily.

"Grilled cheese and tomato?" she said tentatively.

"All right. You owe me."

"Many times over," she replied.

"Come into the kitchen, I'll get one going for you," he said.

She leaned forward, her elbows on the counter, her chin in her hands. "I prefer to stay on this side. I like the food to appear as though from nowhere," she said.

He disappeared into the kitchen and Lorelai spent the moments he was gone mentally rearranging the configuration of room twelve, flipping the bed to the opposite side so that the sun didn't directly hit the pillows so early in the morning; she then tried to decide if the house staff she'd enlisted for opening day were really prepared or if she should have another drill in the morning… she sighed. It was much more entertaining to imagine the last five minutes starring a shirtless Luke, answering the door in just the boxers, after which point the conversation that followed was radically different. She was giggling when he returned from the kitchen, carrying a plate and a glass of milk.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she grinned. "What's that?" she asked, pointing.

"Warm milk."

"Ew," she said.

"You'll love it," he said.

"Yeah, if by love you mean hate."

"Eat."

She obliged, taking a large bite, chewing, and swallowing theatrically. She wiped her mouth primly with a napkin and crumpled it in her hand. She then raised herself off her seat and leaned over the counter, kissing him briefly. "Hi," she said and kissed him again.

"Hi," he said.

They chatted idly about the inn and the last minute details of Rory's trip with Emily, keeping the conversation light. Lorelai could feel herself relax, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as she rattled on about inane details. She paused a moment to pick at her sandwich and looked up to see Luke shifting back and forth on his feet, his expression suddenly pissed.

"Hey," Lorelai said, "what's wrong?"

Luke stuttered a moment, before he replied. "Nothing."

"Luke."

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong with you, nothing's wrong with me," he said.

She sat back. "Fine."

"Fine."

They were silent as Lorelai finished her sandwich. She pushed the plate away and stared at the milk glass. "Are you really going to make me drink that?"

Luke, too, looked at the glass of milk a long moment. He placed his hands flat on the counter and turned his gaze to Lorelai, the look in his eyes intense. "What's going on here?"

Lorelai sat, her mouth open. "Uh—I'm having a post-midnight snack?"

"No," he said, pushing himself away from the counter, growling in frustration. "I mean this, this thing with us. What are we—are we together, are we casual friends with benefits—I just—crap," he said. He looked at Lorelai, sheepish. "I have no idea where that came from."

She slouched, running one finger around the rim of the glass. "It's been a weird week, with everything happening and stuff. But really, what's changed? I've gotten upset and cried on your shoulder, we've fought, made up, I've annoyed you… the only thing that's really different is the kissing. And the dating part," she added, as an afterthought.

The disappointment in his voice as he spoke turned the food she'd just eaten directly to acid in her stomach. "Oh. So that's what's happened," he said. "That's what this has been."

"That came out wrong," she said, getting to her feet.

He turned to face her, his face a mess of emotions—hurt, frustration, irritation. "Make it come out right, then!" he said.

"I just meant that I know where that came from," she said, edging around the counter towards him. "I get it. And it's confusing."

"So you're confused. Great. That's just great. Because I'm not. I'm not confused at all, not about what I want," he said.

"Boy, I'm on a roll tonight," Lorelai sighed. "That's not what I meant either. I just meant the whole situation—it's like it's all new but at the same time it's not new at all." She stopped and rubbed her eyes. He was watching her, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his shoulders back. She chewed her lip, thinking, trying to choose her words. "We could never be casual, Luke," she said. "Whatever this relationship is—"

"Well, what kind of relationship is it, Lorelai? Do we have a relationship or are we in one?"

"You want to explain the distinction, Mr. Clinton?"

"Being in a relationship with someone is entirely different from having one," he said. "And you know that—we've had a relationship for years now: we've been friends or we haven't been friends, I give you coffee and we yell at each other, and—" He stopped, took a breath, looked her in the eye. "Now? I think we're in one, I think we're in a relationship together, that we're in the same place and we want the same things—I just need to know you think the same thing, too."

She was giving him that look again, that same look she gave him Saturday at the Dragonfly when he went off about Jason. He realized this was the same conversation they'd had then, and he was just as uncertain about what would happen next as he was that night. He let her put her arms around his neck, circled her waist with his, and drew her so close he could feel her heart beat against his chest. She pressed her cheek to his; the sensation of her eyelashes brushing his skin as she blinked, the lightest touch he'd ever felt, caused him to tighten his hold on her, his breath caught in his throat.

"I think you're getting the raw end of the deal, here," she said. "But I'm in. I swear," she said. "And I'll be better."

He pulled back slightly. She watched him search her face with more emotion in his own than he knew what to do with. He reached up and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Just be Lorelai," he said, and kissed her.

She smiled then. "That I can do," she said. She kissed him again, and yawned.

"Am I boring you?" he asked, smiling wryly.

She leaned into him, her head on his shoulder. "Sorry. I'm sleepy."

He drew back and took her hand, leading her back towards the door. "I'll walk you home," he said.

"You don't have to do that," she said. "I made it here before in the dark."

"Don't argue with me," he said sternly.

"You just told me to be Lorelai, now you're telling me not to argue," she said. "What's with the mixed messages, dude?"

"One, don't call me dude," he said. "And two, shut up."

Lorelai opened her mouth to speak again and he placed his hand firmly over her lips. "I'm going to run upstairs and put on shoes and some pants, and then I am walking you home. No arguments." He took his hand away and she bit her lips together, nodding innocently.

When he reached the stairs, she called his name. "I could do without the pants, you know," she said, grinning.

He rolled his eyes and disappeared up the stairs, returning moments later in his complete uniform with the flannel and the hat and the jeans. "This is what you get for teasing," he said.

"I'll take it, mister," she said, slipping her hand in his as he lead her out.

"Glad to hear it."

They walked down the main street away from town, Lorelai swinging their joined hands lightly. "You realize," she said, after a moment, "that tomorrow I'm going to severely mock you for the whole 'are we in a relationship or having one,' semantic argument?"

"I wouldn't have expected anything less," he replied.

"Good. As long as we understand each other."

"I think we do," Lorelai said.

"Then we're on the same page."

She smirked at him. "You really need some new metaphors," she said.

"The silence, just now? That was good."

Lorelai only smiled in reply.

Next: Friday night.