Two Steps Forward…

Dear Rory, Lorelai thought, as she walked home after work, don't know about you, but my day just sucked. No calls for reservations, people checking out early, a small fire in the kitchen—no damage, but a fire is a fire—and I have no clean underwear left so I have to do laundry tonight, which I just don't want to do, because I hate laundry. I hate it. I hate this day.

When she opened the door to the house, the phone was ringing. She dropped her bag by the door and picked up the portable before throwing herself face first onto the couch.

"House of Cheese, we deliver," she said.

"Mom?"

She sat up. "Rory! Hey, babe, how are you? I didn't know you were going to call—is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Rory said. "I just wanted to check in, say hi."

Lorelai stretched out on her back and toed off her shoes, pushing her feet into the squishy throw pillow at the end of the sofa. "Well, I'm glad you did. How are you, babe? You doing okay?"

"I'm doing okay," Rory replied. "Getting to see a lot, and just walk around and be here. It's great."

"Really? You're doing okay?" Lorelai asked.

"Honestly, Mom. I'm doing okay," Rory said. "What about you?"

"Me? Oh, I'm great," Lorelai said dismissively. "I'm great, the inn's great, Lane's great, Sookie and Jackson are great, everything's great. We just miss you."

"I didn't hear Luke's name on that list. Is he great, too?" Rory asked, her voice teasing.

Lorelai narrowed her eyes, smirking. "Yes, Rory, Luke is also great," she said.

"So…?"

"So, what? So we're, you know, doing the dating thing, seeing each other—it's good. It's—it's hard to describe," Lorelai said. "We're just… taking it a day at a time."

"But you're happy?"

She tilted her chin up, considering. "Yeah," she sighed, "I guess."

"Good. That's what I want."

"That's what I want for you, too, Rory. I just want you to be happy," Lorelai said.

"I know." She paused. "Mom? Have you talked to Grandpa lately?"

Lorelai rolled her eyes and groaned with frustration. "Yes," she grunted.

"That sounds good," Rory said.

Lorelai sat up and rolled off the couch, stalked towards the kitchen. "He's been doing this whole annoying involvement thing. He gave me this speech about trying and family, and he invited Luke over to dinner, which was a disaster. And now he's—he's retired, sort of, so he does his work in the morning at the house, and then he goes to the club, and then he goes back to the house, and he calls me. It's great. I love it. We have five minutes of awkward conversation: he asks about the inn, I ask about insurance, we suffer through an uncomfortable silence, and then he says he should go and we hang up."

"Oh, my God," Rory said. "Every day?"

"No," Lorelai said, picking at container of leftover lo mein. "Not always. But more than before. I mean, if he called once every six months, it would be more than before, but you know what I mean."

"Wow."

"Yeah," Lorelai sighed. "How's your grandmother doing?"

"I'm worried about her, Mom," Rory said. "She's been really quiet. She's not acting like herself."

Lorelai toyed with a strand of lo mein on her fork. "What are you thinking?"

"I don't know. I just worry about what she's going to do when she gets back," Rory said. "It's going to be hard for her."

"Oh, man," Lorelai said. "Is she around? Should I talk to her?"

"She's sleeping," Rory said. "I'm all you get."

"And that's all I need. So," she said, shoving the leftovers away from her, "what's next on the itinerary for you two?"

"We're in Rome until the day after tomorrow, and then we're going to Venice for two days, and then we're back in Rome for another week and a half, and then we're home."

"Two weeks!" Lorelai said. "You'll be home in two weeks. Oh, babe, I can't wait to see you."

"Me neither, Mom."

"Say hi to Emily for me, okay?"

"I will. And to Lane and everyone from me," Rory replied. "And love to Luke," she said, her voice tentative.

"You got it, babe. I love you," Lorelai said.

"Love you, too, Mom. I'll call you before we fly out."

Lorelai smiled to herself as she hung up the phone. She sat for a moment in the kitchen, thinking, before she rose and tripped up the stairs to change. Fifteen minutes later, she pulled the door of Luke's open and slid into a chair at the table under the front window. She clicked her nails on the tabletop, humming to herself. She caught Kirk, sitting at a nearby table, staring at her once again.

"Oh, for the love of all that's holy, Kirk, just get it out of your system," she cried.

Kirk rose from his chair and came to kneel at Lorelai's elbow. "Lorelai, I believe that the man who would say such things about you deserves to be punished, and I, as a friend of the family, would like to offer my services as your champion, despite the fact that I have a girlfriend whom I love very much."

She smiled. "Kirk, that's very kind of you," she said gently, "but it's unnecessary. Jason moved to Houston, where I'm sure he is finding a whole new set of people to offend with his very existence."

"Distance is no problem," Kirk said. "I once worked as a flight attendant, I could pull some strings—"

Lorelai put her hand on Kirk's arm. "Kirk. I appreciate the thought, really, I do, but I'd just like to put the whole thing behind me. Besides," she added, sitting back in her chair, grinning broadly, "I'm sure Lulu would hate to have you go all the way to Houston."

"True," he said. He rose and turned back to his table. Just before seating himself again, he paused and looked to Lorelai again. "There is always the cargo hold, if I can't get the jump seat for at least one of us."

"Thank you, Kirk," she said, "but like I said, it's not necessary."

Luke appeared in the door to the kitchen, a coffee pot in his hand. He smiled as he strode over to her table. "Hey," he said. "When'd you get here?"

"Just," she said. "Guess what?"

He gave her a dark look. "I couldn't possibly."

"Well, Rory called—"

"No, that's great! How's she doing?"

Lorelai took a breath and turned her face up to look at him, glowing with happiness. "Luke, she sounded so great—she sounded almost like herself. I think this trip has really done her good," she said. "I really do."

He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "That's good to hear," he said.

Lorelai reached up and put her hand on his, her eyes slightly tearful. "I can't tell you—I know she's still got a long way to go, but, man. Pod Rory may just be gone for good." She paused. "Now I have to worry about my mom a little bit—Rory said she's been really depressed. Nothing's ever easy, is it?"

Luke kept a reassuring pressure on her shoulder as he poured her a cup of coffee and told her he'd bring her something to eat. She stopped him just as he was about to disappear into the kitchen.

"She sends her love," she told him.

He looked away, working his jaw a little. "Back at her," he said gruffly.

Lorelai had her burger and fries, polished off a piece of pie, and rose to go. She called for Luke over the counter and asked if she would see him back at the house. He had a loose button on his collar that she played with as they talked.

"I'll be by in another hour or so—if she's home in two weeks, I've got my work cut out for me," he said. "And cut that out."

She pulled the button off in her hand and showed it to him. "I'll fix it," she said. "Okay, then, I'll see you later."

Then came the thirty second, awkward dance that always occurred when they parted in public, during which they leaned closer to each other but could not lock eyes. Lorelai always found herself staring at the cut of Luke's jaw, waiting for him to either seal the deal or turn his cheek, which he inevitably, always did. Without meeting his eyes, she couldn't see him waiting for the cue from her, for the twinkling, mischievous light that would give him permission. She shyly dropped a kiss on his cheek and waved over her shoulder as she left.

Since the night she stayed in his apartment, things had felt slightly less forced regarding the whens and whats of the time they spent together. There had been days Lorelai came home from the inn to find Luke already at the house, working in the garage on the shelving or the desk or the armoire, dinner waiting in the kitchen. Those days, they would eat together, talking idly about one thing or another, and Luke would return to the garage until it was too dark to work any longer. When he came in, they would sit together on the couch and watch TV or a movie, and when it grew late and Lorelai could see Luke's head dropping to his chest, she would lead him to the bedroom and they would make love and fall asleep together until Luke left in the early morning to open his diner. When Lorelai woke the coffeemaker would be ready to brew, waiting for her to push the power button. Then there had been other days, days when Lorelai came to the diner and stayed until after close, watched Luke clean, and went upstairs with him to mock him as he tried to watch baseball on his impossibly small television set, after which Lorelai would find reasons not to go home. There were other days, too, days when she would see him only over coffee in town in the morning, when she'd come home from work having eaten at the inn and he wouldn't be there, and he wouldn't come by, and they'd talk on the phone a few moments and watch TV or baseball alone and fall asleep in their own beds by themselves, the way they'd been doing for years.

Walking home, Lorelai had to admit that it wasn't the most exciting of relationships, but she was pretty sure she didn't care. She didn't regret having told him she needed to slow down, to figure out the way they would fit together, because she thought she could see, now. Things felt less weighty, less monumental this way, more comfortable, more the way they should. She wasn't sure quite how to phrase it, either—it wasn't quite dating, but it was more than just hanging out, and it was never boring, whatever it was. She was almost getting used to being overwhelmed, to the crush of feeling she had, the same way she had gotten used to the fluttering in her ribcage that started when he asked her to the movies the first time. They hadn't talked about the rules, yet; she still wasn't sure she knew what they were. She knew he wasn't quite content with the status quo, not quite—she felt as though he was waiting for something, but she didn't know exactly what. She hoped he could see she was doing her best, that she was trying.

She didn't hear Luke arrive; she'd been in the kitchen, willing her coffee pot to go faster. Once it had brewed enough for the present, she poured it over a heaping bowlful of ice cream and went to sit on the porch swing. She was enjoying herself immensely when she heard the yelling from the garage.

"Shit! Holy, holy, motherfucking goddamned shit!"

She put the bowl on the porch floor and jogged to the garage, where she found Luke, clutching his hand, stomping his foot, still swearing.

"Piss all damned hell fuck holy mother pile of shit!"

"Luke!" she cried. "What the hell? What's with the yelling and the swearing and—oh, my God, are you hurt?"

She rushed to his side and took his hand in both of hers. He bit his lips together a moment, composing himself. His eyes were bloodshot with pain.

"I hit my thumb with the hammer," he said shortly.

"Oh, my God," Lorelai said. "I thought you'd lost a finger. Come on into the house, we'll get some ice on that."

"Frigging stupid," he grumbled, following her in. "Haven't done that since—can't remember having ever done that. Can't believe—"

She sat him in a chair and filled a kitchen towel with ice, wrapping it around his rapidly swelling thumb. She sat beside him, holding the towel securely in place. He winced.

"You scared the shit out of me, you big baby," she said, pouting at him. "God. A simple 'ow, ow!' would have been enough."

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I just—motherfucker, it hurt."

She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Poor thing," she said. "Should we look at it?"

"Leave the ice on a little longer," he said. "I just—I want to make sure it's going to get done before she gets home, that's all."

Lorelai rested her chin on his shoulder. "You banged your thumb because you were hurrying for Rory? That's—Luke, that's so girly. I love that!"

He looked at her witheringly out of the corner of his eye. "I just want to make sure it's all done and done right."

"That's very sweet of you. But really, you shouldn't worry about it—if it's not done, it's not done, and—"

"It'll get done," Luke intoned.

"Not tonight, it won't," she replied, gingerly taking him by the arm and leading him into the living room. "Sit," she said. "You want a beer?"

"Nah," he said.

"One beer, coming up," she said. She ran out to the porch, grabbed her bowl of ice cream, and went back to the kitchen for a beer. She sat beside him on the couch, pulling his hand into her lap, wrapping the ice about his thumb more tightly. She reached for the remote and set the TV to skip channels while she shoveled ice cream into her mouth.

"What are you eating?"

She grinned around her full mouth. "Ice cream and coffee," she said joyfully. "Want some?"

He stared at her balefully. "You never cease to amaze me."

"I have a talent," she said. "Let's look."

Lorelai undid the towel and peered at Luke's thumb, making a face. It was slightly swollen and bright red, a half-moon shaped welt just below the nail. The nail itself was a strange mix of colors, not a healthy pink. She clucked sympathetically and looked up at him.

"It could be worse," she said.

"It will be," he replied.

"You think it's broken?"

He shrugged. "Too swollen to move it right now."

"Well, listen. You're staying here tonight, and first thing tomorrow, I'm taking you to the hospital to get an X-ray, just in case. No arguments," she said, raising her voice as he opened his mouth to speak. "Don't worry. I am an excellent caretaker. I stopped throwing up at seeing other people's vomit by the time Rory was three months old. She was a really up-chucky baby. Blood, not so much, but puke and bruises, I'm your gal."

"Thanks for the information," he said dryly.

She rose and took the towel from him. "I'm going to get more ice. And a bag to put the ice in, because the whole wet pants thing, aside from being totally worthy of a dirty, is not that attractive." She paused. "You want some ibuprofen?"

"No."

"Ah, and by no you mean yes. I've got the system down now," she said, grinning.

When she returned, he was stretched out on the couch, cradling his hand against his chest. She climbed over him and wiggled in under his arm, her head in the hollow of his shoulder. She re-iced his hand and took the remote, stopping the TV on the first baseball game she could find before reaching back over Luke's head for a magazine.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Haven't got a fricking clue," she said. "I'd like to keep it that way. As far as I'm concerned, the only reason to watch baseball is to admire tight butts and broad shoulders. You watch, I'm going to read my magazine, and you tell me when there's a particularly delicious booty that I should pay homage to."

Luke kissed her forehead and held her tightly to him for a moment. He turned his head and focused on the TV a moment. "Ah, geez," he said.

"Note that I won't respond to anything that's not 'good butt,'" she said.

"Sure."

"As long as we understand each other."

He grinned. "I think we do."

Though he attempted to sneak out in the morning without waking her, Lorelai caught Luke in the kitchen, fully dressed, placing the filter in the coffeemaker. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him.

"You think you're going to get away that easy?" she asked.

He looked at her, surprised. "What are you doing up?"

She shrugged. "I always wake up when you go," she said simply, too embarrassed to meet his eye. "And then I remembered that today, you're not supposed to go. Let me see that hand, mister," she said, coming towards him.

He stepped back defensively. "It's fine," he said.

"Then you won't mind me taking a look," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "Come on, Luke. Let me see."

With a sigh, he put out his hand. His thumb was still swollen and no longer red, but an impressive mottle of blue and purple. The half-moon indentation seemed deeper and his nail was now close to black. Lorelai kissed the joint at the base of his thumb, below the bruising, and looked up at him. "Give me five minutes, I'll get dressed, and we're going to get this taken care of," she said.

"Ah, geez, Lorelai, it's not broken," he said. "Look, I can wiggle it and everything," he said, making a pained face as he did so.

"Nice one, Caveman Joe, but regardless of how manly you want to be about this, I'd feel better if we just got it looked at. I don't want you going all toxic or being crippled for life because of something I asked you to do. I can live with a reasonable amount of guilt, you understand, but that might be overdoing it. Call Caesar, have him open without you. I'm going to get changed. Five minutes," she said. "Feel free to go on with the coffee."

Ten minutes later, they were on their way to the emergency room in Hartford, Luke grumbling in the passenger seat of Lorelai's Jeep. She had one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the radio dial, constantly changing the station.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Lorelai, could you decide on a channel and leave it?" Luke cried.

She looked at him sidelong. "Someone's a little cranky when he has a boo boo," she said.

"I don't have a—a—I'm fine," he said.

Lorelai laughed. "It is my new goal in life to get Luke Danes to say the word 'boo boo.'"

He shook his head. "Keep dreaming."

Lorelai sat beside him as he dealt with the charge nurse, supplying most of the information as to what had happened, as Luke was less than forthcoming. She held his good hand as they sat in the waiting room a few moments, keeping up a constant stream of light chatter and a slight reassuring pressure on his hand as he stared resolutely at his shoes. It was still early yet and the waiting room contained only one other person, his hand wrapped in a rag that he kept opening to peer at his palm, only to groan before he closed it and then gagged. It was less than ten minutes before someone called Luke's name and Lorelai stood up with him, walked with him to where the nurse was waiting.

"You family?" she asked.

She nodded. "I'm his girlfriend," she said. "Can I stay with him?"

The nurse shrugged and led them to a curtained gurney, where they waited another few moments for the doctor. Luke sat and Lorelai continued her barrage of distracting comments, which included a short comedy routine involving tongue depressors. The doctor who came to see Luke was a young, nervous woman with big, dark framed glasses and curly hair she wore in a high knot on the top of her head. She spoke in a voice so quiet Lorelai found herself leaning in to listen. She told them she suspected a slight fracture—earning her an 'ah, geez,' from Luke—but she wanted an X-ray to be sure, and sent them both to radiology. They rode in the elevator with a middle aged woman in a wheelchair, an IV attached to her arm, and an orderly who hummed the theme of "The Muppet Show" for the three floor ride. Luke bit his lips together and stared at the elevator ceiling.

Lorelai put her hand flat on his chest. "Hey," she said. He didn't look at her. "Hey. How you doing? You okay? You want me to flash you, or anything?"

The orderly smirked over his shoulder at them as Luke shifted his weight on his feet and became, if possible, even more uncomfortable. "As much as I appreciate the thought," he said, "no, Lorelai. I'm fine."

"Okay," she said. "Well, the offer stands."

When they left the hospital later that morning, Luke's thumb was taped securely in a splint and he had in his pocket a prescription for ibuprofen. Lorelai dropped him off at the diner, not getting out of the Jeep. He had his hand on the door handle when she reached out and touched his cheek.

"Wait," she said. "How are you?"

He sighed. "Really, Lorelai, I'm fine. I am. Just tired," he said.

"Okay, then. Take it easy today. I realize telling you to take it easy is like telling the Pope to lay off blessing things, but—"

"Lorelai," he said, smiling faintly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. I'm going to go to work."

"You going to come in for coffee?"

"Well, if you're going to push me," she said, grinning.

After a quick breakfast and two cups of coffee swallowed unreasonably fast, Lorelai leaned over the counter to call that she was leaving. Luke came around to the end of the counter and stood with her for a moment, telling her he'd be by after the diner closed. He paused for a moment, put his hand on her waist, and pulled her close. She stumbled a bit as he drew her to him, her hands automatically and of their own accord flying up as though to ward him off. He kissed her briefly, lightly. When he pulled back, she blinked rapidly a few seconds, her eyes wide. She smiled uncertainly and straightened his collar, averting her eyes. She took a breath, looked up at him, and told him to have a good day before kissing his cheek and leaving for work.

She sat in the Jeep a few minutes, confused and trying to collect herself. Dear Rory, she thought, I don't know why that—I don't—what's the big deal, really? I mean, really, right? Right. No big deal. Good. Good. It's all good. Okay. I'm going to work. She turned her key in the ignition and nearly jumped out of her skin, about to throw the car into drive, when she saw Miss Patty standing at her window.

"Lorelai, darling, good morning," she cooed. "Just caught that little display in there and thought I'd congratulate you."

"Congratulate me?" she asked, her brow furrowed.

"For bringing Luke along so far," Patty said, as though this were obvious. "There's never been a woman in Stars Hollow that could make that man show any sort of affection like that in public. A shame, too—nothing makes a man more attractive than seeing him woo another woman."

Lorelai stifled a laugh. "Oh, well, thanks, Patty. I do my best," she said.

"Oh, you two," Patty said. "Don't hesitate. You're quite the handsome couple."

"Thanks again, Patty, but I've got to go, I'm late for work," she said, stepping on the gas a little. She waved good bye and drove down Main Street, shaking her head.

Lorelai drove home first to change for work. As she confronted the clothes in her closet, which all seemed drab and awful this morning, she told herself she was being silly and small. She could offer to flash him in front of strangers, but kissing him in front of her friends seemed awkward and uncomfortable. Maybe she hadn't been expecting it, but should it have mattered? she asked herself. She sighed. Winky had told her to figure herself out, but she wondered how possible that was. As she settled on a skirt and light blouse, she shrugged and told herself it didn't matter—she was so close, she was almost there, she could almost see it, every day, getting easier, getting better. A glitch, she thought, it's just a teeny, tiny, weeny, little glitch.

"Glitches suck," she said aloud. She hung her head, sat, and put her elbows on her knees. After a moment, she reached out for the small pink journal on her bedside table, the journal that had seen so few scribblings in the last month.

Dear Rory, she wrote, if I could just be a sure of myself as I am of him, as he is of me. That's all I'm asking for. Tell me I can do it, babe. I need someone else to tell me I can do it. Because I think I can, I'm just—see? I'm not sure. Everything is so good right now, and I'm so close—I'm so close.

She threw her pen down with a sigh and finished getting ready for work. As she left the house, a fresh cup of coffee in her hand, she set her shoulders back and lifted her chin, wishing she felt as certain as she looked. For all the almost she'd been feeling lately, she knew that almost wasn't the same as certain.