AUTHOR'S NOTE: The second part of the little two-part vignette I started. It's not a closed-ended, complete saga or anything, but just a little interaction between my two favorite characters, the way I foresee things happening (even if that doesn't pan out). This was sort of an exercise to see if I could write Luke and Lorelai in character, complete with the style of speaking… egads, haha. Please read and enjoy—I thank you all for your encouragement and who knows, perhaps a plot bunny will bite me and I'll write something more at some point.
CHAPTER TWO- Someone to Lean On
"Lorelai?"
His voice startled her, sent suds flying on either side of the sink, her hands jerking in a defensive, jumpy gesture borne of little sleep and much stress. She turned, her shadowed eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. "God, Luke, maybe wear a bell next time instead of sneaking up. I mean, what if I'd been drying a butcher knife, huh?"
"It's my apartment," he noted dryly, absurdly pleased to see her there, no matter what the circumstances. "What are you doing?"
She'd been absorbed in her thoughts, as always, the soothing, repetitive action of scrub, rinse, scrub calming her nerves and allowing clearer thoughts to come through. Well, relatively clearer—her mind was still barreling along like a freight train, and she could feel panic crowding in along the edges of her vision, panic along with fatigue and worry and a complete and utter sense of helplessness.
It wasn't unusual for her to feel lost—she just had made a habit of keeping that particular tidbit to herself. A competent mother—a good mother—always knew what she was doing, and Lorelai Gilmore had set out in motherhood with only two goals: to make her daughter love her and to escape the kind of criticism that had plagued her own childhood.
A good mother was beyond reproach.
She was still working on that.
"Well," she answered with a dry little huff of laughter, coming back to the present, "I was practicing to be in the circus, but I dropped my flaming ring of death down the sink and thought I'd go looking for it."
Luke took a step toward her, a frown creasing his brow. Something was off, something was wrong. It wasn't just that she was wearing the same clothes she'd worn yesterday, or that she had broken into his apartment to wash his dishes, it was something else. And Luke was deathly scared that something else was him—that he was the problem, he was what was making her panic.
Of course, that didn't make much sense, considering she'd come to his apartment, but still and all…
He didn't want to lose her before he even got her. He'd already done that too many times.
"Lorelai," he said simply, holding a hand out to her, wanting to touch, the motion already reflex, already ingrained.
She skittered back like a nervous horse, eyes wide, and though the pained wince that sent through his eyes hurt her, as well, she couldn't seem to stop the motion.
"Do you have anymore dirty dishes?" she asked, false lightness coloring her voice. "Like in the diner?"
"Cesar can take care of those. It's his job." What had happened, he wondered, between the time he'd gone after Kirk and now? And moreover, how could he make it better for her?
"Yeah, but as long as I'm already elbow deep in Dawn, I may as well do the dishes. I mean, I'm a master dishwasher, Luke. If I didn't already have a job, I'd say you should hire me. I hardly ever break anything." She tried her usual flirtatious grin, felt it falter, and let it slide.
"A job," he repeated, reaching out and grasping her elbows, determined to hang on whether she liked it or not. "Would that explain why when I woke up this morning in your inn, you were here at my diner?" Explanations—that sounded like a good place to start. But at this proximity, with all her vulnerability showing, all Luke wanted was to hold her, to kiss her. But she was stiff in his grasp, constantly moving, the fiery, sweet Lorelai of the evening before momentarily gone.
"The inn!" she exclaimed, her hands now sliding down to his as she realized what she'd left behind. The inn was at least the same, something she could grab onto, and she'd shirked all of her duties to… what? Come here and wash dishes? "How was your room last night? Oh, wait… you didn't use your room, that's right, just another thing I ruined for someone. I'll make it up to you, okay? Complimentary stay whenever you want."
Luke smiled faintly, feeling a little normal ground steady between them. "Who said I stayed up because of you?" he jibed gently, seeing a little more color seep into her cheeks. Now if he could just get her to sit down…
"Well," Lorelai retorted, hearing Rory's words ricocheting through her head, "In addition to being a horrible mother, I'm also incredibly self-involved. Hadn't you noticed?" He drew her to him just a bit, as though to share his strength with her. God, how she needed it, now more than ever.
"Horrible mother?" Would there ever come a day, Luke wondered, when he wouldn't feel the need to repeat everything she said simply to understand it?
"You kissed me," she stated by way of answering, because right now, with him so close and her brain so far, it was the only thing Lorelai could think of.
Luke shut his eyes momentarily, trying to track the non sequitur as best he could. He needed to start getting up earlier in the morning if he was ever going to come close to matching the speed at which she changed subjects. "I did. So?"
So? Lorelai thought. So… everything. How dare he sound so nonchalant when he'd kissed her and turned her so completely around that she'd still been floating, just a little, when she'd caught Rory with Dean?
"So it was a bad idea, that's what," she said defensively, pushing away from him, her jaw jutting out. "You don't want to kiss me, Luke." And all her fears and insecurities came bubbling up before she could stop them, all the things she'd been thinking while washing those dishes, all the accusations she'd heard in her daughter's voice, all the accusations she'd ever leveled at herself and all of the shortcomings her mother had none-too-gently reminded her of came crashing to the forefront.
"I'm… I'm a bad person and I've been a bad example to Rory. I shouldn't have a family, because I couldn't even get along with the one I had, and then I went and made my own, and you don't want that, because you've already had bad relationships. And besides, I'm flighty, just ask my mother, who is taking my daughter away from me this summer, and maybe she should, you know, because I apparently made a wrong turn somewhere, and did you see my parents there at the Inn? They came, they accused, and they left without saying a word about the place." She uttered a thin 'ha' of hysterical laughter, and then her eyes widened on a memory. "Oh, oh, and oh… you said it a long time ago, Luke, you said, you told Rory she didn't want to end up like me, and you were right, but it doesn't matter, because it happened anyway even though I tried to help—"
He grabbed her shoulders and shook, one hard, brisk shake that sent her tired curls shifting around her shoulders, and that shook was all it took to bring the tears to her eyes. "Stop," he commanded roughly, every self-deprecation she spouted digging at him just as much as at her.
If he loved her, shouldn't he have seen at least some of this? No matter what had set it off—and he intended to find out what it had been—shouldn't he have seen some of those thoughts lurking behind those gorgeous blue eyes?
Or had he just seen what he wanted to?
"Whatever I said a long time ago, Lorelai, I couldn't have meant, because I don't even remember saying that, dammit." He stroked his hands down her arms and wondered where to start. "You're not a bad person," he said lamely. Everything that came to mind just sounded completely inadequate, and so he gave the simplest comfort he had to offer. "Tell me what's wrong. Let me help you."
"Don't you ever get tired of helping me?" she wondered aloud. "Stupid Lorelai, who can't even fix her own windows or shovel her own sidewalk or… pay for her own stupid inn. Haven't you helped enough?"
It was his turn to push her away, to do so physically even as he felt her do it emotionally. "I don't know, have I helped at all? You don't ever just ask anyone for help, Lorelai. You ask someone for help and then you make it into a business deal with your papers and your promises and your IOUs and then you shove them away and then you feel okay." He took a deep breath. "Then you still feel independent. You won't let anyone just help you."
Lorelai felt her eyes widen in disbelief. From all corners tonight, and now from Luke, too? It was too damned much. "That's the Gilmore way!" she exclaimed bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Luke barked a short, cynical laugh and raked his hand through his hair, missing his ball cap. "For someone who spends so much time scorning the Gilmore way, you sure use it when it suits you."
Nothing could have stung her more than his statement, and nothing could have stung him more than the hurt in her eyes. They stood in silence, contemplating each other, one knowing exactly what had gone on and completely clueless as to what to do about it, the other left in the dark but knowing exactly what to do about it, anyway.
His father had been a steadfast man, a predictable man, an honorable man, and Luke had looked up to that his whole life. He had aspired to that his whole life.
So he reached out to her despite his fear of rejection, and though she resisted him, he put his arms around her and closed his eyes. "You don't have to tell me what happened, Lorelai. Just… lean on me for once, okay?" Need me, he wanted to say, feeling his heart ache in his chest. "It doesn't matter what happened, things will get better."
And though it was hard for him to believe his own words when he felt the sobs start to wrack through her body, he kissed the top of her head and prayed he could help her, prayed he could do his best for her.
And when she finally spoke, uncustomary tears dried up, he knew no matter what was to come, he could honor at least one request.
"You got any coffee?"