He never got sick. Except when he did.
And though, by day three, he was much improved there was still no way he was up to going to the party (Thank God. I mean if you gotta be sick...)
"It's psychosomatic," Lorelai assured Rory while they were downstairs in the kitchen heating cans of soup. "Usually, it's just the late Friday afternoon colon clench before we go to dinner, but this being Christmas eve, he had to do something special and get really sick so he could actually get out of going."
"Mom, he didn't get flu on purpose!" laughed Rory.
"Oh, I know," she assured her. "I'm just jealous. I wish I had that kind of mind power—to actually lure germs to me to get out of an Emily and Richard event. She always knows when I'm lying," she added with a sigh.
But Luke knew she wasn't complaining. Not really. He had, of course, urged her to go and get her apple tarts with Rory, but Lorelai had insisted on staying home with him. He was glad. Yes, the inept ministrations of both Gilmore women while he'd been ill had been pretty annoying, but that didn't mean he didn't still want them there. Sheesh, any idiot could see that.
So, they'd bundled Rory off with gifts and an overnight bag (the weather forecast dicey) and settled in to watch Christmas in Connecticut while the enormous tree in the corner glowed prettily. And Luke dozed while Lorelai dipped repeatedly into the enormous box of cookies Sookie had sent over, until she shook his shoulder gently.
"Wakey, wakey," she smiled into his sleepy blinking face. "I know a little boy who had better get up to bed or Santa won't come."
He scrubbed at his eyes and then suddenly was awake.
Crap.
Santa... Presents.
It's not that he didn't have any for Lorelai, or Rory either for that matter. It's just that, he didn't.
And he'd had a plan. An actual shopping plan, dammit.
He had been clenching and unclenching his jaw for weeks with the dread of it. Knowing that he'd have to bite the bullet and go to the frickin' mall. He'd delayed as long as he could, of course, (the excuse being that if he wracked his brain and came up with concrete ideas for gifts, it could shorten his trip considerably—less aimless wandering around that way) still, the inevitable loomed large (no ideas forthcoming,) Until, on the very day he'd planned to go, he'd tossed his cookies after breakfast then spiked a fever.
And, of course, that caused him to promptly forget all about the gift-giving purgatory he'd narrowly scraped out of.
Maybe it was psychosomatic, he reflected then as he and Lorelai climbed up to their room.
But, he'd been sick, right? Really sick. Ah geez, no way that was gonna fly.
He climbed into bed then and watched Lorelai putter around the room. She turned the radio to the Stars' Hollow Christmas station (On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...) Squat, zilch, and nada, he thought guiltily.
What was he going to do? Christmas was big, right? Not that he knew from actual experience. He'd done nothing to speak of for Christmas, other than take that single solitary day off, for far more years than he'd participated in anything as a child. His mother had made a big deal, of course, but he hadn't really thought of it as something beyond cynical commercial opportunity since.
He sighed heavily, feeling even crappier, as the clock ticked closer and closer to midnight.
For weeks Lorelai had been getting ready. Making him lug in a big tree, finishing a quilt for Davey, shopping on the computer, hosting parties, attending parties—dragging him along, dressing him up. She'd even talked him into a plain evergreen wreath for the diner door. She'd gabbed and glowed like a kid. After all; Christmas was coming.
He sighed again. She turned from the dresser to look over at him in concern.
"Are you feeling bad again? Do you want some Tylenol?" she asked.
"No," he clipped, more harshly than he intended.
"Tea?"
"No."
"How about some soup? You had hardly any earlier..."
"Lorelai, I don't want anything!" he snapped.
"Okay," she accepted softy.
He looked up at her, instantly contrite.
"What is it?" she asked in genuine curiosity.
"You should have gone to the party," he evaded.
She climbed up on the bed and sat facing him.
"I didn't want to go to the party, Luke. I wanted to be with you."
"Not much of a Christmas," he grumbled.
"Are you kidding?" she asked in surprise, "Barbara Stanwyck, fudge, and you, then tomorrow Rory too? It's perfect."
He looked at her a moment.
And then, of course, confessed all. How could he not? There she was sexy and happy and full of the flippin' Christmas spirit, and he was a jerk, an idiot. An idiot with no gifts. And he'd been too tired to even make coffee for three days. And... he'd had a plan, dammit! A shopping plan. And, what-the-hell did she want any way? He didn't know how to give presents. He sucked at giving presents. Especially to women. Not that he'd given that many presents to women, or men for that matter, but you know what I mean. And why did Christmas have to be such a big deal, anyway? No, nevermind. He knew it was a big deal to her. So he should have done something but, yeah, he screwed up. And was sorry. And he'd go right out and get her something as soon as he could. He'd brave the post-Christmas mall hell to do it. Or, she could have the clock. His father's clock. She loved that clock, didn't she? There you go! Should have thought of that before. It's officially yours now, Lorelai, I'm giving you my father's clock...
And she listened to all this with increasingly widening eyes, her mouth even dropping a little at the last, until he was finished...
When, after a beat, she laughed so hard she nearly fell off the bed.
By way of return, after catching a post-rant breath, he flushed and grew angry. What was she laughing at?
Lorelai wiped a tear out of her eye and collected herself.
"Luke..." she tried to gain eye contact.
He firmly wouldn't allow it and crossed his arms over his chest for good measure.
"Luke, look at me." Ah hell, he did screw up. He looked at her.
She giggled at little at that. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, "It was just... funny."
"Well, glad I'm so damn entertaining."
"Oh, don't do that," she coaxed. "Luke," she went on, "It doesn't matter. I don't need a gift. I know you hate shopping," she comforted "besides, you do so much for me, for us... coffee, closets, entertainment..." and she laughed again.
He winced inwardly. She would be good about it like that. He should have known.
"Lorelai, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to spoil your Christmas. Getting sick. No gift."
She smiled at him.
"Hmmm... I think I know a way you can make it up to me..."
His eyes widened then as she leaned in and kissed his forehead gently.
"Lorelai..."
"Shhh..." she whispered and nuzzled his ear.
He closed his eyes then as she kissed tenderly down his neck, down his chest and tugged playfully at the drawstring of his pants with her teeth.. She looked up at him then, "Luke, it's fine," she told him quietly, then smiled at his moan when she released him. "Relax and watch," she whispered huskily.
And so he opened his eyes and did. He watched her. And God, here they were, and there she was with her soft lips and warm tongue and wet finger rubbing spot on the magic perineal bundle of nerves, until he was moaning her name and bucking and clutching at her shoulders...
And when he could breathe and focus again, he looked up to see her sitting back on her heels and grinning.
"Pretty proud of yourself, are you?" he smiled.
"Don't you think I should be?" she returned.
"God yes," he sighed.
They looked at one another a moment.
"Lorelai..." he began.
"Let's get married," she interrupted.
"What?"
"You heard me," she told him.
"Yes, I heard you, but..."
"Don't you want to marry me?" she demanded, with her hands on her hips.
"Of course I do. I just.. Shouldn't there be a proposal?" he swallowed "Or something."
"I think that's what I just did," she laughed, "And if I waited for you to propose... Well, let's put it this way: It took you ten years to ask me out," she reminded him.
"Oh. Right."
They sat a moment.
"Luke?"
"What?'
"Say something!"
"Um well..." he sat up straighter, "I always assumed... I mean for awhile now, that you and I would... do that..."
"Get married?" she prompted
"Yes. I just wasn't expecting..."
Lorelai laughed a little nervously, "Yeah well, I had to wait until you were sick, giftless and post-
orgasmic to ask. Less blood in the brain, you know. Your weakened defenses only aid my cause."
"Lorelai," he leaned into her and caught her arms in his hands, "I want to marry you more than anything. In my heart... I don't know how to say this right... But, in my heart, we're already married, you know?" he looked at her intently, hoping she would understand.
She did.
"Good. Me too. But, I want to do it for real now too," she told him earnestly.
"Well, me too," he smiled and she smiled back and both, well both knew what they meant. What they wanted. Always had, really. But it was nice... No, it was great to have it said.
And later, as they lay quietly together after his father's clock downstairs had struck the Christmas hour, he asked, "You didn't get me a lot of stuff did you?"
She laughed, "Of course I did."
"Oh, man."
"Don't worry, you can make it up to me in engagement ring."
He sighed at that, until suddenly struck by another thought, "Oh, crap! Rory! She's coming home tomorrow and I didn't get her anything either."
"Yes, you did," Lorelai told him and yawned big.
"No, I didn't," he insisted, panicking again.
"Yes, you did. You got her three lovely step-fatherly gifts." Luke swallowed at that, his head spinning a little. "Luke," she interrupted his turmoil, "is it snowing yet?"
He turned mechanically to look out the window, "Not yet," he managed.
"Good. I'm too tired for anymore sex tonight. Goodnight. Merry Christmas, and I love you," she yawned again and in a moment, was asleep.
And he could only look down at her in wonder.
