Luke quietly slid out of Lorelai's arms, careful not to wake her up. He eased himself out of the bed and began hunting for his clothes, which were strewn in various corners of the room, thanks to their ardent love-making the night before. Luke grinned as he recalled each time that Lorelai had backed him into a corner or edge of some sort in her eagerness to hold as much of him as she could. Not that he had minded, of course, but there would definitely be a couple of tell-tale bruises to show.

A soft sigh from the bed caught his attention, and he turned to see Lorelai shift around in her sleep, her face bearing an expression of utmost contentment. Her eyes were closed, but a smile played around her lips as she shifted towards him, burrowing deeper into the covers as she curled up into a ball. The happiness radiating from her was so powerful that it almost erased the memory of her heartbroken countenance in the past few weeks. Almost.

Luke's brow furrowed as he remembered the agony that was the past few weeks. It had all but killed him to stay away from Lorelai, to maintain the bridge that had suddenly crept up between them without warning. He recalled that cold night on Lorelai's porch, when she had choked out, through her tears, that she would stay away from him, as he had bluntly told her to do, in front of all Stars Hollow. Luke remembered waiting in vain for Lorelai to come bounding into the diner energetically the next morning, waiting for her to pester him for coffee, longing to give her a lingering kiss (PDA be damned), aching to carry out their usual breakfast song-and-dance as if nothing had happened. He remembered praying that she had not taken his words to heart, that she would march in and tell him, again, that she was still "all in".

But no. He had shied away, allowing a tiny shred of self-doubt to malign his faith in Lorelai. OK, so she had gone to visit Chris. Big deal. Sure, he might have been jealous, but he had blown it completely out of proportion. Maybe it was his annoyance at the snobbery of the Gilmores. Maybe it was their insidious snubs, silkily telling him that he didn't belong in Lorelai's world. Maybe it was his disappointment that Lorelai had lied to him. He'd let those tiny details gnaw at him, and instead of confiding in her, he'd simply shut her out.

The whispered conversations that customers thought, or pretended, that he hadn't heard told him how Lorelai had been hunting for him. Babette and Miss Patty swapped notes in hushed tones, telling each other how bad a liar Lorelai was when it came to all things Luke-related. "Big fight" was written all over Lorelai's face, Babette told Miss Patty knowingly. Caesar, when he stopped to serve a customer, muttered that Lorelai had been quite frantic each time she'd passed the diner (he'd counted five times in all, though he was sure that there were more). And Kirk complained to Andrew about Lorelai's theft of his towel, and the way she'd interrupted his winning game on the dance machine to pester him about Luke's whereabouts. He wouldn't have been half as magnanimous, Kirk added, if Lorelai hadn't looked as if she were about to cry. "If there's one thing Mother didn't teach me, it's how to console a weeping woman." Andrew nodded emphatically in agreement, adding that that was why he'd let her just barge in and out of his bookshop, even though customers were complaining about the interruption long after she'd left.

And the damned ribbons. It seemed that all of Stars Hollow was part of some weird battle of the sexes, with Luke and Lorelai as the figureheads. Luke couldn't recall a single person not sporting a single one of those blasted things. He'd noticed that the blue-ribboners frequented his diner more often, leaving him extra-large tips and stoically munching the burnt food placed in front of them. The pink-ribboners, on the other hand, were avid Weston-ers. He'd walked past Weston's one morning, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lorelai. She hadn't been there, and he had been more than eager to leave when Gypsy and a few of her buddies fixated him with a glare. Luke had been more than happy to start throwing out his customers after that, blue ribbon or pink, hell, ribbon or not. Why not, when the one customer he wanted more than any one else wasn't going to come by?

The play was yet another painful reminder of the relationship that seemed no more. Had he and Lorelai still been together, they would have turned the backstage experience into yet another shared memory. He would have been building the sets, and she would have been close to him, deftly costuming the budding thespians and making them up. He would have grumbled and groused about her roping him into this debacle, but would have been secretly pleased at being able to spend more time with her. Instead, she'd stayed true to her word and kept her distance from him, leaving him to deal with Crazy Carrie, a drama queen Kirk, and a kid who seemed oddly fixated with his lesbian mom. The only time that they had been together at the play was during "the song" when he longed to tell her that he loved her, with the same ease as that with which Tevye was proclaiming his love for his wife. Stealing the odd glance at her face, which bore traces of strain and misery, and sharing wistful, fearful looks, had to suffice. How he'd longed to whisk her into his arms and take back the past week. But obviously his feeling this way wasn't enough to make her stay – she'd retreated to that god-awful empty garage (which he vowed to paint over as soon as he could), and he had nowhere to go but the diner.

Thinking about the garage, Luke remembered his boat. Lorelai didn't know that he knew that she'd prevented his boat from being towed. He'd only realized it when Kirk, manfully struggling to swallow his "Cajun pancake", informed him of it. Luke had rushed over to the door, ready to take this as a signal that he should go to her, fall onto his knees in front of the whole damn town and, worse, Taylor. But she'd fled, and he'd swallowed back a bitter wave of disappointment to go and bark at some blameless couple, innocently kissing at a corner table.

As Luke pulled on his jeans, he couldn't help but wonder why Emily Gilmore's appearance convinced him that he had to go to Lorelai. She had told him herself that she was all in, ready, willing and able to commit to him as she had never done for any other man. Emily had told him, in no uncertain terms, that she was in no way going to condone their relationship, and that she was only there to tell him that Lorelai wasn't speaking to her because of her interference. Blessing, no. Ungracious declaration, yes.

Luke had always known that his relationship with Lorelai would be different. He knew, right from their first kiss, that he was as much in love with her, perhaps more, than he had ever been. He knew that she hadn't taken their relationship lightly either, that she was trying to make this one different to her others. Then why was it that he had to hear it, from Emily Gilmore, of all people, that he meant something to Lorelai? Why did he have to turn around and gaze after her, watching her stalk off while Kirk fervently cleaned his breath off the glass, for it to dawn on him that he should close up, pull on his beaten jacket, and run to Lorelai's door, banging in earnest until she finally opened it and he was able to show her what he had not been able to say?

Luke pulled himself out of his reverie and quickly donned the rest of his clothes, jamming the worn blue baseball cap onto his head. He cast one last glance at Lorelai, and after pausing for a minute, walked over to her side, bending down to brush a feather-light kiss on her hair. He brushed a lock of hair off her face, noting with some regret the dark circles around her eyes, mirroring those that he was sure graced his own.

With sheer willpower, Luke dragged himself away and strode briskly down the stairs, wincing as a floorboard creaked in protest. He was half-way out the kitchen door when it occurred to him to leave a note. Luke hunted in vain around the kitchen, but all he could find was a chewed-up ball-point pen (a habit of Lorelai's that Luke was determined to break). Grimacing slightly, he glanced into Rory's room. He guiltily ventured in, and grabbed a pad of yellow Post-it notes, darting out as quickly as his feet would take him. Luke poised the pen, ready to write, when five words on the Post-it, in Rory's precise handwriting, caught his eye – Give Luke box to Luke.

He froze, knowing all too well what "the box" meant. A few months ago, he had come over to fix the railing in the coat closet, and had spied a cardboard carton filled to the brim with odd CDs, a box of corn starch, an orange chicken, and a few clothes. The box had had "DEAN" printed on it in bold letters, and when Lorelai had caught him, she'd explained its significance.

"The box is always the hardest part," she'd explained, pulling it down and fiddling with a couple of its contents. "You have to force yourself to come to terms with the fact that it's over. It's the best and the worst thing that you can do. A catharsis that is by no means painless."

"Then why do you do it?" he'd shot back.

"Because that's the only way we Gilmores know that it's time to let go." They'd looked at each other for a moment, and then regarded the box. "Let's put this back for Rory to handle." He nodded, then heaved it back to its original position, putting the covers back as he'd found it.

Luke stared at the Post-it, re-reading the words, mouthing them, as if it would help him gauge their significance. Then, as if drawn by a powerful magnet, he walked across to the coat closet and raised his hand to open it, but his eye fell on a large, closed carton just behind the couch. He lifted it up, surprised at how heavy it was, and set it on the kitchen table. He debated for a moment whether or not he should open it, but a mixture of fear, anticipation and curiosity overwhelmed him, compelling him to lift off the lid.

The contents inside were stacked haphazardly, so he knew that it had to be Lorelai's doing. However meticulous Lorelai was at work, the same concept did not apply at home. He lifted out a pair of yellow boots, size 9, still in their packaging, with the mailing envelope still attached. Next followed a blue plaid flannel shirt, the same one which Lorelai had worn when she'd come down into the diner after their first night together. Luke then lifted out a pair of white ice skates, the same pair which he had fixed four years ago, and the same ones which she'd worn to skate on the pond he'd built her.

The tools that followed were the same ones that were missing from Bert – a spare hammer, a small flat-head screwdriver and a wrench. Luke winced as he saw his beloved hammer, his faithful companion for the last fifteen or so years, decked out in feathers, sequins and rhinestones. A box of fishing line and hooks joined the tools on the table. Luke couldn't imagine why she would want to remember an activity that led to a disastrous date, but he was more than a little touched that she treasured even the little moments, when they hadn't been dating.

Luke pulled out the manual to his oven. He flipped it open and smiled when he saw Lorelai's footnotes, such as "If all else fails, beat the crap out of it". And "Call Lorelai so that we can go oven shopping together". He snorted when he saw "Let her pick the oven, preferably a pink one." The book was covered with like sentiments. He set it aside with his tools.

Next to follow were a bundle of clothes. He immediately recognized the dress as the same one which she'd worn to Liz's wedding, and with it was the wreath she'd worn in her hair, and even the shoes. He reached for the small jewellery box and flipped it open, fingering the earrings and necklace that he'd gotten her. Other clothes included the outfit she'd worn to paint his diner. He lifted the paint spattered headscarf to his nose, inhaling the lingering smells of paint, turpentine, and her flowery shampoo. The outfit that Lorelai had worn to her parents' vow renewal was also there, and the fragrance of her perfume, mixed with her own unique scent, was even more intoxicating.

Luke recognized the baseball cap as his old one, the olive green cap that had been a permanent part of his attire until Lorelai gave him his current one. He couldn't imagine how Lorelai had gotten hold of it, as she had done the three flannel shirts that followed the cap. Even more astonishing was that she'd picked the three shirts he'd always favoured, the ones that he chose first. He was determined to find out how she'd pilfered them on the sly.

The cloth napkin that he lifted out was one from Sniffy's Tavern. It, however, bore no resemblance to its counterparts back with Buddy and Maisie, because it was covered in Lorelai's messy handwriting. He made it out to be as a list of firsts, detailing every event, from their first ever meeting, to the first night they had spent together. There were even the smallest things, such as their first ever snow together and the first dinner that they had.

Finally, Luke lifted out a bundle of photos and napkins. As everyone knew, Luke was extremely camera-phobic, so it was a rare thing for him to see himself in colour print. Most of the photos were candid shots, from Rory's 16th birthday party to Liz's wedding, to snaps of the diner. Luke spied a couple which he recognized, when Rory had made him pose with Lorelai. In these pictures, he wore a scowl tinged with exasperation and amusement, but the way he held Lorelai, so tenderly, so lovingly, was such that any casual observer would know that this was a man infatuated. The napkins were covered with games of tic-tac-toe and other doodlings, obviously done when Lorelai was feeling particularly bored. He recognized one napkin as their contract for his loan of 30,000. Luke ran a finger over the "Thank-you. LG", which signed off the contract.

Luke took one last look into the box to make sure that he'd not left anything behind. Then he gazed at everything in front of him, wondering if this meant that Lorelai had been ready to give up on him. So monumental was this question that he didn't even know how he felt. Was he angry and disappointed that Lorelai had made this box? Scared that it was signalling the end?

Luke stared at the table, not really seeing what was there. He lifted up the Post-it and read out those five words again in a whisper, again questioning their significance. It then dawned on him, after several minutes of seeing but not looking, that the answer laid not in the words, but in the writer.

It had been Rory who'd written it, not Lorelai. Rory had been the one to try end it for her mother, to sever the final ties with Luke, to spare her mother the pain of having to look at the remnants of a precious, shattered relationship. Lorelai however, had, in all likeliness, been holding onto the box, probably in hope that things would improve.

This was all the answer that Luke needed, and he knew exactly what to do. He packed everything back into the box and grabbed the Post-it and pen. Moving quietly, careful to skip the creaky stair, he eased back into Lorelai's room and found her just as he'd left her. Luke set down the box and slowly, but silently, started to find homes for the contents. The jewellery box went back on the dressing table, while all the clothes ended up on hangers in her overflowing closet. He took out his tools and his oven manual – those would return to the diner – and then stopped, wondering what to do with the remaining odds and ends. Inspiration struck him as he spotted the Post-its. He peeled off the top one and wrote on the note underneath, "To be sorted and put away by you and me. L." He stuck that note onto the half-empty carton with a smile.

Finally, Luke wrote the note that he'd been meaning to write. "There's a large coffee and Danish waiting for you at the diner." He grunted in annoyance when he ran out of room, and ripped it off, sticking it onto her mirror. He took a moment, wondering how to continue, then smiled, writing, "Guess we're both all in together. Love, Luke."

After this note joined the other one, Luke took another glance around the room. He was amazed at how Lorelai had managed to sleep through his movements, and was sorely tempted to say, "To hell with it", and get back into bed with her. However, the diner beckoned, so he simply walked over to the bed, adjusted the covers to tuck her in more tightly, and eased out of the room.

When Luke was ready to open up at 6.00, he wasn't expecting to see any customers lined up, eager to get in. He was right – his usual early morning crowd had dwindled to a couple of stragglers, who were taking their time coming in. Luke's brow wrinkled in annoyance, knowing that he'd have a lot to answer to, when Taylor and the other townspeople started raking him over the coals for his atrocious mannerisms the day before. Grabbing a sheet of chart paper and a board pen, he wrote in large letters, "Half off all items today.", and put the notice up on a window.

Perhaps because they knew that they wouldn't be thrown out, and perhaps because of the sign, more customers ventured in, and soon the diner was almost bustling by 7.30. Many regulars who'd borne the brunt of Luke's wrath yesterday were puzzled by his comparatively beaming mood – in other words, he was as surly and brusque as ever, but the troubadour later ventured that "that man was the most secretively happy man I've ever seen in my life."

Kirk walked in and took a seat by the counter. He was half-disappointed to see the diner so full – he much preferred the solitude that had been present yesterday. However, Luke's food was Luke's food – no way was he going to change his loyalties.

Luke came up and grunted a "Good Morning" to Kirk. "What'll it be?"

Kirk wasn't sure how to proceed. "Er… how about a Cajun pancake?"

Luke scowled in disbelief. "You're kidding, right? Go to Al's Pancake World if you want that crap."

Kirk was about to retort, but stopped. It wouldn't do to get kicked out. "In that case, how about a turkey-ham sandwich, without the ham, and extra mayonnaise, and a medium glass of OJ, no pulp?" He paused, waiting for Luke's usual annoyance to spring forth. He was, therefore, naturally surprised to hear Luke merely grunt again, "Coming right up."

Kirk was debating the possibilities of the existence of a twilight zone, and whether he had stumbled into, or out of one. He was definitely going to have to talk to Andrew about this one. In what seemed an extremely short time, Luke returned with his order. He'd even gone as far as to slice the sandwich horizontally, the way Kirk liked it, and had made the OJ extra-large.

Luke busied himself with filling the coffee pot, when he heard Kirk's voice pipe up. "I only asked for a medium OJ, Luke."

Without turning, he said, "It's all on the house, Kirk."

Luke saw Kirk raising his arm in protest. He turned; hoping to cut Kirk off. Instead, his face froze into the very shocked, wondering look that had been on Lorelai's face right before he'd reached for her. The answer that had been eluding him, the puzzlement over what had actually propelled him over to Lorelai's house last night, was right there on Kirk's wrist, as it had been the night before – in the form of two ribbons, one blue, one pink.

THE END