A/N: I stopped disclaimering awhile ago, but you can still safely assume that these characters are borrowed.

Okay, and without catterwall, the story would be something like this:

Luke: so, u like me?

Lorelai: yes. ur hot.

Luke: kewl.

Totally super-human beta skills.

They breezed through the cool lobby, past the front desk and into the waiting elevator. Luke pressed the button, looking up into the mirrored ceiling and blinked at the picture of the two of them, all in black, propped up against opposite sides.

'Lift off,' he thought to himself as it jolted upward. He hadn't bothered to stop thinking those words when he became an adult.

He continued to stare at his reflection in the ceiling mirror as Lorelai walked across the small space and buried herself inside his coat, tucking her black tresses under his raised chin. As the elevator slowed, she released him with a small peck and looked into his eyes, still cast heavenward.

He watched from above as she looked at him, kissed him, rubbed a hand over his chest plate, and eventually looked up to see what he was staring at.

Together, they stared at one another, seeing themselves together for the first time, watching themselves become a couple.

Luke saw her lower her eyes to his. He met her gaze.

"I'm exhausted," she breathed, lowering her lids and smiling. He rubbed her shoulders as she turned to exit.

"Me too. Let's get some sleep."

Lorelai waltzed into the room ahead of him, the cold, minty air awakening her senses a bit. She flopped down on the couch, slipping off her heels and tying up her hair. She leaned her head back and stopped just short of closing her eyes.

She watched him carefully as he flipped up his collar and undid his tie, unclasping his watch with a clatter on the nightstand. He removed his jacket and sat on the bed, fiddling with the laces on his shoes.

It was funny, she thought, how his muscles flexed in his broad shoulders from the small tremors of movement in his hands. Funny how he wrinkled his brow when taking off his socks, the way he straightened so severely while taking his wallet out of his back pocket.

He stood and turned towards her, untucking and unbuttoning his shirt from the top down. "Stop staring," he said without lifting his eyes.

She huffed a laugh and closed her eyes, rubbing her face. "You really wanna wait, huh?"

He chuckled, suppressing his delight at the remark. "I'll just finish changing in the bathroom." He balled up the grey sweatpants and ribbed shirt and headed for the door.

"I need to shower," he called, "but I'll leave the door unlocked if you want to get ready."

The door clicked closed.

Luke in the shower.

Lorelai hoisted herself upright, a devilish grin at the thought of Luke in the shower, completely vulnerable to her. Then she thought about what he'd said, about the inappropriateness and the waiting.

She thought about Mia, the funeral that afternoon. The scarf in her purse. The naked man in the shower.

She bit her lip and scraped her nails together rapidly, trying not to equate the two situations in her mind but needing a decision on the matter.

Walking over to her half open suitcase, she reached for the corner into which she'd stuffed her sleeping clothes. She was faced with the same dilemma as the past two nights.

The silky slip was hung seductively over the nozzle of her blow dryer and slid towards her as she opened the top. So unfair. She pulled out the pajama bottoms and sweatshirt. "It's cold," she reasoned. "Let's be sensible."

As she put the lid of the suitcase back down, the slip slid through the unzipped mouth on one side and piled onto the carpet. "God damn you," she muttered.

She heard the water turn on in the shower and she grabbed the slip off the floor, hastily shedding her clothes and letting it glide down her body.

She couldn't help but check to make sure her underwear matched her bra.

Good.

Lorelai cracked open the door to the bathroom, the steam escaping rapidly. She stuck her arm in and grabbed a bathrobe. Once securely tied around her waist, she picked up the flannels and buried them in her luggage, then folded and hung her black suit from earlier.

She was cleaning, she realized. She always cleaned when she was nervous.

"I am not nervous," she muttered under her breath. "Because nothing is going to happen. We're going to sleep. And that's that."

Luke let the water flatten his hair and run down over his face, careful not to get any in his ears.

He tore open the paper-wrapped washcloth, soaped it up and rubbed down his body, beginning with his left shoulder. He always started with his left shoulder, then swept over his chest, then to the right shoulder, and then down between his legs.

He paused when he got to his stomach, careful not to touch the threatening appendage. Turning and soaking his hair instead, he squeezed the bottle of shampoo into his palm. His vision blurred as the water ran into his eyes.

The door opened without a sound, but he felt a rush of cold air envelop his body and knew she had entered the vicinity. His erection was immediate.

"Hi," Lorelai called out over the rushing water. "Is it okay that I'm in here?"

"Uh- yeah, I'm almost done," he called back, cracking a bit, feeling inexplicably guilty.

"Just brushing my teeth," her voice echoed.

Considering the associations he had with this daily ritual, hearing her voice reverberating off the shower walls was almost too much. He rested his head against the frigid tile and tried not to think about it, waiting for her to finish up and leave.

"I'll take the couch," he said, wanting to speak, maybe make the situation easier.

She didn't hear him over the rushing water. "What?" she garbled, her mouth full of toothpaste.

"I'll take the couch," he called, tilting his head upward. "You take the bed."

He was naked and having a conversation with Lorelai.

"I can't hear you," she hollered back. She rinsed and shut off the water. "Say again?"

He poked his head through the shower curtain, water dripping off his face. "I said, I'll sleep on the couch tonight. You can have the bed."

She took in his slicked-back hair and shining eyes, a rivulet of water changing course rapidly on his shoulder.

"You sure you don't want it?"

The "too" stuck in her throat.

"No no," he assured her, "it's all yours. I don't mind."

She gave him a quick smile and stepped over the toilet, giving him a brief kiss. His moistened lips and softened bristles were enough to make her strip off her clothes and step over the threshold of the tub, but his grimace stopped her. "Okay," she said quietly, "I'm gonna make some coffee before bed, do you mind?"

"No. Yeah. Go ahead."

She was frozen in her awkward position, leaning over toward him with her hand propped against the wall, steadying herself as she breathed into his mouth. "Okay," she finally managed. "Goodnight, then."

"'Night."

The second the door closed, he turned and faced the wall, then flicked the shower knob to the coldest setting. This was the only thing he could think of to do in this situation, when he felt like his body was absolutely vibrating with pent-up tension and he couldn't get away from it. Or, rather, from her.

He pressed his overheated, throbbing groin against the tile as the sudden stream of cold water stole his breath.

His body temperature was quickly dropping, feeling the freezing water cut into his flushed skin. He rubbed his face, trying to get it together enough to shut off the water and make his exit. If only there were a chair in here, he could think more clearly about the situation. Sitting helped him think. He settled for leaning his bare back against the wall.

Luke found that the shower head was detachable, and brought the nozzle down over his midsection while staring at the wall and willing himself to think about T.J. 'Desperate times,' he thought bitterly.

That seemed to work.

Though it could be argued that coffee was a stimulant, Lorelai found it quite helpful in situations such as this. She was a staunch supporter of self-medicating, especially when it served to fuel her caffeine abuse problem. She sipped her coffee, settling her nerves, dulling the forceful longing in her body.

She wound shut the windows and pulled the heavy curtains closed, turning out all the lights save the desk lamp. The dim bulb flickered as she put her cup down on the surface.

Keeping her eyes glued to the bathroom door, she quickly shed her robe and dove under the covers.

As Lorelai collapsed onto the crisp pillows and buried herself in the comforter, her head swam with images of water.

The way it had dripped off his face in the shower, the streaming tears he'd wiped off her cheeks, the beads of sweat on his forehead as he willed himself not to cry. Beads of sweat as he looked up at her from the pillows, as she hovered over him, gripping her thighs and pushing himself into her, creating beads of sweat in the small of her arched back. The water cascading down his shoulder now in the other room, just over there.

She flipped over onto her face, an arm across her stomach.

This was how she'd slept for years, before she'd gotten pregnant, face-down into her mound of pillow. Her swelling belly had eventually made this arrangement impossible and she had relearned to sleep in the fetal position, curled in a ball, fists under her chin.

It was the way she imagined her daughter was sleeping inside her, it gave her an odd sense of comfort. And even now, she couldn't really relax unless she tucked up on her side.

Her thoughts drifted back to water, to the ocean. Sitting over it on the pier with him, wanting to be swallowed by it on the beach without him.

The warmth spread through her body as she thought about him there with her, about Luke, about being with Luke. He was hers. He belonged to her.

She sank deeper into the soft bed, tucking her forehead and eyes under the topmost pillow, hitching the hem of the slip just over her thigh, sliding her knee upward. At the touch of a cold patch of sheet, gooseflesh appeared on her legs, and she waited patiently for her body heat to warm the new spot.

The sound of rushing water in the walls finally stopped, and she could hear him rustling about inside the bathroom. She pictured him reaching for a big white towel, wrapping it around his waist, tucking it in at his hip while he stepped out of the tub. In the privacy of the hotel room, under the darkness of the bed covers, she allowed her hand to wander.

Arm stretched, gripping the corner of the long countertop as he brushed his teeth, head down. Hair drying, beginning to curl at the nape of his neck. Reaching for his fresh boxers. Unfastening and dropping the towel. She applied more force with her fingertips, rubbing slow circles through the thin, cotton fabric.

She heard him clear his throat from inside, making her jump, her hand yanking back up her stomach.

Lorelai wasn't sure she was going to make it through the night. She sandwiched her head between her pillows, trying to get control of herself Trying not to bite the pillow.

She opened her mouth, crossed her eyes and wrinkled her nose.

She didn't want to push him when he clearly wasn't ready. Actually, there was a slight pang of shame for not feeling guiltier about their situation; the reason she agreed to hold off until they got back to Stars Hollow was for fear of damaging something in their fragile relationship- not for the extreme inappropriateness of what she'd hoped to do with him.

She tried consciously to dwell on it, but it didn't do much to convince her hands into idleness. If only the coffee would kick in, she thought, she could ignore the insistent pulsing in her torso. Sleep was the only way out of this, she was almost certain. She closed her eyes and willed herself to think about TJ.

Unfortunately, the sweatpants Luke had been planning on wearing to bed weren't being extraordinarily cooperative. He stared down at the huge bulge in his pants, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers.

There was still light coming from under the door, he knew she was still awake. Or maybe she'd just left the light on for him to see by. He kept his pile of dirty clothes in front of his pants as he opened the door, just in case.

He surveyed the scene and could only see a few stray black curls coming out from underneath the pillows, the only hint that there was any life in the oversized bed. Relieved that she was asleep, he tiptoed over to the couch, dropped his stuff and took the blankets out of the closet, arranging the covers.

The whole situation was making him really skittish; he wanted nothing more than to step outside onto the balcony for a few minutes and breathe in some fresh air, settle his tingling stomach. But the sliding open of the door, he reasoned, would probably wake her up, and that was precisely the situation that he didn't trust himself to be in.

He imagined her giving him a sleepy, sexy smile from the middle of that bed, saying his name. There was no chance in hell he'd be able to steady himself. No, better to stay inside.

"Luke?"

Goddamnit.

He rooted to his spot, lifting the back cushion halfway out of the small couch. "Yeah?" He whispered. "Sorry, am I being loud? I thought you, ah, were asleep."

Lorelai unearthed herself from her mountain of covers and sat up, tousling her hair and sighing through her nose.

"I wasn't asleep," she murmured, drawing her knees up to her chest. She glared away from the lamp, her eyes adjusting after having been buried for so long.

He forced himself to move under her eyes, continuing to absent-mindedly fluff things. "Want me to turn out the light?"

She hummed a response. "C'mere first, though."

Shit. "Why?" he demanded.

"Just do it. Just for a second."

Luke felt like he was walking into the lion's den as he hooked his arm around the bottom bed post.

"Yeah?"

"Closer," she said.

He stepped about half the distance, putting his hand on the edge of the bed about a foot from her knee.

"Luke!" she cried, exasperated. She dropped her knees onto the bed and swung herself forward, using the bottom of his shirt to leverage herself closer. "I'm not going to attack you," she said, smiling. "I just wanted a goodnight kiss. Come over here."

She fell back onto the pillows, not letting go of his shirt, pulling him over her. He struggled to keep his knee from sliding onto the bed, mentally convincing himself that his bare feet had been tied to the floor and that it would be impossible.

With a last glance at his lips, Lorelai pulled him into her mouth without hesitation, kissing him deeply.

She slipped her other hand around the back of his neck, her fingers reaching down the collar of his shirt. Luke kept a hand pressed into the mattress, the other immediately taking up a mass of her thick curls, holding her to him.

His skin was still moist from the shower, his hair still wet. She broke the kiss and looked down at her hand, holding it up for inspection. "Your hair is still wet," she noted, her voice an octave deeper than before.

Luke shut his eyes, dreading having to stand straight up. "Can we go to sleep now?"

She nodded sincerely, stroking the forearm by her side. Stared at him for a second. "Are you okay?"

He opened his eyes, noting a poorly-hidden smirk behind her words.

"I'm fine," he said through clenched teeth, finally straightening, trying subtly to adjust his waistband.

He felt the blush creep into his cheeks as he turned away. She settled deep into the bed, leaning her head back, giving him that sleepy smile, stifling a giggle. "Sorry."

He ran a hand through his hair and smiled sheepishly. "Goodnight," he said, halfheartedly. He turned the switch on the small lamp, leaving only shades of dull gray streaked across the room from the window.

Luke stood for a moment, listening to her rustle a few feet away as she got comfortable. He could be in that bed with her, right now.

What in the hell was he doing? His utmost fantasy was two feet away from him and he was opting instead to spend the night on a microscopic couch.

This time, it was more definitive. "Goodnight."

She smiled as she felt herself start to drift off.

Lorelai stood on the porch of the old Independence Inn, glasses on, poring over an open portfolio, checking things off a long list. She caught his eye as he started up the stairs.

"Luke! Good, there you are. Just wanted to let you know that everything is all set for tonight."

"Good," he echoed. "Good. Thanks. For everything. You've been… great."

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his suit, hunching his shoulders and rocking on his heels. Her mouth was set in a straight line, she looked uncomfortable.

"So you ready?" She asked, a poor attempt at small-talk.

"Yeah," he breathed, "Rachel's really excited, she just went with her sister to pick up the dress and get her makeup done and everything…."

He knew he was supposed to say something to her, but didn't know what, or where to start, how to fix what had happened. All he got was that he was marrying the wrong person and couldn't do anything about it.

She adjusted her glasses and closed her portfolio, squaring her shoulders. The look on her face broke him completely; a sort of disappointment, a lack of warmth. Like she wanted to hate him, but could only bring herself as far as pity.

He continued to stare at her, holding her gaze. He breathed in the heady smell of freshly cut grass baking there in the hot sun and felt sick to his stomach.

Silently, Lorelai reached up and touched the hollow of his throat.

He froze. His heart tugged toward her hand.

At this point, he wasn't sure if she was about to kiss him or throttle him, but he knew that either one would be a welcome alternative to walking to the altar with anyone but her.

He watched, not being able to swallow for fear of disturbing the moment, as she stepped forward and kissed his neck, the space between his clavicles.

"I'm going to miss you," she said, a bitter timbre in her low voice.

Luke felt his heart break. His arms inexplicably glued to his sides as she turned.

His vision pulled back to a birds-eye view as Rachel came up the stairs.

He watched as her red tresses tucked under his chin, wrapped her arms around him. Glanced up to see what he was looking at.

Smiled, as she had smiled, catching his eye as they watched themselves become a couple.

It was the wrong scene. He did this in an elevator with Lorelai. That's what's right. It's not something he does with Rachel on a porch.

Luke couldn't stop it, couldn't go back to the way it had been. Everything was ruined. Panic entered his chest, tugged as his vocal chords.

He looked into Rachel's adoring face.

He tried to calm himself with the thought that, maybe if he really kept at it, he could spend the rest of his life with his eyes closed. He could picture Lorelai when she was around, and maybe eventually, one day, Rachel would turn into her in his mind.

Then, maybe he could get back to where he was.

He could probably eventually sublimate her voice as well, hearing it as Lorelai's, He could teach her to drink coffee and hire someone to play her daughter, follow her around and attend Yale.

"I love you," Rachel said, placing his blue cap on his head securely on his head, tying the green scarf around his throat. "So much."

He looked away, not caring to humor her. The lawn of the inn was decorated with white folding chairs and thousands of yellow daisies. Sookie and Jackson walked to the front, pushing wheelbarrows full of flowers, spreading them around where he and Rachel were to stand in just a few hours.

Lorelai sat in the front row, staring intently at the woman in his arms, a deadened look in her eyes. She wouldn't meet his gaze, so focused was she on Rachel.

God, she looked so thin and frail, sitting out alone, just watching. Her hair hanging in lifeless wisps around her face. He couldn't breathe with the scarf around his neck; he couldn't breathe when he looked at her.

And as Rachel turned and walked away, Luke became a little boy, blue cap falling down over his eyes.

The feeling of lost love washed over him. It was the same feeling he'd had when his mother had passed on, then his father. Then with Rachel.

He looked down at the lawn for Lorelai, but she was gone. The chairs had all turned black and in the place of the altar was a coffin. The place was deserted.

He ran to the front of the building, his short legs moving as quickly as they could but taking him nowhere. No one was around.

He called out his mother's name frantically, then Liz's. Then his dad's. No answer. His heart began beating faster, the rush of blood in his ears deafening him slightly.

Luke didn't know who was in the coffin, but standing frozen, head turned toward it, he knew that was the only person left. His voice echoed and he knew it wasn't falling on living ears.

He tried calling out again, tried squeezing his eyes shut and belting out loudly from his tightened stomach, but his voice had stopped working completely. He could only emit scratchy, strained whines from his throat.

A cold, intense fear grew in the pit of his stomach as he realized that he was alone. He was too young to take care of himself. He couldn't hear anything now except for the dull thudding of his pulse.

The panicky feeling was overwhelming as he tried the inn door. Locked. He stopped to breathe harshly and still his trembling hands.

He threw himself against the door, to no avail. He begged to get inside before the abandonment that chased him swallowed him whole. He hung his whole weight on the brass door knob to get it to turn. He tried shouting for help, tears trickling past his clenched eyes, clutching his hand around his throat to make his voice work. Nothing.

He was totally alone. Completely abandoned. He tried screaming one last time before being enveloped by the darkness.
Lorelai leapt from bed, kneeling in front of him on the couch. "Luke," she insisted, gently shaking him awake. "Hey, wake up."

His face was burning, the heat radiating from his papery skin. His legs were completely tangled in the sheets. He bolted upright, eyes wide, breathing deeply. Struggling to trust one reality or another before he let the dream go.

"Sweetie, you were dreaming," she urged, helping break through the fog. She squeezed his hot cheeks together, the way she'd done with Rory as a kid.

"Where were you," he asked softly, his thick voice cracking. He blinked rapidly, trying to gain a sense of his surroundings.

"I'm right here," she reassured, stroking his arms, brushing her hand through his hair. "It's fine."

Her familiar smell enveloped him and he immediately felt safe. It was the smell that had haunted him for so many years, the only thing that would make him look up from the counter, just to see her breeze in and strut toward him with a story on her lips.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her up to sit on the edge of the couch. "Sorry," he murmured. "Bad dream."

"Yeah, I sorta figured. Wanna tell me about it?"

"No," he said simply, reaching up to touch her face. "I… it doesn't matter. I'm just glad you're here." He sounded groggy, his voice still cracking.

She smiled into the dark, swiping his cheeks with her thumbs, making sure there were no tears. "Do you think you can fall back asleep?"

He paused a moment. The strong emotions left churning from the dream still hadn't evaporated. Feelings of loss, abandonment and panic still thrummed in his chest, making him shake.

"I'll be fine."

"Mmkay," she murmured, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "Goodnight."

She stood up from the small couch and found that she couldn't drop his hand. He wouldn't let go of her fingers.

They regarded one another's silhouettes, peering into the darkness and listening for any indication of what was about to happen.

Wordlessly, Lorelai tugged on his hand, lacing her fingers through his as he stood. He hovered over her a moment, his stubble just grazing her cheek. She pressed her nose into his jaw and, without a sound, led him back to the bed.