A/N:There were alot of possible titles for this chapter i considered."Mr. Butch Buffethead 'the Trekkie' Danes" was one. "The chapter that proves that YES, you CAN use the phrase'Luke's Buns' more than fifty times within a three-paragraph period andNO it DOESNT get old" was a favorite...actually my favorite- sometimes i surprise myself with my genius- but much too long. sadly. another was, simply, "buns." the final chapter name is "Dear Emily and Richard." Boring, predictable i know. but a girl needs to be predictable sometimes, or else the unpredictabilitiness of her unpredictabilitiness wouldnt be unpredictable. yeah, i know i go deep and WOAH this is getting long.

AND another point i want to make...oh, my god. when i checked my email on tuesday and saw"you have twenty new messages" i was like, WTF, mate? and almost all of the reviews i got were positive. and nice. which just makes my life just that much happier. so continue, dizzles, please do.

anyway, i love itwhen people like give individual shout-outs to everyone who reviewed. and i'm sure you do, too. but, sadly, it is almost midnight right now and yours truly got up at six this morning to go to this really stupid SAT camp dizzle that is just so amazingly stupid that stupid does not even begin to describe it. soi am tired. and my dad will soon be in here telling me to get off the computer. this should serve as some nice inspiration/incentive. i am risking my life and limb to give you this chapter. now that is what i call commitment. oh, sorry, am i rambling now? whoops. funny how these things go. ANYWAY. ahem.with no further adieu (that is how you spell it, yes?) here is a really long chapter...hope you like it. be honest but take my feelings into consideration. i think its time for princess to say nite nite. oh wait...

DISCLAIMER: i do not own gilmore girls or any characters/ props/ buns affiliated with any of the- (wait, this is going to be grammatically incorrect, if it isnt already...ahhh im tired. im tired like you wouldnt believe.) but you get my point right?

Lorelai Gilmore was confused. Physically, emotionally, mentally, and all of the other "ally"s you could be considered confused in.

On the painfully long drive home to Stars Hollow, she pondered, as deep as was possible, the "Luke situation." She was getting a lot of mixed messages. She wasn't good at analyzing stuff like this, Rory was. And she didn't have Rory right now. She tried to use her method, though. Just try to remember, Lorelai, read between the lines…

"I'll tell you on our first anniversary." That's what he'd said, wasn't it? Ok, that implied that Luke did, in fact, want to get married. It follows that if you are going to have a first anniversary of something, such as marriage, then you must first do that something. For example, if you wanted to celebrate the first anniversary of say, getting a rare strain of cancer (although that was neither a plausible nor sane example), you first had to attain the actual rare strain of cancer. You weren't just like, "Ah, seems like a nice day today. Air is fresh, sky is blue. How about let's run over to Party City, get a few hats and those annoying blower things and a nice round cake and start celebrating that day a year ago when I didn't get that rare strain of insert complicated medical term-ish disease here. " You just didn't. Unless you were insane, as previously mentioned. So…first anniversary clearly implied the first anniversary of marriage. Unless he meant the first anniversary of when they'd started dating? But that wasn't for a few months. And if they were getting married or even engaged, a dating first anniversary was irrelevant. Marriage overshadowed it. Ok, that one was still unclear. But it definitely sort of vaguely pointed to "yes."

Second clue. I am in love with you. Also implying a "yes" to her proposal. If it hadn't been a dream, and she really hoped it wasn't, then this was how the evening had gone last night, Reader's Digest version:

Luke: Rory's making a mistake. Let's find a blindfold. She's going to Yale. We're going to force her. I'm ranting. Watch me rant.

Lorelai: Marry me?

Luke: Seems like a good time to make some coffee. Gurgle. I hate Cesar.

Lorelai: Oh, look at my new shoes. They're pretty. I'm selfish. I'm rambling. I'm stupid. You're amazing. I hate grammar. I love my shoes. I feel tipsy. I'm stupid. Watch me ramble, watch me rant. Rant.

Luke: Here's your coffee.

Lorelai: Ok. Mmm.

Luke: I'm in love with you.

Lorelai: Choke.

But then again, it might have been just to shut her up. It wasn't a possibility she'd ruled out yet. It was never a possibility she ruled out. She knew some people would perform amazingly difficult trapeze tricks to avoid her rants sometimes. Actually, a clown had performed an amazingly difficult trapeze trick to avoid speaking with her once. It was right after that clown had finally given Rory a new cotton candy after he'd knocked over her old one at the circus, and Lorelai had been reprimanding him to 'watch his balloon pants.' ('Cause it was his balloon pants that had knocked the first cotton candy over in the first place, see...).

The clown- or "Moffat McMister" as his nametag implied- had only escaped engaging in a catfight (Lorelai was actually sharpening her nails for the occasion) with her by joining the trapeze troupe behind him. And unintentionally performing an amazingly difficult trapeze trick. And falling off of the trapeze eventually. His balloon pants got caught in a wire.

Or something like that.

She thought of him wistfully. The red curly hair, the annoyingly loud costume. Whatever happened to dear old Moffat McMister?

The clown who'd taught her daughter the most important lesson in life- sugary junk food, while mostly a staple and essentially the nectar of life, can also sometimes lead to accidents, angry mothers, mob scenes, and lots of throwing up.

Focus, Lorelai. Luke and your proposal, remember? Right. That's it girl, think back to critical thinking. Think SAT. Even when Rory was a bun in your oven you aced that thing. Okay, going to stop thinking about Rory being a bun in my oven. Going to stop thinking about Rory. Going to stop thinking about ovens. And Sylvia Plath committing suicide with an oven. Well, I can always resort to that…

Ah! Going to stop thinking about buns…Going to stop thinking about Luke's buns…Even if he has really, really nice buns. If edible buns could characterize his buns then the buns that characterized his inedible buns would be really, really good. Am I even making sense? No, I'm not. Need to focus on driving and get my focus off of Luke's buns. Going to think of Luke and your proposal but NOT LUKE'S BUNS. AVERT YOUR EYES FROM DREAM LUKE'S BUNS, LORELAI! They are not for you. They are for dream Lorelai's eyes only. You are not a dream skank, you said it yourself that one time. Focus, girl, focus. Time to get a grasp on reality. Which in most cases is pointless in your world but now a grasp would be good. Yeah, a grasp on Luke's buns… Augh. Okay, what is the most repellent thing you can think of that will get your mind away from Luke's buns?

Man, I want pie. Luke's pie…not even going to go down that potentially twisted path! Going to think of…that scene in Reservoir Dogs. In fact, the entirety of Reservoir Dogs. Torturing…people screaming…lots of blood and gore and…Luke's buns. Nope, not working, Luke's freaking buns are too nice. And… firm. Can't think of any more adjectives, which is good since I'm trying to get away from the buns anyway. Um, okay, children in Africa dying. Now I'm depressed. Feel worthless. Luke's buns. Luke's buns in my oven…dirty! Majorly dirty. Can't see why Luke's buns would be in my oven in the first place, but…

Grasp at reality, Lorelai, you can see the glimpse of light, just GRASP IT…ignore Luke's buns. Move, buns! You're blocking the light of reality…They really are quite large. "Luke's buns blocked the light which is my life…". Woah. If I put more thought into that I could make it really poetic. Ahaha! Imagine our wedding invitations, with this huge picture of Luke's buns on them…with a haiku underneath…are haiku lines 5/7/5 or 7/5/7? Must make a note to look that up online so I can write the haiku about Luke's buns… But still, the buns, need to get away from the buns…

Nope, they won't go away…Ok, me proposing to Luke…which is where this fascinating thought cycle began anyway…nope, the buns are still there…shoes! Shoes is a good topic. And then you can avert to thinking about the proposal again! That's right, trick yourself. Ok, Jimmy Choos. Love them. Wearing them. Would kill myself without dear ol' Jimmy. Must send him a letter someday. Or set up a shrine in the garage…Next to pie, and pudding, and…parsley? When did this become an alliteration thing? Do I even like parsley? Who does like parsley? I mean, you eat the stuff but you don't form obsessions around it, it's basically just a garnish…Unless it's on tacos. I like tacos. But it's an ugly garnish. It reminds people of grass which reminds people of farms which reminds people that the steak they're eating was once a cow. A really cute cow that mooed and had a name- and an udder- and possibly was raised by an orphan because they found it near death in a field like in Free Willy except they found Free Willy in a marine park or whatever they're called…But a boy did find Willy…that sounds really dirty…And I'm depressed again.

What's the point of parsley, though, really? It doesn't even taste good and you might as well use the land you use to grow parsley to grow other vegetables, stuff people actually eat in notable quantities. Squash, for example. Carrots. Potatoes. But don't we really have enough potatoes in the world? And why grow a vegetable that's going to make the nation obese, anyway? There must be a law somewhere restricting amount of potatoes grown, or at least the amount of potatoes you can use for French fries. Ah! Stay away from the French fry topic, Lorelai, this can only lead to Luke's fries which can only lead to Luke's…whatsits. That's right, Luke's whatsits are officially going to be known as whatsits. Is it just me or is my brain going to explode? A hypothetical question, obviously, as I am currently asking myself and I can only say "yes." 'Cause I really can't lie to myself. Err…yes I can. I've done it before. Ok! Pointless thoughts. Jimmy! Think of Jimmy. Love him. Did I already mention the shrine I'm going to build him when I get back? Back to my sad, sad life… And I'm back to Sylvia Plath…and I'm back to the oven…and I'm back to the buns.

By the time she reached home, having maneuvered (luckily) around several near-accidents, despite all of the random and long thoughts she was having- most of them about Luke's truly scrumptious buns- Lorelai had not reached a conclusion. Nope, the ball was in Luke's court. But it was killing her. Maybe she should have chosen a more suitable moment to actually swing the racket? To put the ball in Luke's court, that is… I mean, she had been upset, and maybe Luke didn't think she meant it. She was, after all, the non-commitment queen. Can you say a thousand yellow daisies? Not that Luke had such a fabulous record, either. Nicole…Rachel…both potential wives for Mr. Butch Buffethead 'the Trekkie' Danes, but he'd backed off, too. Or at least they'd simultaneously backed off of each other.

But that was just another thing they had in common. They'd both really screwed up in the past- romantically and otherwise- and they'd each been there for each other while it was happening. There was this big part of her that believed one of the reasons they'd both screwed up was because, yeah, they'd been pining for each other. Maybe not 'pining' in the traditional sense (is there any kind of tradition in pining? Or sense?) But there had been this subconscious part of them both that made them draw away from what could have been- with Max, or Christopher, or Nicole, or Rachel. Lorelai didn't think she'd really feel the need to go on an impromptu road trip three days before her hypothetical wedding with Luke. Never. She'd really meant what she'd said. About his amazingness, among other things.

The phone rang immediately as she opened the door to her house. She allowed herself a yelp as she stubbed her toe walking in typical Lorelai fashion and then a nice, loud groan.

Why does this always happen to me? And usually when I'm carrying five cups of coffee and a cashmere sweater and the phone is hidden beneath five of Rory's old dictionaries and a teacup? There are millions of possible things that could go awry with just those objects, many of them involving my death. Does God actually wait until I've just walked in with a pickup truck in my arms, hide my phone, and then call me just to smite me? Why is He so bent on this smiting crap, I'm loyal to my community…a relatively good person…yes, I dropped a gum wrapper outside the church a week ago but it was accidental…and besides, gum wrappers are biodegradable. So, in ten to fifteen years, God, that gum wrapper will not exist. But I, if God forbid you decide not to pull a Zeus, will. So ha. Enough with the smiting.

"Hello?" she barked into the mouthpiece.

"You okay?" Luke growled (in that distinctly Luke-ish way) back.

Oh, thank God… Luke. Yes, that's right, God, I'm thanking you.

"Who is this?" She just wanted him to say, 'It's Luke.' She didn't know why. Suddenly she had a flashback to middle school. Dialing John Whatsit's phone number, then quickly hanging up once he'd answered. Back in her multiple-ponytail days. Those were some good times.

"It's Luke. The man you've seen and heard talk on an almost daily basis for the past eight years?" Yep, it reaped the desired effect on Lorelai- massive butterflies invaded her body.

"Thought I recognized that ever-cheery voice." She sighed on the phone. Thinking of Rory again. Damn. She was going to try to not freak out about it again, she'd freaked out quite enough.

"Lorelai? You okay?" He sounded serious. Like he really cared what the answer was.

She hesitated before answering, wanting to give him the truth without sounding whiny. "I think…I will be. Things will work out. Hopefully in mine and the world's favor. Hopefully this is just a phase. Hopefully we knocked some sense into her, but if we didn't, I guess I'll just have to accept it. Actually, I'll probably never accept it. But I'll pretend to if fighting for the cause doesn't pay."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. She's…Rory…I think she listened today. Hopefully she's thinking she made a huge mistake as we speak…But if it makes you feel any better, if this doesn't pass as it should, I'll pretend with you." Awww.

"So many 'hopefully's, so little time." Bad joke, Lorelai. But she was still getting over the 'awww'ness of what he'd just said. So misplaced humor could be excused. "I actually wanted to apologize for calling you up today, Luke, I'm not sure what I expected you to do. But you did everything exactly right, just like I wish I could do it. I just felt stuck. It was…childish, really. You were my knight in shining, err… plaid today. Thank you. I don't think I say that enough."

"It was…no problem. You needed me and I was up for any excuse, frankly, to get out of the diner. Taylor was just about to strangle me with his cardigan."

"Well, I'll call you with miscellaneous emergencies more often, Luke. That would've been unfortunate. Imagine your tombstone." Here Lies Butch Buffethead "the Trekkie" Danes. Strangled with a cardigan, and despite the many mocking opportunities accompanying his death, most involving the phrases 'Fab Five', 'Liberace', and 'Emily Post was there', loved by all.

"Actually, there's a reason I called. If you feel up to it," he began, almost shyly, "I was wondering if you wanted to go out this weekend. Maybe you need some 'you' time, or whatever the crap they call it on Oprah. You, me, dinner, movie…same ol', I know, but I think it would be good. For both of us," he ended, almost pointedly, she thought. Is it just me or is he completely ignoring the fact I proposed to him yesterday? And the fact I nearly re-proposed to him on a piece of paper an hour and a half ago? Yes, he is. Well, this is confusing.

"Um…sure, Luke. Like old times. Even though the 'old times' consists of basically everything before yesterday to about a year ago…" Avoid rambling at all costs, Lorelai, especially on the phone…Just play it cool. If he wants to ignore it, you ignore it. Like the Max/kiss situation, although I really should not be comparing these two things…Hopefully Luke is not psychic and cannot read my mind right now…But would him being psychic explain all of the other times he's known exactly what I wanted? Ok, that sounds slightly dirty. But still. Freaky. "When? Where? Give me the details and I'll try to not lose the post-it I write 'em on."

"How about…next week…on Wednesday? I'll pick you up at seven." Lorelai couldn't help but snort in laughter.

"Yes, Lorelai?"

"You said…Wednesday."

"So you're not deaf. All those times you've ignored what other people have said… I'm sure Dr. Pellowski will be glad to know you can finally be put into that observation chamber."

"You know, Luke, you're really getting better at those witty responses. I think I've been rubbing off on you."

"I know, it's a pity."

"Hey! Not a good time to pick on the girlfriend! I've only had two cups of coffee today, at least five beneath my usual quota. And I finally found the old chainsaw this morning in the garage. Underneath Nicole Brown's body. Turns out I killed her. Weird, isn't it?"

There was silence for a few moments. They were both smiling, although each (being .2 miles away) didn't know it. This is really nice…Gah, wish these butterflies would just go haunt someone else. Perhaps this is yet another form of smiting. God clearly needs a therapist.

"Lorelai…?"

"Yeah, Luke?" It took her a second to pull out of her reverie.

"Why did you snort when I said 'Wednesday?'"

"Because… the word Wednesday makes me laugh. Haven't you ever noticed how hilarious it is? And if you've ever really stared at it, like I do with my multitudes of spare time, you'd know how weird it really is. Like, why isn't it pronounced Wed- nes- day? Huh? 'Cause it's funny, that's why."

I laughed because it's hump day, Luke, and my sense of humor is really immature. Have I really never made a hump day joke around you? That's like one of the major sub-categories of my jokes. There's 80's band jokes, spur-of-the-moment corny jokes, fat jokes, butt jokes, really horrible puns, and, of course, hump day jokes. Wait, why am I telling myself this? I already know these things. I live and breathe these things. Why are the buns back?

"Alright, Lorelai. I'll pick you up on Wednesday at seven."

"Sounds really, really great. I'll be there. Or here, actually, since you're picking me up."

"And you're sure you'll be ok?"

" 'Will' being the operative word…But for now, don't board up my oven expecting me to pull a Sylvia Plath. I think…hope… you're right. Maybe she did listen."

"Alright. See you Wednesday. But probably sooner."

"Probably."

"Bye, Lorelai."

"Bye, Luke," she replied, sighing again, and adding- as an afterthought-

"Bye, buns."

"What?"

She grinned. "Never mind, Luke, just tell them thanks for being the wonderful round things they are. And hopefully I'll see them again soon. Real soon." Kinky.

He ignored her. "Wednesday. Seven. I'll pick you up. Try not to forget. Keep the post-it glued to your forehead if you must."

"Ok, Luke, I promise not to forget. And you'll have plenty of opportunities to remind me before Wednesday at seven. You can even sneak in my house in the middle of the night and permanently tattoo it on my face if you really feel it necessary."

"Bye, Lorelai."

"Of course, if you did that, then there isn't even the slightest possibility I'd go out with you this Wednesday at seven. But at least I'd know that in an alternate universe, one in which you didn't tattoo the words 'Date with Luke on Wednesday at seven' on my face, that I should be going out with you, Luke, on Wednesday at seven."

"I think the world gets your point."

"Do you? 'Cause I can keep talking if you think it's sexy."

"Bye!"

"Bye, Luke. Bye-"

"Don't say it."

"Not fair!"

"This conversation is quickly becoming cutesy. I hate it when phone conversations get cutesy. Although with you it's clearly unavoidable."

" 'You're mighty pretty, Lorelai…why, I can see the stars in your eyes…all bright and what not…'" Lorelai said in her "Luke" voice. " 'Why, thanks, Butch, and your racin' suit is just so invitin' I think I could scream!'" she squealed.

"Aw, geez."

"Goodbye, Lucas. Wednesday at seven. I may have to check with my other lover, but-"

Click.

After the scene outside the pool house, Rory had gone to the nearest Wendy's because the need to think about her life somehow accompanied the need to eat large portions of fried foods. It wasn't Luke's, but at least she didn't find any dead rats embedded in it. She sat in a plastic booth for two hours, nibbling at a double order of fries and taking the occasional sip from her extra large black coffee. People would give her a glance-over every minute or so, mostly because she knew she looked like a bum, or at least slightly insane in her cake pajamas, and partly because she was hogging the booth. But she didn't care, and they didn't call security or anything.

It was obvious that everyone close to her was going to judge her about her decision to leave Yale. She didn't blame them- it had been all they'd expected of her and all she'd expected of herself. All she'd wanted. But right now all she wanted was to decide what to do with her life. And everyone close to her couldn't accept it. Not Lorelai, not Logan, not Luke…not even Richard or Emily. She knew they were doing what they were doing not completely because they wanted to give her an actual mature choice, but because they didn't want Rory to alienate them as Lorelai had.

She knew that if Lorelai had been in the same position as she was, hypothetically speaking (and if Rory hadn't been conceived), that Emily and Richard wouldn't have let her live in the pool house. That's what was different about the relationship between Rory and her grandparents and Lorelai and her parents- Rory was more willing and able to make her grandparents happy, whereas Lorelai and her parents were both oppositely obstinate. They would never be exactly one of mind, or even close in opinion about everything. And that's what made Richard and Emily want to hold onto Rory as their pal, as their substitute daughter, because she still had the potential. But they both still wanted her to go to Yale. Not nearly as much as they wanted to keep her in their lives, but it was still there. And she knew that staying with her grandparents would possibly even widen the gap between everyone. Lorelai and Emily and Richard. Lorelai and her. There was only one solution she could think of that wouldn't involve living on her own, which she wasn't ready for. If Lorelai found out about it, of course, she'd be even angrier. But no one had to know until she was ready to make her decision. Because Luke and Lorelai and Logan were right- as much as her stubborn self hated to admit it, enrolling in Yale again had become one of her options. Just not her only one.

Polishing off her last fry, she decided to go back to the pool house to do some packing. There was a window right now- Emily was probably at her D.A.R. meeting at this point, and Richard usually worked on his car on Saturday afternoons. Taking a deep breath, she exited Wendy's and drove back to the place she could never call home.

Dear Emily and Richard,

Don't be alarmed. I'm perfectly safe, and my cell phone is on if you want to reach me. I can't tell you where I am; I just need you to know that I'm not hurt or going to be hurt. Thank you for letting me stay in the pool house for the past day, but I don't think it's the right place for me right now. I can't explain it in a letter. You can tell mom, obviously, but tell her that this isn't because of her. It's all my fault, and I'm sorry it has to be like this. Tell her I'm not pulling a Sylvia, either. This note is just so you know that I'm not dead or anything.

Please don't try to look for me. That's why I have my cell, so you can reach me, but I'd rather be alone. Thanks for everything, again. I'll see you really soon. Tell mom that I love her for me.

I love you, and once again, I'm all right.

Rory

Rory stood outside of the blue-doored apartment, nervously adjusting various sections of herself in her compact. First, her makeup. There wasn't much to check- just a tiny smidgen of lip gloss spread on her lips. Her coat- there was an annoying crease near the collar she'd somehow overlooked when she'd ironed it that afternoon. But it would do. Her hair- she tucked a stray curl behind her ear tentatively. She didn't understand why she was so nervous.

It took ten minutes for her to calm down completely, even trying slow breathing, which Paris had taught her to do after a meeting with her "life coach" last year. Maybe I need one of those. Hmmm… And end up like Paris? She shuddered, realizing that for the first time she was actually more screwed up than Paris was. Terrifying, considering everything Paris was and had done…a relationship with someone more than three times her age…the whole sex- and public speaking blow out on C-Span. Everything. But yeah, Rory definitely beat her in screwiness on this one.

Well, this is fun. She chuckled ironically. Yep, betraying her mother, Luke, and herself in one fabulous move. But it was for the best. And she reminded herself that she wouldn't let anyone know. And it was just a place to stay, a place to sleep and eat. She wasn't going to make it a home for herself. In fact, she wasn't even going to unpack or put up photos- just sleep on the couch and use the washing machine. She was going to be busy thinking about things- she was going to search and travel as far as she was going to let herself go. And if she told herself she wanted to go to Yale, then Yale it was. If not, then she'd have to find something else to do.

She checked her watch- it was six. She'd packed, wrote the note, and driven over here, which took in itself about three hours. Then, just to kill time, she'd gotten Starbucks and bought a CD she remembered Lane once told her about. But now, now it was time. He should be home now, and she knew that if she waited one second longer she'd chicken out.

She could always back out. She could always go back to the pool house and live there with her grandparent's eyes on her, explain the note to them, that it was a mistake. There was still time to stitch up this wound before it bled too much. These were the moments she'd dreaded- the moments she always dreaded in any situation- those moments where the decision is yet to be completely made, but its right in front of you, waiting and lingering along with your other choices.

Her choice flew past her brain at a dizzying rate as she poised her fist, ready to knock, ready to let go…and closing her eyes and letting breath fill her lungs, like a kid about to jump into a pool for the first time, she did. She let go of the choice. The knock resounded in the air around her for a second- it was a weak knock, unsure of itself, characterizing everything she felt right now. And suddenly, like she knew she would, she felt herself closing up. This was wrong, she needed to get away, now. But she grabbed her luggage tightly, didn't let herself run away from this decision.

Finally, after an eternity, the door opened, slowly, followed by a nose, and eyes and a head.

"Rory?" His face was blank for a moment, then registered shock.

"Dad…" she said shakily, avoiding his eyes. "I was wondering if I could stay here for awhile."

"Of course, Rory, I just…" Still looking at the ground, she nervously grabbed her two suitcases and tried to maneuver around him, wanting to get the first few minutes of this experience over quickly.

"It'll just be for a little while. Um, do you have a place I can sleep?" She chanced a look at his neck down- he was wearing a dress shirt and creased pants, but there was a yellow stain on his left shoulder. Gigi's doing, she presumed.

"Does your mom know about this?"

"A sofa, daybed, cot, rock, I don't care. I'm not picky." She looked around her- it was the same as the last time she'd seen it months ago. Black sofa, modern furniture, a crib in the corner.

"Rory." She hated the expression on his face- the one that tricked the observer into thinking he was mature- that he actually cared. She knew that at some level, he did care, but he was also the epitome of careless. Screwing up, never showing, whatever, he was just there to be whatever he was on the surface.

"No. She doesn't know." She knew that she was making a shining moment for him- a moment in which he was actually the one there for his daughter. For the first time in his life, he was going to be the real dad who Rory came to. She hated that she was giving him the opportunity to look better than her mother. He didn't deserve it, and this situation really had nothing to do with him.

"Don't you think we should tell her? She's going to be worried about you."

She hated that he said 'we' should tell her. She hated everything about him, right now, his superficiality. Immaturity. But she wasn't in the position to judge, she knew- she was coming to him this time. And beginning to regret, like she knew she would. I'll get this done quick. It'll just be a few days.

"I left a note. Can I sleep here?" She crossed the room and indicated a single bed through a half-opened doorway.

He still looked severely dazed. "Uh, sure. Don't you think you should call-"

"So I can set up my stuff, then?" she interrupted loudly, and placed her suitcases and her shopping bag next to the bed.

Christopher followed her in the room. Rory got as far away from him as possible on the bed, squishing up against the headstand.

"Rory? What's this about?" He gave her space, lingering in front of the doorway.

"I…quit Yale." Even now, the words rolled strangely out of her mouth.

"What? Rory?" Oh no, he's going to pull a Lorelai.

"I told mom, she's not happy, as you can probably imagine, and I was going to stay at grandma and grandpa's, but I know they're not happy either. I just need to stay somewhere unjudgemental and think. Your place was the only one that came to mind." She met his eyes for the first time, and they looked at each other for a moment. You owe me. "It's not for long," she repeated.

"Rory, of course I think you're making a mistake. I wouldn't be a worthy human being if I didn't think you weren't making a mistake." He paused, waiting for a reply, or explanation, or some sign of emotion. She didn't give him any. "But we'll talk about it later." He sat on the bed awkwardly. She didn't move any closer. "Do you need anything?"

"I'm just going to unpack."

"I still think you should call her," he said, getting up again. The silence between them in this situation couldn't have been more still.

"I left a note. She knows my cell number."

"Rory…" He was searching for the perfect words he always seemed to have, that immediately resurrected him as the perfect guy, perfect father, but this time they didn't come.

"Don't tell her, ok? I'd rather she didn't know exactly where I'm staying." His eyes registered with the meaning.

Somewhere in the distance, a loud sob broke the silence. He didn't move for a few seconds, then made a jerky movement toward the hallway, as if he'd just realized he had another daughter. "That's- Gigi. I think she's hungry." He looked at her, still waiting for some kind of confession or reason other than the terse words she'd offered him. She just worked as hard as she could to make the space between them as icy as possible. This was not because she needed him, and she wanted him to understand it.

Another loud sob. "Don't you think you should go feed her now?" Her voice was still shaking.

"Yeah-…Yeah." He left the room.

It was seven the next morning when Lorelai got the call. She checked caller ID, paranoid, as she always did, and groaned when she saw the call was coming from her parents' house. She wouldn't have answered it if the possibility it was Rory didn't exist. But it did. So she sighed and grabbed it.

"Hello?"

"Lorelai, I've been trying to reach you all night! Don't you ever check your messages?" Emily was nearly yelling into the phone, near hysteria.

"Woah, mom, get a handle on the bucking bronco! What's happening?" She checked her watch; she was due at the Inn in five minutes and she wasn't even dressed yet. Stupid Michel, waking her up at three in the morning yesterday. One more simpering excuse from him and she was going to fire him.

"I left you seven messages, Lorelai, seven! And you're telling me not one of them got through to you?"

"Mom! I was at the Inn yesterday until eleven, and I was exhausted so I went straight to bed. I really don't have time-"

"Rory is missing!" Lorelai had to laugh at her mother's hypocrisy. Telling her two days ago that her 'little jokes' about Rory weren't funny- like that time she told Emily Rory was going to become a maid. Was this not in the same genre?

"Why are you laughing, Lorelai? You're daughter is missing! I come home from my meeting, and I find the note on the table, and-"

"Wait, wait. Slow down, here. What note?" Starting to get a little concerned.

"The one she left on the table before RUNNING AWAY. Your daughter is missing!"

"So I've heard. When did you find the note?"

"I'm telling you, after I came home from my D.A.R. meeting yesterday at around four."

"And what did the note say?"

"Why does it matter? Rory is missing!"

"Mom, I'm not deaf. I heard it the first fifteen times you said it, I just need to get the facts now."

"It said- do you want me to read it to you?"

She sighed. "Sure."

Emily read the note out loud, and it was only by the end that Lorelai knew completely that she wasn't kidding. She also knew exactly where Rory had gone. And that maybe she needed to stay there. It was hard, but she was going to have to let Rory make this decision on her own, with the argument she'd given yesterday in mind. She felt extremely mature (compared to the bush incident) when she faced her mother on the phone.

"So, what are we going to do?" Emily sounded hysterical.

"Nothing. We are going to do nothing. I'll call her in the afternoon to ask her how she's doing, just to check, but it's obvious she doesn't want to talk to either of us right now."

"But-"

"Mom, I know where she is. She's fine, she's safe. Rory's a little bit crazy right now but she's still smart. I know she won't do anything drastic. At most she'll get a belly button ring. Maybe- she just needs to think." It was hard for Lorelai to say, considering how much she wanted to march over to Rory and slap her right now. Or be there for her. But she'd given her all of the support she could yesterday- and now, she would wait. Give more 'advice' if she believed it necessary. She still thought Rory was being an idiot. But the fact was- she'd done all she really could. She didn't see how her repeating the same things she'd said yesterday to her would really do anything but wear her down.

"Fine," Lorelai's mother said, in a cool tone, a bit like a child that wasn't getting her way. "But I'm calling her."

"I can't stop you. But just give her some space, alright?"

"I need to go. Letitia's burning the eggs."

Lorelai sighed. "Bye."

Click.

i know, right? it was horrible. it caused internal hemmorraghing (UGH that is such a nasty word to spell) and youre gonna sue me because you are in a coma (wait...youre familys gonna sue me cuz if youre in a coma you cant sue me cuz youre unconscious) and it was my bad writing that did it. my horrible, horrible writing. i need to find a synonym for horrible- oh, right. bad. it was really bad. i know this. but just review. please? ill give you a cyber lap dance. it will be interesting for both of us. (was that innapropriate?) Z. Tired. Sleep. I ramble when im tired. have you noticed? Ok, going to stop now.