Disclaimer: I do not, nor claim to own any of the characters or themes connected to Gilmore Girls.

"Sick? What do you mean sick Luke?" Rory couldn't stop the terrible thoughts from clouding her mind now. Lorelai was sick, and Rory felt as though she was dying herself. The room was spinning; the pen and paper she'd held just moments ago lay forgotten on the floor.

"I don't know, Rory. I just don't know." His tone was the harshest she'd ever heard it, and finally she understood what it must have cost him to call her. After all, he of all people knew about the feud. And this must have gone expressly against Lorelai's wishes. Breathing in and out, and counting back from 40, Rory tried to calm herself down. She tried to rationalize internally; she told herself that she didn't really care about her mother it was just residual. A lot of families lost touch, and it was more shock then actual compassion. "I just wanted to let you know," he explained softly and then he was gone.

Rory gazed around the disheveled apartment in a daze, her breath running ragged. This apartment wasn't home, she realized. And then another terrible thought struck her. Her mother had been right. She sighed, unable to keep the tears back. She sunk to the floor, her hands running through her hair, gasping for breath. Lorelai had been right about everything. The realization was not a pretty one. And something that was even harder to admit, even to herself. She chewed on her lip, biting down hard, not realizing the destruction she was causing until she tasted blood. Sighing, she stood. It was past time that this war with her mother resolved itself, especially now. It struck her suddenly that Luke hadn't mentioned what kind of illness. Was she dying? Could she be dying? Was there a chance?

30 miles away, in a small diner, in a tiny town, two men conversed. The older of the two leaned against the counter, his face a well-worn map of creases. His arms were folded across his chest, his eyes, peeking from underneath a well-worn baseball cap, looked tired.

"You think she bought it?" The younger man asked. He was handsome, evidently comfortable within his own skin, and sure. A small smile tipped the edges of his lips, and while his face had grown older, his eyes remained the same, and their golden glow was instantly familiar and comforting. The older man shrugged in response, his shoulders slumping a little.

"I hope so. It's our last chance."

Author's Note: I hope none of you are disappointed and that you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.