The flashback in this chapter takes place sometime in Season Two. I actually missed a big chunk out of that season, so I'm not entirely sure of the specifics concerning Lorelai's breakup with Alex; I must therefore beg you to ignore the glaring discrepancies between canon and this creation. I must also beg you to review!
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"Ha! Take that! And that! And that!"
The piercing screech rang through the early summer afternoon, carried across the wide, still expanse of Star's Hollow on a meandering breeze, splitting the air with a vehemence of unshed tears that was shocking on such a peaceful, gently declining day. The dull thump of something hard and solid being slammed into the dirt rippled through the quiet evening, the only disturbance in the blue serenity of the unclouded sky, a sound so out of place that it jarred the minds of the townsfolk, stirring them from the lazy complacency of summer with the violence of acute and stabbing grief.
Luke walked slowly through the tree-studded and emerald-shaded lanes that wound along the outskirts of the sleepy town, lulled by the heady scent of sap and honey that pervaded the fading summer day, his head bent in uncharacteristic observation, his eyes flickering to see every blade of grass, every step that passed away behind him. He had allowed his shoulders to slump, his weight leaning slightly to one side, pulled by the tool box that dangled, broad and clanking, from one hand; as the high shriek of pain reached his ears, he lifted his head, stiffening immediately as the voice struck a chord of recognition deep within his brain, a resonating tone that caused his heart to tremble. Almost instinctively, his step quickened; staring ahead now with focused determination, he cut off the road he had been walking on, weaving through bushes, ducking beneath outreaching branches, bursting through a final barrier of wild roses to find himself, panting and out of breath, standing at the edge of Gilmore lawn.
The meandering wildness of uncut grass wound away before him, worn in some places by the constant tread of feet in a twisting path to the front door, in others untamed and nearly knee-high, merging effortlessly with the forest that stretched out along its undefined edges. The tufts of grass bent slowly, lazily, languishing under the gentle pressure of the breeze; raising one hand to shield his eyes from the amber glare of the sun, Luke was able to make out a bent figure, face obscured by black curls that dangled freely in the slight wind, hacking at the dull earth with a plastic hockey stick.
The sheer absurdity of the scene struck him speechless; he stood immobile at the edge of the grassy stretch, watching in consternation as the bright red plastic blade rose, again and again, falling to chop at something hidden by the rampant yard. Lorelai apparently was not aware of how ridiculous she looked; straightening up, she brushed her unruly hair back, revealing an expression of determined concentration as she bit her lip, staring at something hidden by the grass. A sudden movement made her look up; catching sight of her visitor, she dropped the hockey stick she was clutching and grinned.
"Luke!"
She was running towards him now, flying effortlessly through the tangling weeds; Luke braced himself for a hug, a crash, or some kind of impact, for it seemed to him that she would never be able to stop before she reached him.
Yet stop she did, grinning wildly up at him; but before he could return her greeting, she had turned away, grabbing the tool box from his hand, dropping it to the ground and kneeling to open it.
"Lorelai….?" he asked hesitantly, standing dumbstruck as she searched through his hammers and wrenches, opening packs of screws and nails, piling up the discarded tools beside her, searching intently for something.
"Hey, Bert," she murmured under her breath, "You gonna help me out here, buddy?" Apparently disappointed with the answer, she looked up at Luke again, shielding her eyes with her hand. "Hey, Luke, do you have any clippie-things in here?"
"Do I have any what?" he asked, gaping at the bizarre question.
"Clippie-things," she repeated. "You know, like scissors or those little plant-cutting things, or anything with sharp edges. Do you have any?"
"For the sake of humanity, I'm not giving you anything with sharp edges," he said gruffly, squatting down beside her to look at the mess she had made of his orderly toolbox. "I have some little clippers that you use on wires, but I don't know what….."
But she had already spotted the miniature shears, and before he could finish the sentence she snatched them up, struggling back through the clinging grasses to the spot where the abandoned hockey stick still glared crimson in the fading sun. Letting his question peter out into a sigh, Luke swept the whirlwind of tools back into the box, closed and latched the lid, then stood and trudged in Lorelai's wake, leaving Bert forlornly by himself at the edge of the wild yard.
When he reached Lorelai, it was to find her kneeling on the ground, bent over almost double, her entire figure thrown into sharp relief, her head haloed by the sunlight that reflected from the dandelions that had sprung up in glowing clusters all around the lawn. Irreverent thoughts of angels crossed his mind – setting his expression into a scowl of skepticism, he shook them off, watching as Lorelai carefully slid the wire-cutters around the stem of a particularly tall flower, then viciously snapped its head off with a cry of triumph.
Sliding his hands into his pockets, Luke simply stood and watched in silence as she worked her way slowly towards the woods, cutting down those dandelions she could not tear up, her eyes gleaming at each new kill, her entire form glowing with a kind of ridiculous purpose, a careless, laughing beauty that wore away the sharp edges of his scowl, unknowingly drawing the corners of his mouth up into a small smile. She was glorious, she was incredible, she was breathtaking. She was in her element – that is, the completely pointless and insane.
She had already decimated several clumps of dandelions that resembled galaxies of suns, and was struggling with a many-flowered weed, yanking fruitlessly at its long stem, before he found reason to speak.
"What on earth are you doing?" he asked skeptically, with raised eyebrows. "I never knew you were much a gardening person."
"I'm not," she panted, finally giving up on the resistant dandelion and flopping back on the grass so that she was looking up at him, a few stray golden petals gleaming in her hair. "It's just these stupid dandelions. Aren't they weeds? Rory always said they were weeds, and that I should get rid of them. So now I am."
"Uh-huh." Luke sank down to the ground beside her; it didn't feel right somehow, towering over her like that. It didn't feel right to look down at Lorelai; it was more natural to be looking up at her, to be admiring, serving, loving her. "Except I happen to know that Rory is in Hartford this weekend for one of Lane's band's secret gigs, and that she loves flowers, so she wouldn't want you to kill them, and I know that you can't just be looking for something to do, because if you are –" he pointed at the house looming above them " – that house is filled with more projects than Wonder Woman would be able to complete in a lifetime, and just about all of them are more productive than this."
"Luke Danes!" she gasped in mock indignation. "Are you accusing me of being productive?"
"No, I am accusing you of ransacking Bert and stealing my wire-clippers to cut down helpless flowers for no good reason."
"Reason, shmeason. I haven't given a good reason for anything I've done in years," she said airily, propping herself up on her elbows. "You of all people should know that, Mr. Give-Lorelai-Coffee-And-Hope-That-She'll-Shut-Up." She regarded him curiously. "Why do you want to know what I'm doing, anyway?"
"I've already told you why. You stole my tools," he growled.
"What, and you're one of those guys whose toolbox is his entire life? You need to get yourself a girlfriend. Poor Lonely Luke, turning to his tools for comfort and support," she languished in mock agony, then perked up immediately as another thought occurred to her. "Good thing we already named it for you, huh?"
Luke let out a forceful sigh, rubbing his eyes in a clear gesture that he did not want to deal with Lorelai's ramblings. "Look, just tell me what you have against dandelions, okay? Then I promise I'll leave. I'll even let Bert stay here to keep you company if you want."
"No, stay," she whined, reaching out to tug at his sleeve. "Bert wants you here, he gets separation anxiety if he's left alone."
Luke only raised an eyebrow, his eyes fixed to hers in a patient, long-suffering stare, arms crossed over his chest, making it plain that neither jokes nor tears would move him until his question had been answered.
There was a moment of silence, as the atmosphere of ridiculous gaiety and summer sunsets vanished, the air between them vibrating with a sudden tension that shuddered, almost causing the air to shimmer with its brief intensity. Finally, Lorelai broke it; she looked away, letting herself fall back onto the cushion of overgrown grass, putting her hands behind her head, staring meditatively upwards at the clouds that had been painted crimson by the fading light. "Alex and I aren't together anymore," she said simply, calmly, as though it had merely been an observation about the flaming sky.
Luke started as though jolted by an electric shock, his mind immediately snapped from skepticism into fear; his vision seemed to sharpen, and he looked down at Lorelai's prone form, scrutinizing every line of her face, every inch of her body for hidden tension, repressed pain, unshed tears that she refused to let him see. There was nothing; she seemed perfectly relaxed, perfectly at ease.
"So you're taking it out on the dandelions?" he asked gruffly, realizing that if she herself had just gotten over the split, his making it into a huge issue would probably not be appreciated. Instead he turned away, trying and failing to hide the look of fearful concern on his face, disguising the sudden tension of his movements in a search among the grass for the lost wire clippers.
"Remember that stupid fishing trip he took me on?" she asked dreamily, now gazing rapturously at the sky, though whether it was because of the fiery streaks of sunset or her own memories, Luke couldn't tell. "Well, the river we went to ran through this huge field of dandelions, and he gave me a bouquet of them." her voice had become soft, lilting, her words slurring together into the tones of dreams. "We threw them into the water and watched them run downstream. I remember thinking – I remember thinking that they looked like teardrops of the sun."
Luke was frozen, holding his breath to catch each cloud-enamored word, doubled over with both hands planted in the rich earth, wavering weeds scratching at his exposed skin, dandelions sprouting from between his fingers. "Beautiful." he whispered, an involuntary breath.
"Thanks," she replied absently, her voice ringing a little stronger, drawing back down to earth a little more with each word. "I have some poetic moments. It's part of my overall brilliance."
She did not notice that Luke was staring, eyes wide, at the dreamy, utterly content smile on her face.
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My only comment for the end of this chapter is to beg, plead, implore you on my knees to leave a review. This is a five-story chapter, with an average of three reviews per chapter; and I worked insanely for over a month tweaking and retweaking this story, so the lack of response is extremely depressing and I'm losing faith in my own ability to weave a plotline. There are many, many people who read this story, and just one word from you can make my week! Please, take pity on an impoverished writer who has nothing better to do with her life than sit around watching old Gilmore Girl episodes on DVD!
Rant over now. Thank you for listening. Tune in next week for another random discourse by Ophelia's Flood!