Author's Note: I've always been careful about filling in the blanks of Luke's past. To me, the mystery of it was a big part of his character. But since they did such a bang-up job of creating a past in the sixth season…

I figure if that's the best they can come up with, I've got nothing to worry about. Raise your hand if you agree that the sixth season was a huge disappointment. Yep, it's pretty much unanimous.

But that horse is dead and beaten; so to get on with this story, here is the second chapter. I used a few lines from one of the episodes, but you'll recognize them when you see them. For a full disclaimer, see the first chapter.

"So when I finished that last line,

I put the book by itself on the shelf with my heart in it.

Never wastin' time; takin' the right way home."

'Incommunicado,' Jimmy Buffett

2. Luke Thoughts and Luke's Thoughts

I flip through the TV channels for about two more minutes before I decide that there really is nothing on. I leave it on Sportscenter so that I have a little background noise, and then go wash up in the bathroom. Staring into the mirror, all I can think is 'I like yellow.'

Hey Jealousy, you think you'll be alright? You've already stayed the night.

Gah! After I finish I pour another cup of coffee from my personal pot and just start to wander slowly around the apartment, looking into random cabinets and shelf spaces. I used to do this as a kid when we went to dinner parties. I was nosey and curious and I guess I never really grew out of it. I spent hours wandering through big houses, getting lost in rooms or looking through really strange sock-drawers. I even found a secret room once. Nothing was in it, but it was there. Baseball is on the highlights again, so I sit down just to see if I can understand what's going on. I recognize a double play, but not much else. Apparently the Yankees are poised to run away with the division once again, I guess that happens every year. Several men argue about off-season trades and there is more talk about how teams are doing in spring training. About the only thing I find appealing is that the teams are playing in Florida, and the players are wearing baseball pants. When the segment is over I begin to look around again.

I walk through the kitchen and chance another peek into the fridge. Surprisingly, other than the Soy Dream it's a pretty normal sight. There's more vegetables than I would care for, but there are also leftovers which look really good and a few sodas in the back. I wonder vaguely if they're left over from when Jess lived here, since I can't remember Luke ever drinking soda. I close the fridge and look through a few more cabinets, more for a glass to get some water than for anything else. The Mega-Men protein powder turns up again and I can't help but laugh. I almost thought it was a joke the first time I'd seen it. Then in the very back of the top cabinet, behind a few glasses, I see it: a Folgers' coffee can.

I can't believe he's been holding out on us the entire time.

I stand on my tip-toes and am barely able to reach it. It feels really light—almost empty—and I set it down on the counter and quickly pull the lid off. But there's nothing in the can—no coffee at least. Instead, bits of paper fill the can to the brim. I pull one out and read it.

Grade A large eggs—2 dozen for 99 cents. Only on Sunday and only at Doose's market. What the hell?

I pull out another one.

Ground beef— 95 cents per Lb.

I check one more.

Folgers' Coffee—2 dollars.

I turn the can over and dozens of coupons pour out. They're definitely old; they're crinkled and brittle and starting to yellow. I check some of the expiration dates and notice that not one is newer than 1971. Most are from the late 1960's; some are older, but few are more recent than 1970. I put them back in the can and seal the lid, but my eye catches faded writing on the plastic. I squint in an effort to read the delicate writing. It was definitely a woman's…

Coupons...it says coupons.

And then it dawns on me. I flashback to part of what Luke said when I told him I was marrying Max:

'My parents didn't discuss a damn thing my entire childhood. Worked fine for them. Course when my mom died she didn't tell my dad where the coupon drawer was. It took him ten years to find it. Used a coffee can the whole time.'

I'd always assumed that he meant his dad used a coffee can until they found the coupon drawer. But his mom had used a coffee can.

No wonder it took them ten years to find the coupons.

I suddenly feel immoral, like a spy or a snoop. I look at the handwriting one more time and then put the can back in the cupboard.

I move to the side of the apartment where Jess used to live. There are a couple of CD's that he left and I glance through them absent-mindedly. The Ramones, Metallica, a few others that I've never heard of. A few books are on the shelf too. A couple Hemingway novels, Great American Short Stories…The Fountainhead? I pick it up and flip to the title page.

Please give it one more try, for me.

It's signed by Rory. I flip the pages and find a book mark about three-quarters of the way through. The page has a paragraph underlined and a short note scribbled in the margin:

What the hell? Ask Rory.

Well, he tried. But I can't say much else. I still have a difficult time when I think about all he put Rory and me and Luke through—what he put us through.

Us? You and Rory and Luke are an 'us' now?

Of course we are, we've been an 'us' for a long time now. We're a unit, we're a…

A what? A family unit? Please, give me a break.

We're a family-ish unit. We do rely on each other…

And look where it's gotten us so far. You're hung over in his apartment after breaking down in front of him. Not to mention the fact that you were about to tell a married man that you love him.

I set the book back down and continue along the shelf, past Jess' old 'Employee of the Month' plaque and the few other odds and ends that he left behind.

Luke was right about Jess.

I remember when we were looking at that apartment that Taylor owned. Luke seemed pretty against moving, and it wasn't just because it would be a hassle. He didn't think Jess was going to stick around. Maybe he knew Jess wouldn't stick around.

Why waste the money and time and effort if it won't do any good? And he was right. When the dust had finally settled and the air had quickly cleared, Jess quit school and left in the middle of the night; and I know Luke didn't talk much about it but he blamed himself. That was a mess all the way around. Jess didn't even say goodbye so Luke came by to tell me and offer to tell Rory. And as sweet as that was, I know he would have totally lost it if he saw Rory cry.

I come to a stack of CD's that must be Luke's. How do I know? I think the four CD boxed-set of Jimmy Buffett titled 'Boats, Beaches, Bars and Ballads' was the give away. I pick up the box and flip to the back to learn a little more about the Parrothead lifestyle. At the bottom is a handwritten note:

Happy Birthday Luke. Love, Rachel.

And suddenly things are a little too serious, so I set it back down and keep looking. There's some more Jimmy Buffett on cassette tapes, some Jethro Tull—

Remember to mock him about that later.

And a couple CD's from a band called The Gin Blossoms. But buried behind all that is an old vinyl record in an extremely beat up sleeve. I carefully pull it out to read the title:

"I'll be home for Christmas" by Bing Crosby.

I notice some writing on the sleeve but it's faded beyond recognition, so I put it back where I found it. It's probably out of sight for a reason, and I wonder if it has anything to do with his parents. I glance at the grandfather clock as I move across the room.

It's only nine-twenty; I don't think we'll make it to ten o'clock at this rate.

I open a small cabinet near the television to look through the movies, and see that Luke was right; definite mocking potential.

John Wayne is well represented here. The Sandlot? It sounds like a kids' movie… Oh. My. God! Is that a musical? It's South Pacific! There's dozens of musicals. Now if he actually had Seven Brides for Seven Brothers…

Enough of that!

Ooh, his guitar. I've never seen it move from that spot. I wonder if he can even play.

I walk to pick up the guitar and pass by his little trophy shrine. I laugh a little when I remember the picture I saw at Star's Hollow High; I can't believe I missed it when Rory went there. I need a copy so I can put it up in the diner on his birthday.

When is his birthday?

I…don't remember off the top of my head.

You sure are a really great friend. Have we even asked?

Yes,I asked him once around the time we first met, but I was begging for a cup of coffee so it's all a little fuzzy.

We know he's a Scorpio…I bet Rory remembers. Mental note: find out when his birthday is and if he doesn't want to tell then beat him into submission if necessary.

Submission, dirty…

No! Stop that; bad Luke thoughts. Just look at the trophies.

My God, there are a lot of them. Track and baseball and even a hockey trophy. I see the two State Championship plaques he bragged about during all the hoopla when the Star's Hollow hockey team finally made it to the semifinals. There are a few autographed baseballs, and an old glove, but my eye catches a picture behind one of the plaques and I pull it out.

Is that Luke?

I look at the teenager in the picture.

Almost didn't recognize him with the hat on correctly.

But it's most definitely Luke, I can tell from the fake smile and the 5 o'clock shadow on his face. He's in his Stars Hollow High baseball uniform and from the shadows in the picture it looks like it was taken toward the evening time. There's a date at the bottom.

April 22, 1979—the Senior Game. That was on my birthday. What was I doing in 1979? I don't want to remember, that was so long ago. Before Rory, before things between my parents and I were ruined, before I knew Stars Hollow even existed.

The Stars Hollow High School baseball field is in the background, and standing next to Luke is a slightly shorter man in jeans and a worn button up shirt that has a tired face and sad eyes.

That must be his dad.

They both look uncomfortable in front of the camera, like they're just waiting for it to be over.

Some things never change.

I carefully put the picture back and pick up the guitar. I pull the pick from between the strings as I walk back over to the couch and test a few chords.

Hmm, it's still in tune. Either he bought really good strings or he does play every once in a while.

I took a few lessons when I was a kid, during that whole rock-n-roll phase when I thought I was going to tour with The Go-Go's and The Bangles. Not that I can remember much, and I wasn't really very good anyways. I know a few songs from the 1960's, 'Mary Had a Little Lamb,' and not much else.

I'm plucking the strings and trying to remember the chords for 'Wonderful World' by Sam Cooke when Luke comes through the door and says, "Oh, it's you."

"Hey there," I give him a sexy smile. "Wanna hear a song?"

"You probably shouldn't play that right now." Luke has shut the door and is standing next to me. "Miss Patty thought I left my radio on upstairs and now I got to think of a group she's never heard of so I won't have to listen to a story about her dancing to the bongos with them."

"It's a good thing you said no, I can't remember any songs." I ignore his mini-rant. "Hey, can you play me a song?"

"Not right now."

"Pleeease?"

"No! Can you imagine what would happen if Miss Patty heard me and then came up to see what was going on?"

That could be bad. "Fine, but you're not off the hook. I'm looking forward to a big performance later." I smile.

"Dirty…" Luke mumbles and tries to take the guitar away from me, but I hold on tight and he gives up after a moment.

I laugh to myself because he doesn't even realize what he said. "The Gin Blossoms!" I suddenly say excitedly.

"Shh!" he puts his finger to his mouth. "What did you say?"

"The Gin Blossoms. I've never heard of them and I'm the pop culture queen. I'm sure Miss Patty hasn't either."

"How do you know about The Gin Blossoms?" Luke looks a little amused.

"There was a CD on one of your shelves."

"You went through my shelves?" Luke looks at me with puckered eyebrows.

"Hey, you said I could look for CD's if I wanted to." I defend myself, then quickly change the subject, "What's a gin blossom?"

"Nothing." He pries the guitar away from me and puts it back in the corner.

"They sound pretty." I'm flirting again; then I say in my southern belle accent. "Is it anything like a Georgia peach?"

"Definitely not." Luke snorts with a half smile.

"Well then what is it?" Now I'm really curious.

"You get gin blossoms when you drink too much. They make your nose turn red like Rudolph's."

"Ugh." That's a little disgusting.

"Yes, 'ugh.'" Luke agrees as he walks back to me. "Now look. Don't play the guitar, don't turn the TV up. If people hear you then our plan is useless. Read a book or something if you don't want to watch TV."

"Man." I say disappointedly. "I'm bored."

"You couldn't find a movie to mock?" He seems a little surprised.

"Oh I found the movies Mr. Hammerstein." I smile.

He shakes his head. "You found the musicals."

"I sure did. We're going to have to have another movie night real soon."

"Whatever." Luke moves back to the door. "The crowd is thinning out so it'll probably only be about fifteen or twenty minutes. Think you'll survive?"

"I'll try." I smile. Luke grunts goodbye and then goes downstairs. But thirty seconds later the television cannot hold my interest any longer and I return to snooping around the apartment.

Let's see, we left off at the trophy shrine…

I make my way to the two tiny nightstands, one on each side of the bed. The drawers are cracked open just a hair and pieces of paper are barely visible. As an intense internal debate rages, my curiosity gets the best of me and I slowly reach out to the drawer of the nightstand with the alarm on it.

You know, we shouldn't be going through his stuff.

Why not? He said we could check the drawers, and he doesn't really live up here anyways.

That's right; he lives in Litchfield, with his wife.

Wow, that's a downer. I glance back to the drawer and a small stack of forms catches my eye.

Is this the inventory for the diner? He so needs to add mallowmars to the dessert column.

I pull out the forms and my breath hitches. It's his divorce papers, half-way filled out. He didn't even finish writing his name in the last blank on the third page. My mind flashes through the days since Rory and I made it back to Stars Hollow and Luke Dropped the Matrimony Bomb. He was supposed to get a divorce. He was supposed to finish this.

Whoa, where's that coming from.

He promised us. He told us that they were getting a divorce and that would be the end of his relationship with Nicole. But she convinced him to put it on hold; avoid the 'hassle' of finishing all this paperwork. Then I made a fool of myself in front of her because I didn't know that they were still seeing each other. And then I made a bigger fool of myself in that fight with Luke later that night.

You really shouldn't have been so upset that night. You shouldn't be that upset right now.

But he didn't tell me! I told him when I was getting married to Max.

Very reluctantly, and then you passed the buck to Sookie when you called it off.

I was out of town.

You could have dialed the diner just as easily as Sookie's cell.

I talked to him about Christopher. That was really hard. We were still fighting about the car accident and it was a very, very bad weekend.

You were looking for forgiveness. You hurt him that night, more than he ever let on. You questioned years of friendship and everything he'd ever done for you and Rory because of what his nephew did.

He knew that Jess made me uncomfortable. He never should have put those two in that position.

And then Rory told you the whole story and you realized that you shouldn't have cast doubt on how much he cared about us. He sent Jess away the next day, but he wouldn't talk to you.

When I ran into him in Doose's he wouldn't even look at me, and he sounded so defeated—like he'd given up.

Then Chris hurt you again and you were looking for some sympathy. He had always been there before and you wanted to be able to go to him again.

And thank God he took pity on me.

But we're getting off on a tangent. You like to talk about your relationships; Luke likes to keep his private.

Which is why I didn't know he had a townhouse until three weeks after he moved. That was big, life-changing news; I can't believe he kept that to himself. And he couldn't understand that I just wanted to be in the loop. He passed it off so nonchalantly, like it made no difference that he lives in another county now. Ugh! It really hurt to find out like that. 'Why do you care?' He kept asking. 'How much adjusting did you have to do?'

Not much, because even though he 'moved' he still spent most nights in Stars Hollow.

But that's not the point!

Then what is?

Moving made it real. It made his marriage real and I don't like that it's real now. I slam the papers back into the drawer and fall across the bed.

Why do you care?

…

Still can't think of a good reason?

I'm afraid to think of a good reason. I'm afraid I don't have a good reason.

See? You want to have your cake and eat it too.

Ugh, I am petty and shallow. I roll over onto my stomach and come face to face with the other nightstand.

There's nothing in this one— but on the tiny shelf at the bottom of the stand is a small leather-bound notebook. I flip through the pages back-to-front, but nothing is written. All the pages are—well, not all the pages are blank. There's writing on the first two or three. The first few paragraphs look like…a kid's handwriting?I study the words and they look just like the writing on Luke's divorce papers. A little more blocky and unsure, but it's got that distinctive Luke style: a sloping combination of script and print that loops the letters together beautifully.

He really does have great handwriting; easy to read and pleasing to the eye.

I return to the first page and can't resist reading a few words.

Dear Diary,

I can't believe Mom got me a diary for my ninth birthday! I'm a grown man for Pete's sake!

I can't help but laugh at this.

Dad says Grandpa Joe kept a diary when he was overseas, but that was for The War. Mom says girls like a 'sensitive' man who can talk about his feelings. She said I should write down important days so I'll remember how I felt. But I feel stupid writing about how I feel. And I'm going to be a baseball player or a carpenter so I won't have time to be sensitive. Besides, Grandpa Danes was in The War too and he didn't keep a diary. He said he didn't need to write anything down to remember what happened. I'm done sharing feelings. I'm going to go play with my new skateboard.

Some things about Luke never change, but I can't figure out if that's good or bad. The rest of the page is filled with a list of family members and other people to send thank-you notes, and I'm surprised to realize that I know some of the people on the list. Miss Patty, Mia, and Babette are a few of the names I recognize. An absurd image of Luke passing out thank-you notes on his skateboard comes to mind and I smile and turn the page. This time there is a date, but no greeting.

Oct. 4, 1970

Mom is really sick again. The doctors can't figure out what is wrong and she is staying at the hospital more than at home. I miss her. Liz is crying a lot so Dad and I have to watch her. I asked Dad why Liz and Mom cry all the time and he told me that's just how girls deal with sadness. But that's not how men deal with sadness—Dad's made that clear. He sat me down and told me not to cry, especially in front of Liz or Mom because that would make them feel worse. How do we deal with all this? We do inventory and go to the batting cages. I wish Grandpa Danes were still alive. We could use the help with the hardware store.

There's a little space before the next entry.

Mar. 4, 1971

Mom died yesterday and Liz hasn't stopped crying since. Dad's been trying to arrange the funeral, but the weather is bad and everyone in town keeps getting in his way. Finally he just locked himself upstairs to finish while I ran the store for a couple hours. Miss Patty stayed with Liz today and Babette made us dinner tonight. Bud and Maizie are coming into town tomorrow and are going to be with us for the rest of the week. I cried last night. I didn't want Dad to see so I locked my door. I know men don't cry but I can't believe Mom is gone.

Now I'm close to crying. After a few unsteady breaths, I pull myself together. Ten years separate his mom's death from the next entry.

Aug. 5, 1981

I turned down the baseball offer from Connecticut State yesterday. I wish I could've gone but Dad needs help here, he's got a bad cough again—Bronchitis or something like that. I'll stay here another year and try out again next summer.

Dec. 5, 1981

I buried Dad today. It was a big funeral, but Liz didn't come—she wouldn't even return my calls and as far as I know she's still on the west coast or looking for Jimmy. I spent the last five nights before dad died in that damn hospital with him, but he told me to go home on the thirtieth. I ended up spending all night in the store talking with Rachel and when I made it to his room the next day they told me he'd passed the night before. I can't believe I wasn't there for him—that I left him alone when he needed someone to be there for him the most. Rachel thinks I need to hug it out and cry or something like that, but she should know me better than that. I don't need to cry or anything. I'm just tired of hospitals, I'm tired of caring, I'm tired of hearing people say they're sorry. I just need to get away for a while.

Now I'm crying quietly. I wipe my eyes and try not to let the tears hit the pages. The next entry comes from 1996.

Feb. 3

Rachel left again and I'm pretty sure she's not coming back. She left in the middle of the night. Miss Patty had to tell me that she'd gone. She said she saw Rachel by the bus stop around ten but no one has seen her since. Rachel told me she was committed—that she was ready to settle down, and I believed her this time. I don't want to go through this again, not with anyone. I still haven't heard from Liz—it's been about six months now since the last time we even spoke. People ask me how I feel, but the truth is I can't really express it. Sometimes I'm sure I'm headed for clinical depression.

No wonder Rachel felt like Miss Patty was waiting for her to screw up. No wonder Luke was so upset when Jess left the way he did.

May 8, 1996

Miss Patty rooked me into helping Lorelai move into her new house. I think Miss Patty's turned me into her personal project since Rachel left and for some reason she's got it in her head that Lorelai is my soul-mate. Yes, she's beautiful, but dear God she drinks a lot of coffee. At least she's got a good sense of humor. And Rory? Definitely her mother's daughter. Just as crazy, but much more polite—why or how that happened I'll never know. They moved in next to Babette so all day I heard her and Miss Patty talking about my 'assets.' Every time Lorelai and Rory walked by, Miss Patty would stop them and whisper something girly and then all four of them would giggle hysterically. Lorelai finally sent Rory inside to tell me where everything should go—I can only imagine that it was to shield her young ears. And Lorelai's house? It's a nice house, but God—if I lived there I'd be doing little fix-it jobs for the rest of my life. Good thing I'm a handyman.

He was right—thank God he is a handyman. So that's what he thinks of me.

Or did think; when we first met.

He thinks I'm beautiful.

He used to think you were beautiful, and apparently he's always thought that you were crazy.

There's one more entry:

Oct 9, 2001

Rachel has come and gone again and Lorelai just told me she's getting married. I can't say either one of those are shockers, but it's depressing to realize that after five years nothing has changed.

What the hell does that mean? I flip through a couple more pages, but that's it. Nothing about his marriage, nothing about breaking the bells. And it's all so cryptic. He writes down the obvious thoughts but doesn't analyze them. Nothing about why he feels the way he feels, no pro/con lists. The whole point of a diary is to analyze your thoughts and emotions and get it all on paper to help you think things through.

Maybe that's why you always overanalyze everything. Did you ever think of that?

I glance at the clock and realize that it's almost ten. I quickly put the notebook away and crash onto the couch to make it look like I've been watching television, but my mind is trying to wrap itself around everything I've learned about Luke.

I based the date of Lorelai's birthday as best as I could according to the original airdate of the episode of Lorelai's birthday parties in season three since I don't remember the show giving a specific date for it. If you think the idea of Luke having a journal is a little OOC, let me try to put it in perspective: Luke honors his father's memory with the way he left all his father's stuff up in the diner. Also, just because Luke isn't a touchy-feely kind of guy doesn't mean he isn't introspective--I should know. Using these facts, it stands to reason that if his mother had given him a journal to write important days in, then he would honor his mother by doing this.

The little story about gin blossoms is true, so alcoholics beware (Unfortunately, I didn't know this until after I started drinking).

Bonus points to those of you who could pick out the reference to the Gin Blossoms song and the Jimmy Buffett song. I like to drop those kinds of things into writing. Super special bonus points if you can name the song and the album that it comes from.

To those of you who also read gilmoregirl1979 stories, I swear that little bit about Lorelai and Rory and Luke being an 'us' came to me before I read her chapter of WITS. But isn't it freaky that we both thought of that…

Finally, I'm sure I'm taking this in a different direction than most would have gone, but bear with me, I've got a plan…sort of.