Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls.

Luke was watching Taylor scold the Fitzpatrick boy for kicking the soccer ball too near his storefront when he was distracted by yelling coming from the direction of the diner. He uncrossed his arms and turned, the bemused look slipping off his face.

He scoffed. There was the little boy in the red racecar t-shirt, whom he had served grilled cheese to not a half hour before, running through the street, into the square, yelling like he was auditioning for Braveheart II. Forget just yelling, the kid wasn't even making sense—"don kel ali musoup!"—for example. What the hell was that supposed to mean? And it wasn't just the words—he had a sword for God's sake! It was grey plastic with a red handle, and he was waving, swinging, and stabbing every which way as he ran.

"It's called pretending."

"Huh?" Luke turned toward the direction of the voice.

"Pretending," the young woman repeated, climbing the gazebo steps. "It's fun."

Luke looked at the blonde haired woman blankly. She had been with the boy in the diner…Caesar salad, iced tea, no ice, which had stuck him as very ironic.

"You looked like you'd never seen it before." She scrunched up her nose and arched her eyebrows in imitation.

"I've seen it before," he said simply.

She shrugged and sat down beside him on the bench, her gaze on the boy that couldn't have been more than five or six years old.

They both watched silently for a few moments before Luke spoke. "He's stabbing the air."

She titled her head to face him. "I thought you said you've seen it before," she retorted with a smile.

"But there's nothing there!" Luke gestured sharply at the boy with his right hand, while keeping his left planted firmly on the bench, guarding what was left of "his" space. "There's nothing there to even pretend it's something else! And listen to him screaming—those aren't even real words!"

"They are to him," the blonde replied softly, calmly, still smiling.

"But it doesn't make sense!"

"Sure it does."

"It does?"

She nodded.

"So what's he saying then?"

"No idea," she laughed.

Luke looked at her incredulously. "Then clearly it doesn't make sense!"

She laughed harder, like Luke was some sort of stand up comedian. She struggled to repress her giggles as she saw his frustration with her building. "Oh," she said, "what is sense anyway?"

Luke looked at her, waiting, and then realized it wasn't a rhetorical question. "Seriously?" he asked her.

She nodded, still smiling that same goofy smile. Luke wondered if her face was stuck like that or something.

He sighed. "Well, it's…it's when things have answers. You don't know what he's saying, what he's stabbing at, why he keeps running in circles for cryin out loud—therefore it makes no sense!" He gave a sharp nod and leaned back, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, proud of his answer.

"Fun."

"Huh?"

"That's the answer—fun. He's having fun."

"But…"

She cut him off. "Just because the answers aren't what you want doesn't mean they aren't there."

Luke felt his hands sink to his lap. "But…" he sighed, frustrated with this crazy lady. "I bet he doesn't even know what half that gibberish means."

She shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Would it be so horrible if he didn't?"

"You can't live in a fantasy world," his voice was softer now, his eyes looking far off. "Or else you miss stuff, important stuff…"

"Were you always like this?" she cut in, giggling again.

Luke rolled his eyes. "Like what?"

"Pessimistic, grouchy…"

"Not pessimistic—realistic."

"Pssh," she waved her hand at him. "That battle's awfully realistic to him," she nodded in the direction of the boy. "Try again buddy."

Luke just shrugged. "Things change," he said softly, then even softer, "people change."

"No," she replied rising from the bench and moving so she stood in front of him, "people don't change. They grow up, they grow less naive, they make choices, they try out different paths, but they don't change. They grow—they just grow."

Luke shook his head and shifted his gaze downwards. One of his shoes had come untied.

"Your best subject was math wasn't it?"

Luke looked back up at her like she's grown a second head.

"In school," she clarified.

"Um, no," he answered slowly still trying to get a hold of the conversation again. "I hated math. I almost failed Calculus. I liked English and History actually."

"Hmm." The woman frowned for the first time since she entered the gazebo.

"Why?"

"Those are very different," she replied, her tone serious as she ignored his question.

Luke wondered what he could have possibly said to make her grow so somber. His only conclusion was that she was nuttier than he had thought. "They're just subjects in school, and school," he replied, "was a very long time ago."

"It's who you are, Luke," she said gravely, "you can't forget who you are, otherwise," she shrugged and stared off briefly before turning back to him, "you won't really be alive anymore, even if you still exist."

"Wha— but…" Luke's mind was still fumbling with questions after her last statement as she turned and walked down the gazebo steps. Finally, he settled on "how'd you know my name?"

She turned back to face him, now holding the little boy's hand. "It's your place isn't it?" She nodded at the "Luke's" sign.

"Oh," Luke said, more to himself than her, then, more loudly, "yeah, it is."

"Good," she laughed, "because we didn't have enough money to tip you anyway!"

"Oh, please you were a solid 15 percenter, less if the bill got higher, way less if you were mad at me!"

She feigned shock.

"It doesn't matter…I'm the proprietor. You don't tip the proprietor."

"What!" Her eyes grew wide and he couldn't help but grin…

The boy giggled and skipped along besides the woman, still waving that stupid sword around. "It was really good though!" she called over her shoulder and with that the pair rounded the corner and disappeared down the street.

Luke sighed and let his head tilt all the way back to his shoulder blades. He stared at the wooden beams that formed the roof of the gazebo. "Damn spit," he muttered.