Cruel Certainty
"Can I help you?"
He started, though he was careful not to show it. He regarded her coolly, studying her with that peculiar intensity of his that always seemed to make people uncomfortable. The nurse, no different, shifted awkwardly under his fathomless gaze, rubbing her palms repeatedly against her turquoise-blue scrubs and flicking her eyes back and forth across the wall.
"Can you help him?" he finally spoke, his voice as curiously flat and unemotional as his expression. The nurse straightened a little, feeling surer on this familiar ground. He read her ID badge. Leigh.
"We're taking very good care of him," she answered reassuringly, her tone carefully calculated and practiced. "Some of the best doctors in Connecticut are keeping a close eye on him." It was the same answer she gave to every panicked, inquisitive relative, but this time it sounded somehow inadequate. She felt his relentless stare again, and frowned.
"Can you help him," he repeated, exquisitely aware of her discomfort but feeling no generous urges of sympathy.
"Probably." This time she was bluntly honest. She wasn't going to pander to the sensibilities of this dark, haunted-looking boy- young man, really. He snorted at her answer.
"Probably?" he echoed derisively. "That's the best you can do?"
The nurse bristled, folding her arms defiantly in front of her and deciding to conveniently forget the hours of training she'd had in grief counseling and honest empathy. "If you're looking for certainty, you came to the wrong place, kid," she retorted evenly. "This is a hospital. You want certainty, try the IRS."
He nodded slowly in acknowledgement and appreciation of her point, and her pique, and turned back to stare through the massive picture window in the wall. He could see his own reflection, superimposed on the scene inside the room. He was thin, thinner than before, with a gaunt, hollow-eyed look to him. He figured that was due to lack of sleep, but he didn't kid himself in thinking that that was the only reason he looked so empty and lifeless.
"How bad is he?" he asked, his expression unchanging as he gracefully gestured with a slight incline of his head.
The nurse chewed her lip and narrowed her eyes at him. "Pretty bad," she answered evenly. "But I've seen worse than him come through."
He nodded again, and she was fascinated and repulsed by his unfeelingly calm demeanor.
"You family?" she asked suspiciously.
He stirred his shoulders, momentarily disturbing the hang of his worn black leather jacket. "Sure," he answered noncommittally.
She glared ferociously at his nonchalance. "Only family members are allowed," she said sternly. "ICU policy."
His expression changed, slightly, but it was still unreadable. "I'm family," he confirmed in a defeated way, like he wouldn't be if he could choose not to be. Leigh had run out of time and patience to play guessing games and to interpret his moody responses.
"You can go in," she instructed in a no-nonsense voice. "Just don't disturb her- she's been sitting there for hours, and this is the first time I've seen her resting."
He started again, more visibly this time, as the nurse stalked away. She had been hidden before, obscured behind his dark reflection, but now he could see the slender figure bent awkwardly forward over the bed, her head pillowed on her folded arms. He held his breath for a moment. If she was here, then surely that meant that she was here, too. His heart pounded for a moment until he told himself that there had been no one in the outer waiting room, and his panic left him. It was replaced by a scientific-like curiosity, as he analyzed why Lorelai Gilmore was fast asleep in room number 514 of the Hartford Memorial Hospital ICU.
He could definitely picture the scenario in reverse, with his besotted uncle keeping vigil beside her unconscious form, but he was missing the joke here. He knew they were friends, he knew she cared about him the same way she cared about Sookie and Jackson and Lane and Kirk, and she'd told him herself in that soft, starry-eyed way that she thought he was very special. But he had never seen her indicate that she felt anything more than that, and he'd confidently predicted to himself that that particular relationship wasn't going anywhere unless Luke initiated it- which of course he'd never do.
So what was she doing, here, now? Concern for a friend wouldn't keep someone hunched over an ICU bed at 4 o'clock in the morning, would it? Or maybe she'd finally gone delusional, convinced herself that Luke's particular person was the actual source of the coffee she craved, and she was sitting there waiting for it to start spurting out of his IV.
He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, debating whether he should go in. The movement of his shadow caused different beams of light to shine into the room, and he suddenly noticed that her hand was clutched tightly around his, in a subtle but strangely clear indication of connectedness that he recognized at once. He drew a sharp breath in between his teeth. That was why she was here.
He clenched his fists tightly as the scene imprinted itself on his vision, and the still, calm depths of his mind began to churn angrily. What a terrible, ironic, colossally unfair waste it all was. There was no meaning to any of it, no chance for anyone when it came right down to it. Hobbes had been right- life was nasty, brutish, and short, with nothing to hope for, nothing to strive for. He didn't want to live in a kind of world where living meant that a good, kind, generous man like Luke, waiting patiently and selflessly for years on end for the woman he loved to even notice him, was finally rewarded just in time to lie dying in a hospital bed. What sort of cruel, unforgiving, taunting world was that to live in? It ended his hope, entrenched his cynicism, and broke his heart.
He wouldn't stay and watch. He couldn't.
He left.
And Lorelai opened her eyes.
...Okay, so I'm SOOOO sorry it's taken me this long to update. I have a bunch of excuses- wanna hear 'em? Since this is a pretty dark chapter, I absolutely refused to post it after Black Tuesday last week- who needs more angst after that? And mini-rant- Luke and Lorelai's relationship shot to hell because of Christopher? Haven't we seen that plot twist before? Season 5 deja vu, anyone? End rant. It's okay, everything will be fine (hopeless optimist speaking here) and we still have fanfic. Which brings me back to my original point (I think). I absolutely promise that the next chapter is the one you've been waiting for :) As always, thank you for the reviews; I hope sometime in the not-too-distant future I'll be able to respond to them, but so far the universe has been conspiring against me. Bendelschnitz.