1There was something so comforting about knowing that she could walk back into the diner whenever she liked. She had missed it.

That's not exactly true, she realizes. Who is she kidding? She had missed him.

But she has him back now, and if it is tentative and careful, it's okay. It's something. It's real and honest and comforting. It is something that all of their failures at communication didn't manage to kill. It is a friendship. And this time she's not going to let it go, because it means so much more to her than she realized.

Dragging the bags out of the Jeep, she bursts in the door to show him her purchases, even though he is probably not going to be fascinated by teeny tiny clothes and itsy bitsy socks, the way she is.

"Shopping again," he states, shaking his head as she dumps her bags onto the floor next to a counter stool.

"I got the cutest things for the baby," she exclaims, "holding up a tiny Red Sox jersey for his inspection."

"What if he's a Mets fan?" he asks dryly.

"Your nephew? Right," she laughs, folding the clothes and goodies into a gift bag for Liz.

"Are you going over to Liz's now?"

"No. I have to finish up something at the Inn first, then I'll stop by. How about you? Are you going over again tonight? You've been there a lot lately."

"The baby's been fussy. I guess four weeks of not sleeping is making Liz kind of fussy too. TJ is completely useless. Liz says when the baby goes into a crying jag, so does TJ. She has to kick him out of the house until everyone calms down. I've been trying to help out where I can."

"Oh, poor TJ," she laughs. "And poor Liz. But you. . . are a great uncle."

"Thanks, remember to tell him that when he's seventeen and I steal his car," he quips.

She was anxious to drop off the gift to Liz and go home and collapse. What should have taken her an hour turned into a three hour marathon. Pulling into Liz's she's relieved to see the lights still on and a little surprised to see TJ in the driveway, pacing.

"Hey, you okay," she asks.

"I know the Doctor said it was simple colic, but I can't stand it when he cries like that. I'm going for a walk," he chokes out, walking quickly away.

Going to the back door, Liz ushers her into the house, looking tired and flustered.

"Lorelai, how great to see you," she says, giving her a big hug.

"Hey, is everything okay?" she asks, hearing a baby's distressful cries echoing from the other room.

"Luke's here. He's just wonderful with him. I know I'm overtired, and TJ's stressing me out, so I'm stressing the baby out. Thank God for Luke. He's the only sane one around here lately. He's got the magic touch, I tell ya. It's amazing. Go see," she encourages. "I think I'm going to try and catch up with TJ. A good walk should calm us both down."

She walks to the door of the living room and just stares, amazed at the picture in front of her. Luke is walking slowly back and forth across the room, a tiny baby against his shoulder. She hears him murmur softly, almost humming soothing sounds and words.

She watches as he runs his fingers up and down the soft t-shirt clad back in a soft rhythm. The baby's wails have slowed to fussy noises now as he keeps up the pacing. Tiny hands clench his flannel between tiny fingers. The baby rubs his face fretfully for a minute against the soft material before exhaling and relaxing against his shoulder, giving into sleep. Luke's completely involved in his task of soothing the baby, oblivious of everything else, and the look of love on his face is a revelation.

The sight is almost too beautiful to bear, the pain hitting her hard and fast. And she must have made some unintelligible sound because he lifts his eyes to her and catches her glance from across the room. His face is unreadable, hers is not.

Backing out of the room, she retreats both mentally and physically. She needs to leave, to go home, to hide from the thoughts running through her head. Because they aren't good ones and she knows they aren't fair. She doesn't want to face them right now, at least not with company or with him or anywhere she can't scream at the top of her lungs if she needs to.

Entering the house, she doesn't even turn on any lights. She curls up on the couch, arms hugging bent knees. She needs to think, she needs to process and get past the pain of seeing everything she ever wanted played out in front of her in living color.

She's surprised at the anger she feels. Sometimes she thinks she hates him. Sometimes she knows she still resents that he held so many of her dreams just out of reach.

The pounding of footsteps on the porch doesn't surprise her. The key turning in the lock does.

"Lorelai," he yells entering in house, quickly coming into the living room.

"Forget to knock?" she asks sarcastically, surprised at his boldness, at his insistence in seeing her.

"Yeah, I did," he snipes. And she realizes that he's just as angry as she is, although she's not sure why.

"Why did you leave like that?" he asks, dropping down on the couch next to her.

"Luke, I just needed to come home. I don't really want to talk about it," she answers coldly. She really doesn't. She has come to grips with this before and she'll do it again. She's stronger than this, she knows, it was just unexpected and she didn't see it coming. She knows she's being unfair to Luke, but it's better that he doesn't know what's rolling around in her head right now, better than he doesn't see how bitter she can be, how angry.

"Lorelai, talk to me, please," he tries again, reasonably.

"Really, Luke, I think you should just leave, okay?" she says, determined. She doesn't want to resurrect the pain or the past. Some things are better left unsaid.

He reaches over to touch her arm, to implore, but she shrugs him away.

"Don't touch me . . . not now," she says quietly.

"Damn it Lorelai," he exclaims, jumping up from the couch, obviously frustrated with her clipped responses.

But she still can't answer him, because what can she say? It's not his fault that she pinned all her hopes and dreams on him. She realized long ago that she created expectations that were unfair.

"Luke, please," she tries again, struggling with her need to be alone, to get through this without him.

"I'm not going until you talk to me. I'm never walking away again not understanding what's gong on with you. I made that mistake once," he says unwavering.

The anger is keeping her detached and that's a good thing. Maybe she does need to tell him. Maybe if she just says it they can put it away and file it done.

"You dangled that carrot in front of me, until I wanted it so much that I couldn't breath," she starts, trying to explain her random thoughts.

"I wanted another kid . I wanted to get married. But you didn't. . . . you weren't ready and I couldn't wait. So I threw it away Luke. I tossed it out like it was so much garbage. And I tell myself sometimes that I hate you for making me want it so badly, for making me so crazy but really I just can't stand myself anymore. I can't stand what I did," she sighs, dry-eyed and determined to stay that way.

"I saw you holding that baby and it was like looking at everything I ever wanted mocking me saying - hey look what you could have had if you didn't screw it up. I have to live with that. I have to accept that and move on or simply go completely insane. And I have really, but sometimes it just takes you by surprise, like tonight and . . . you're not expecting it, not prepared for the shock of it," she continues, the words tumbling out in a heap at his feet.

"I didn't understand how important it was to you until it was too late and you were gone. I have to live with that too, that I lost you because I was too stubborn and too slow, too afraid," he answers, his own anger at himself obvious.

"I never meant to hurt you like that," he sighs, dropping back down onto the couch next to her.

"I know," she replies. It wasn't as hard as she thought it would be, to just say it all out loud, to just let him see it. Maybe this is proof of how far they have come, that they can tell each other the bad things and not end up walking away after. Maybe she really does have the best of Luke back, the one that understands her without judging, the one that unconditionally loves her no matter what.

"We're quite a pair, aren't we?" she states wryly, glancing over at him, pleased that he hasn't left yet, feeling the anger drain away.

"Yeah. That must be why we're perfect for each other," he answers dryly, his own acceptance of their past, their mistakes, making everything so much easier for her.

They sit in silence for a minute, both lost in their own thoughts, shifting gears, moving forward, if only in little steps.

"Do you think she cried?" he asks tiredly, rubbing the back of his neck, a sure sign of tension and emotion.

And for a moment she's confused at where he's going until she realizes he's talking about April.

"I wonder if she cried. . . I wonder if she needed me to hold her and soothe her. . . and it absolutely kills me that I wasn't there," he chokes out, the emotion in his voice clear.

And for the first time she really sees everything he's been holding back about his daughter. How much confusion he's been in. How did she not realize that for Luke, dealing with the past would be a long painful process. She knew him well enough that she should have known that. Tears she refuses to shed for herself come to the surface for Luke. It hurts to see him struggle with everything he missed. She can't imagine what it would be like if years of Rory's life were taken away from her, if she had to wonder if her child was in need or if she let her down.

Why didn't she see it? Why didn't she understand what he was going through? Was she that self-centered, that self-focused ? Tears streak down her cheeks as the enormity of how far apart they had gotten in the past, hits her again.

She sees a baby and sees a lost future, he sees a baby and sees a lost past.

They look into each other's eyes, understanding more in this moment about each other than they have in a long time.

He reaches out to wipe a stray tear from her face, the tears standing still in his own. He tugs at her gently, giving her room to refuse, but she slides gratefully into his arms. He pulls her across his lap and she tucks her face into his shoulder, her hand as gripping his flannel as tightly as Liz's baby boy was.

"I'm glad you came," she whispers, suddenly wrapping her arms around his neck to hold him tighter, the longing for him sudden and overpowering.

"I'm glad you didn't kick me out," he counters, running his fingers up and down her back, soothing them both.

She leans back to look at him, to touch his face, to make sure he's okay.

"I think you should know, that I kinda like you," she says, kissing him sweetly.

"Yeah, I kinda like you too," he answers, kissing her back.

"Luke?" she whispers, distracting him from path he's making with his lips across her face.

"Hmmm," he answers.

"If we don't get back together, I mean if things just don't work out for us, we'll always be there for each other, won't we? We'll always be friends, right?" she asks, moaning a little as he reaches her neck, sucking gently on the skin above her collarbone.

"Always," he whispers against her lips, kissing her gently, until he hears the little noise she makes in the back of her throat that drives him crazy.

"You think we're ready for this?" she asks, pulling back slightly, knowing that in a minute it won't matter if she's ready or not because she'll just be too far gone to care.

"Well, someone very wise once told me, that sometimes. . . . you just have to jump," he answers with a slight smile.

She leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder, taking in his words.

"I won't let you down this time. I promise," she whispers in his ear, moved by his trust.

"I never doubted that for a minute," he replies easily.

"And Lorelai. . . I'll be with you this time, every step of the way. I promise," he vows.

The End