Chapter Two

Rory drove the stretch of highway between Boston and the sleepy hamlet of Stars Hollow blinking away at bitter tears. The roads were treacherous, and her tires squealed with every curve of the road. Nevertheless, she needed to see her family, to know that she was loved, and had not thrown away a part of her precious life. She barely paused at the sign for Hartford. Emily Gilmore was the last person she wanted to see now. She had never understood her mother's distaste with her grandparents, had, in fact, thought that Lorelei had brought many of her woes on herself with her self-proclaimed "need to be free". Coke commercials aside, Rory could now say she saw the side her mother only hinted at: the conniving and scheming Gilmores, too preoccupied with Society (capital 'S' because it was that important) thought and Appearance and Duty, they forgot that their family mattered. Was that really a life she wanted to belong to?

A deafening "yes" echoed in the deep shadows of her mind. They were her family, and to be a part of them meant being in that world. It was more as a silent committal that she would not be a social climbing snob than for any benefit it might provide to her wavering concentration that she shook her head and put a CD into the stereo. She needed noise, music, anything to distract her from her chaotic thoughts. Even the twangy and half-formed notes of complaint early 90's college rock would be welcomed now.

"Nibblin' on sponge cake/ watchin' the sun bake," she laughed at the irony: Luke's mix CD, labeled, of course, as the "Luke CD." It was intended as a gag gift for the laconic diner man, since Lorelei had uncovered the damning Jimmy Buffet shirt in his closet. Naturally, she and Rory had decided that a folk and country CD was needed to celebrate the complete mockability of Luke. Thus the Luke CD was made and given (with an extended Luke Rant on the evils of the music industry—greedy bastards—and CD burners—run by cheap-ass punks hell-bent on bringing about the fall of Capitalism with their piracy) and, of course, copied because it was a thing of Perfect Mock (Luke had put them on decaf for a week after a day of constant teasing). Words blurred into incomprehensible jangles as she unseeingly sped down the road into the wintry night.

Rory drove on autopilot, unsure of where to go. She dismissed staying at home, her mom would wonder what was wrong, and she would tell her which, of course, would only upset her. Nor could she go to Lane's or Sookie's, either. Sookie had the baby, and would tell Lorelai. Lane would encourage her to tell her mom. Besides, Lane had Zach, and that brought up the same issue she faced with Sookie. She briefly considered going to Dean; she had always been able to confide in him. However, the sting of their breakup was still fresh, and there were no uncertain terms about how they had left things. He would be supportive, because that was Dean, but support would lead to feelings (as it had in the past), which would lead to a whole other assortment of problems. Besides, running to her ex-boyfriend to cry about her splintering family life was probably the definition of "pathetic." Logan was thrown out as quickly as was Dean, for similar reasons.

"God, when did my life become such a mess?" She stopped at a light, the only stoplight in Stars Hollow and looked to her right. Luke's stood empty and dark against the shining streetlamps. She had never seen something more inviting in her life.

Somehow (she did not know the exact path, but she assumed her feet had something to do with the process), Rory found herself pounding on Luke's door, wincing as the aged wood scratched her hands. She stepped back in mid-knock as brilliant fluorescent light filled the small eatery and the man himself stood scowling in the doorway.

The scowl melted instantly into concern when he recognized his late night visitor. He stepped back into the diner and ushered her in as he flipped on the coffee pot. "It'll be a few minutes. You want pancakes?'

She smiled at that. Luke could always tell when things were wrong; something Christopher never could figure out with her. Rory took the time while Luke was in the kitchen to survey the place she had come to think of as a second home. The specials were the same as they were before she left (Luke's "special" omelet) chairs and tables were exactly where they used to be. The talking pork chop was missing, though. It was probably a casualty of some child's screaming. The diner seemed to have moved on to life without Lorelei. The diner owner, however, showed signs of wear. His eyes were haggard and sunken; hallow points staring out from black circles set deep in their sockets. His face was more drawn and tired, the ever-present stubble no longer a reminder of his gruff and surly nature. It was long and unkempt, trapped in that gray, nebulous area between "beard" and "growth" which could only be called "roughage." It lent him the image of a man defeated by life.

"Here you go. Blueberry pancakes with chocolate sprinkles, extra whipped cream, and the good syrup." He put a plate in front of her, piled high with steaming fluffy pancakes, and quickly moved a way, broom in hand, to swipe imaginary dust from the floor.

Rory smiled again; comfort food and the time to eat it. There was no problem that Luke could not fix with a full cup of coffee and a pile of pancakes. It gave her hope that he could mend the rift that this latest fight between him and her mom had caused. She ate in silence, content to mull over her own thoughts with Luke sweeping on the periphery. At some point, he had replaced her plate with a danish, and still there was silence. By her third danish, and fifth cup of coffee, Rory felt her nerves steady enough for words to form. "I went to Boston today."

Luke's eyes narrowed and his back tensed. There was only one reason why Rory would go to Boston: him. "Oh."

"Tonight, actually. I left there and came straight here."

His hands tightened on the broomstick, its creak in protest filled the silent diner. "What! In this weather? Of all the…" He took a deep calming breath. He obviously had realized that a Luke Rant was not what she need now.

"He said he wanted to talk, to apologize for… for everything." Hot coffee splashed over her fingers as she took a steadying sip. "So I went. I drove from New Have in freezing rain, and he wasn't there." She frantically wiped at the burning liquid searing into her fingers. "He was late. I was sitting in this stupid coffee shop drinking the worst coffee I had ever tasted in my life, and I couldn't help but think that I had always been sitting in that stupid coffee shop. I was always waiting for him. He showed up, thirty minutes late, and tried to give me this horrible chai latte thing—which only made things worse."

"Of course. If something's going to kill you it should at least taste good."

"Exactly! Then he said that he was my dad and that he wanted us to be a family, and… and I just snapped. I told him a dad doesn't make his daughter wait for twenty years to be a family. He doesn't promise to make things work and then run off to start a new family with someone else." Tears ran down her cheeks, mixing with the bitter liquid in her cup. "A dad shows up to your graduation without being asked. A dad remembers your birthday every year. A dad makes mashed potatoes for you when you have the chicken pox, or pancakes when you're sad. He protects you and tries to make things better when everything in your life is falling apart."

Luke stared at her, the broomstick forgotten in his hands.

"And, and I need to know. Do I still have a Dad?" The tears that had so unnerved him but moments before were wiped away with gentle thumbs as she clutched at his chest.

"I'm sure things will be okay between you two. Give it some time." Rory smiled at the growl he unsuccessfully tried to hide in his voice. She was glad he had at least made the attempt. It proved to her how much her happiness mattered to him.

"To Hell with him!" Rory buried her face deeper into his chest. "He's not my dad. He never was. He's not… he can't… He doesn't make me feel safe." She looked at him through tear-reddened eyes. "He's not the one trying to make me feel better right now."

"What?" He looked at her dumbstruck, unable to comprehend the full weight of her words.

"And, I want to know. Are you my Dad? Or, have I lost you too?"

"Rory, I'm not going anywhere. You will always have me." He smiled down at her and pressed his capped forehead to hers. "That is if you want me…"

"I do, Luke, I really do." Rory smiled the first real smile she had since Luke and her mom had broken up.

"Ah, well good. Look, it's late, you should go to bed. Your mom's gonna be worried as it is. She's probably called you twice already."

"Three times, while I was in the car. I couldn't answer, though. I didn't want to upset her." She wiped at her eyes as she tried to regain a measure of composure. "Besides, I can't go home, not like this. It'll just upset her and then I'll tell her about Christopher, which'll just make her even more upset."

"Then stay. Here. Tonight." He ran his hand though his hair, preparing to go into another rant. "Look, the roads are awful—it's a wonder you didn't drive off into a ditch getting here. The weather isn't much better, and I have a bed here that no one's using anyways. We'll call your mom, tell her you're fine and you'll see her tomorrow, and… and you can stay here." He ran his hand through his hair again as he lost his steam.

"You're sure it's OK?" Rory called after him as he started up the stairs.

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't." He stopped on his way and looked over his shoulder. "You coming up, or are you sleeping on the tables?"

She grinned and ran after him. She had a Dad.