Disclaimer: They're not mine; I'm just helping to fix them.

Author's Note: More huge thanks for the betas: CineFille, iheartbridges, and Lula Bo. This story wouldn't be the same without them.

Burlington, Vermont – Mid-June

Life still royally sucks, but odd as it seems, living without the anticipation of Luke's calls, makes it marginally easier. It's the kind of thing she'd have trouble explaining to someone if they asked, but it makes sense in her head. Looking forward to Luke's calls gave the minimal contact they'd had too much weight, too much importance. They'd made her want to give in to that tiny bit of hope she's been trying to banish from her thoughts.

Because, she tells herself, she needs to get used to this reality – this without-Luke reality. She needs to not make that little thread of communication into more than it was. She needs to force herself to live fully without him. It's the only way that she can heal herself.

Most of all, she needs to mend things with Rory. They hadn't completely recovered after their months of not speaking. They'd embraced their relationship eagerly enough, but hurt and guilt lingered in their interactions, like a slowly healing wound. Since their most recent fight, she and Rory are friendly enough, but something has shifted between them and though they've both been pretending that they're fine, Lorelai can feel the tension, the anger, and the questions building a strange sort of invisible force field between them. Each day, each week that passes makes it stronger and Lorelai knows that the first step in taking back her life is to find what she and Rory used to have.

Rory's words the night that she'd found out about her parents' latest indiscretion had stung like alcohol on an open cut, all the more for them being essentially true. And even though she's admitted that to herself, it's still been difficult to confide in her daughter, to open herself up to judgment again. But being judged, confronting the demons and banishing them, might be the only way to move on from this miserable non-living life she's constructed for herself.

It's been about a week since she'd cut herself off from Luke and it's as good a time as any for applying some ointment to the wound. She's not sure exactly what she's going to say to Rory, and at this point even a call is a move on her part.

When Rory answers, they go through the standard pleasantries, but after she's given her 'Paul Anka report' and before an uncomfortable lull sets in, Lorelai blurts out, "I'm sorry."

There's a brief moment of silence before Rory asks, "For what?"

"For…I don't know…for being a hypocrite. For acting like an idiot."

"Mom," Rory breathes out softly. "It's-"

"No," Lorelai interrupts. "Please don't."

"What?"

"Please don't tell me it's okay, or make excuses for me, or…or tell me it will get better. I screwed up big-time and everything sucks and I don't want you to let me off the hook for that."

She hears Rory let out a slow breath. "Fine. I don't want to argue with you anyway." There's a short pause, and then she continues, a touch of enthusiasm in her voice. "How about I come see you? Next weekend. I could probably get there by dinner time on Friday and I don't have to be back until the middle of the day on Monday."

"You don't have to do that. I'm not even going to be here much longer." The protest is half-hearted at best, put out there because it feels like she needs to give Rory an out, but she's relieved when her daughter insists.

"When am I ever going to get a chance to see Burlington, Vermont again?"

Lorelai lets out a little amused sigh, and says, "Probably not in this lifetime."

"Well, then, it's a plan. You better find all the rocking party places, cause we're going to paint the town."

"You mean, as in, I should make sure I know where the video store is so that we'll be well supplied?" Lorelai asks with a smirk.

"Yeah, I guess that's more our speed." Rory's voice softens. "It'll be good to see you. I've missed you, Mom."

"Yeah, me too." Lorelai takes a few deep breaths. "Hey kid?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"I don't know," Lorelai hesitates. "For putting up with your hopeless mother."

She swears she can hear Rory shaking her head. "You know Mom, you're the only one who thinks you're hopeless."

Now that she's made plans with Rory, put a piece of herself out there, she feels a relaxing of the muscles in her neck and shoulders, an ever so slight lightening of the pressure she's been feeling. It's not complete relief, by any means, but it's a start. Once she's put Rory's visit on the calendar, she begins to feel like she can look more than a day or two ahead, like she can see a future that, if not rosy, is at least a life.

It's the calendar, though, that brings it back again. Another date of unmade plans, of ideas never fully formed because to have made plans for Father's Day would have meant that Luke had decided to share his fatherhood with her.

When she'd first learned of April, she'd dreamed up ideas for how to celebrate Luke's first Father's Day that involved cheesy gifts, unceremonious mocking, and a family dinner. The longer Luke had gone without introducing her to April, the more she'd stalled on those plans and tried to stop thinking about them.

After April's birthday, she'd allowed herself another bit of brainstorming before losing all hope in the face of Anna's disapproval. She's not thought about it since, but the day is looming and she can't let it go by unnoticed. Because even if he won't share it with her, she needs him to know that she understands how big a deal this is, him being a father.

And more than anything, if this is really over, she needs him to know that it's not because of April. It's not about a little girl and her father, but about two adults who can't seem to be together without hurting each other.

And so she calls, choosing a time he'll be busy in the diner and dialing the number in his apartment. This, she knows she can do; she feels she needs to call, to let him know she's thinking of him, but talking to him directly, she's sure, would undo her.

"It's pretty."

They've paused for a moment in their walk to look out over the Winooski River, and the shops and restaurants that line the banks. Lorelai glances over at Rory, who's resting her elbows jauntily on the bridge railing. Her hair has gotten so long that when she tips her head to the side it spills over her clasped hands.

Lorelai turns her gaze back to the series of small waterfalls on the river in front of her. "Yeah it is," she muses, then adds brightly, "and the shopping is pretty good too."

"So, you haven't been neglecting the consumer marketplace?" Rory quips.

"No. No worries there," Lorelai says, her smile faint.

"This is one of the Burlington hotspots, then?"

Rory's been here for less than a day, but Lorelai can tell she's probing, gently trying to find out how her mother has been managing her life in the wake of the break-up. She hasn't gone into hard-core information gathering mode yet though, so they've still got some more time to catch up superficially, and Lorelai welcomes the chance to just be with Rory for the time being before they get into the talk she's sure they both know is coming. "I'm not sure if 'hotspot' is the right word for this town, but there are some good restaurants here." She adds, by way of explanation, "I've been out with the staff a couple of times, and Paul Anka and I sometimes end up here on our walks."

"It's good that you've been having fun with them." Rory's words are warm and heartfelt, but her eyes swim with pity and concern and Lorelai finds herself unable to meet them for more than a brief moment.

"They're a great bunch of people and it's been fun to explore the town a little bit. They even," she leans in toward her daughter and whispers conspiratorially, "dragged me out bike-riding one day on the bike path."

Rory raises her eyebrow skeptically, "Really? I'm having a hard time picturing it. You were actually pedaling? You weren't just hanging out on the back of a tandem bike letting the person in the front do all the work?"

"Rory!"

"No, seriously? The closest I've ever seen you to a bike was Kirk's pedi-cab. Do you have pictures?" she teases. "Because I'm not sure anyone would believe this without photographic evidence."

Lorelai smirks wryly. "Well it's not something you need to spread around. I don't want to ruin my rep." The brightness in her voice fades at the sudden image of Luke giving a snort of disbelief and shaking his head in amusement.

Rory flashes her a look of concern, but before she can say anything, Lorelai adds with forced levity, "At least with Paul Anka I have an excuse for taking a walk, so no one thinks I'm turning into some sort of a fitness nut or anything."

"Oh, don't worry. No one will ever accuse you of that," Rory says, laughing. There's still a glimmer of something like worry in her eyes, though, as she shifts the conversation to the possibilities for a lunch stop.

The real questions don't come until later, after they've picked up their take-out Chinese for dinner and settled on the couch in front of the television.

"You've been powering through the comedy. You finished The Office already?"

Lorelai shrugs. "There aren't that many of them."

"I guess these will hold you for a while, though." Rory holds up the Friends DVD case. "You're only on season two."

"Well, I've been saving 'The One With the Prom Video' for your visit. I figured you wouldn't want to miss out on the opportunity to mock Rachel and Ross – The Hideous Teen Years."

"Awww, The one with the lobsters," Rory says with a nostalgic smile as she reaches to put the DVD in the player.

Rory's turned away so she can't see Lorelai squeeze her eyes shut briefly, and cover her sharp intake of breath with a quick sip of soda. She'd thought about skipping over Ross and Rachel, Part I, moving right past the whole 'on a break' fiasco, and on to romantically 'safer' seasons, but she'd thought with Rory here, she could tackle it. That perhaps confronting it would be better in the long run. Right now though, it doesn't seem quite that simple.

"I'm going to get another soda," she says, lifting her empty soda can. "You want one?"

Oblivious to her mother's inner turmoil, Rory nods absently. "Sure. Thanks."

With plates filled, drinks refreshed, and legs curled underneath them, they start up the DVD. Half an hour later, the plates lay empty on the coffee table and as Ross and Rachel finish their first date, Lorelai brings her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her ankles and resting her chin on her knees.

When she drops her gaze from the television and starts drawing patterns on her socked foot, Rory looks over and asks softly, "Mom, how are you doing? Really."

She doesn't answer, her only acknowledgement of the question as small sigh as she continues tracing the spaces between her toes with her index finger. She thinks about evading again, telling her that she's dealing, that it's only a matter of time, but the too-perfect television romance is making her feel vulnerable and sad, and simply too tired to play out the charade. "It's hard," she answers quietly. "It's really, really hard."

"He came up here, right?"

Lorelai just nods, her eyes squeezed shut.

Rory asks gently, "And you told him?"

Another nod. "It was…awful. Rory, I really hurt him."

"He hurt you too." Lorelai just shrugs, and Rory goes on, "Have you talked to him since then?"

"He called…we talked a few times, not really about anything, but I asked him to stop."

Rory's head tilts up at that and she asks with surprise, "Why?"

Lorelai's turned her head so that her cheek rests on one knee and she kneads her fingers while she answers. "It was just too hard. Talking to him. It made it too hard. I need to get used to not talking to him."

"But maybe you guys can…" Rory starts hopefully. "Maybe you can work it out,"

Lorelai is shaking her head even before Rory gets the words out. "I can't. It's not going to…It's just over. I killed it."

Rory is biting her lip, looking thoughtful. In an attempt to ward off encouraging platitudes, Lorelai goes on, "He's one of the best things that ever happened to me. I don't how it fell apart so completely. I think sometimes…sometimes I think this was a test – everything that happened with Luke. That fate…" Her voice trails off and she stretches out her arms in front of her. "Fate. He'd hate that. Luke would hate that, but I don't know…" Rory's looking at her with eyes full of sadness, and she needs to explain. "It was all coming at me and it was like the whole series of events was just the way that the powers-that-be were checking to see if I was really ready for all this, if I really deserved to have it all." Lorelai spreads her hands apart in a wide hopeless shrug. "And what they found out was that I wasn't. That when things get too difficult, I screw up as spectacularly as usual."

Rory tilts her head and fixes her with a skeptical gaze. "Mom, I know that David Boreanaz is back on television, and maybe that's making you have those creepy dreams where you're in an all-white room asking the higher powers to erase the experience of "Magnolia" from your mind, but he's not a vampire anymore, and those all-powerful beings were fictional." She enunciates every syllable of the last word for emphasis and as sad and forlorn as Lorelai feels, she can't help but crack a smile.

It fades, though, and she says, "I just thought we were supposed to be together, that we were 'meant to be.'" She raises her hands to make air quotes, then sighs. "But I guess we weren't."

"Says who?"

Lorelai looks up, surprised at the way that Rory's voice slices through the blanket of unhappiness that surrounds her.

"Nobody can decide that for you. You either believe in the relationship or you don't. You don't have to prove anything to anyone but yourself."

"And Luke," Lorelai adds pointedly.

Rory shakes her head. "No, he has to believe in it too, but it's not up to you. He has to do that on his own."

Lorelai narrows her eyes. "Who took my daughter and replaced her with Dr. Phil?"

Rory smirks, but then eyes her mother seriously. "It's just that you both screwed up. You both hurt each other. It can't just be about what you did or about what he wants."

With her arms still wrapped around her legs, Lorelai shrugs one shoulder, jostling her head in the process. "There's no way he could want-"

Rory cuts her off before she can finish. "Maybe, maybe not, but it's like you're not even letting yourself think about what you want."

Though her eyes are averted, she can literally feel Rory's patient gaze on her. She takes a few deep breaths. "I just want it to stop hurting so much. I don't know when I'm going to stop having to work so hard to get through the day."

Rory's only response is to slide across the sofa and wrap her arms around her mother. They stay like that for a long time, Rory silently supportive as Lorelai, for the first time in weeks, lets go of the façade of normalcy she's built around herself. Lets herself, for a brief time, not be strong.

For the rest of the weekend, they live in the same little cocoon of warmth and support. Lorelai lets herself lean on Rory, relieved that she doesn't have to pretend, and Rory lets her be whatever she needs to be: hurt, sad, strong, cheerful.

After Rory leaves, as Lorelai anticipates returning home, knowing how painful it will be, she gains strength from knowing that her daughter is in her corner. Knowing that as hard as it will be, she'll be that much closer to Rory. It allows her to actually look forward to seeing Stars Hollow, and her own inn.

She misses her inn, misses that feeling she gets when she walks in the door. Even though it's been more than two years since it opened, she still gets a warm glow of accomplishment from the thought that she and Sookie created the Dragonfly, that they've lived their dreams, or in her case, at least some of them.

The inn, too, will be a key part of rebuilding her life, using the things that are uniquely hers. It will start with some of the projects she's got on her Dragonfly to-do list: promote the inn as a location for business lunches, create an incentive program for repeat guests, and create a guide of local attractions.

During her last days in Vermont, she lets herself get excited about her job again, in a way that she's been too preoccupied to be for a while. And thinking about it takes her mind off the thing she's dreading – going home. Going back to her house to live there really and truly alone. As much as she knows she needs to conquer it, she can't get the heavy feeling of anxiety out of her gut.

When she does return to Stars Hollow, late in the afternoon on the first of July, she doesn't try to delay the pain by visiting Sookie or 'checking in' at the Dragonfly. She goes straight home. Once she's unlocked the door and let Paul Anka loose inside, she heads straight for the kitchen, forcing herself to take it in, knowing that the room has now been relegated back to take-out and frozen waffles. She doesn't linger too long; she's got a whole house to conquer.

Rory's room isn't on her planned itinerary, because it would be more a refuge than anything else, but it's home to memories of Luke's reassurance, of the way that he served as a rock to her during the entirety of her fight with Rory. So she goes inside and runs her fingers along the back edge of the armchair that still sits in the corner, before turning and walking to the living room.

She spends a few more minutes in the living room. It's been the center of so much of what they started to build here. Nights curled on the sofa watching movies, nights curled together in their bed during the renovation, and prior to dating, the place they'd had so many warm moments of friendship. She lets the memories flow around her, creating little eddy currents in her wake as she slowly circles the room. When she feels like she's seen them, experienced them once again, she mentally packs them away, then takes a breath and climbs the stairs.

It's hardest tackling the memories in this room – the one in which she'd made room for him. These memories more are intimate and personal than the rest. Times that she bared herself, literally and figuratively, to the man she loves. Times that he bared himself to her. She thinks that the memories are that much more powerful because this had always been her room, her own refuge, until she'd let Luke in.

A few minutes later, when she brings in her bags and unpacks her clothes, instead of shoving aside the clothes she'd left behind, the ones that remind her so strongly of him, she forces herself to mingle all the clothes together. All except for the wedding dress, which remains in the far recesses of the closet.

And later, after she's eaten the pizza she'd had delivered and exhausted her interest in television, she forces herself to come back upstairs and sleep in the bed with the linens they'd chosen together, next to 'his' nightstand, with pillow cases that she swears still carry a bit of his scent.

Tucked under the covers, she's having trouble remembering how she slept before she and Luke were together. Did she stick to one side of the bed more than the other or did she sprawl across the middle? Did she curl in the fetal position or lay flat on her back? It's even more difficult to remember the nights 'before Luke,' considering that this isn't the same bed she'd slept in then. This is 'their' bed, the one they chose together to replace the hideousness that had been his grandmother's furniture.

She'd gotten so used to living and sleeping alone, even when she was 'sleeping with' someone, that she'd been surprised at how quickly she'd gotten used to waking up next to Luke. Sliding over and wrapping herself around his warm body, the weight of his arm around her waist, kisses across her neck and shoulders as prelude to sleepy sex. She felt like she finally got it, what it meant to really have someone, a partner. She'd finally understood what she'd been missing all those years, and at the same time understood that the comfort and safety she'd felt was not because of having someone, but because of who she'd had.

As she lies there, she wonders if perhaps this is a touch too much torture, if she's going overboard with her need to conquer her sadness. She's just not sure there's any place she could escape it.

Over the next few days, it's easy to bury herself in work. There's a lot of catch-up to do and when the only reason to go home is to feed and walk Paul Anka, she finds she doesn't spend much time there. It's a bit of odd chance then, that she's home in grungy sweats and an old t-shirt when Luke comes by with coffee and pie.

She's baffled by his presence – by the kind gesture and by the sudden appearance of his bitterness. She can't make sense of the signals he's sending and, she realizes, it's possible that he doesn't know himself what to think.

When he tells her he can't decide whether to kiss her or never speak to her again, she's sure he doesn't know how hard it is for her to stand there, to hold herself back from leaping into his arms, begging him to take her back. In that moment, she thinks, she'd prefer what she'd had – being an afterthought in his life – than this emptiness.

But she can't have him back like that, not when the anger and hate are as present in his expression as the love. She can't look at him and see that in his eyes, can't let that be enough for her. And so, she just stands there, unable to move, afraid to ask for the one thing she wants, knowing it's the one thing she can't have.

Finally, she asks if those are the only options, and after a bit of stumbling over words, he invites her to the diner. In the resulting silence it feels like they've made a sort of unspoken compromise, that they've agreed to try to figure out how to be without being together.

It takes her four days to carry out her end of the bargain and will herself back to the diner. She chooses the time carefully. The diner routines are so much a part of her that she knows just the time when the diner won't be totally empty, but won't be full of inquisitive eyes either.

It's awkward and weird, and necessary, she thinks. He needs to know that she accepts this – the consequences of their actions – that she doesn't have any unreasonable hopes. The money she leaves him on the table is her way of saying that she understands that they need to move on, and get past this.

After all, he'd said that even when he'd hated her, he'd loved her. Loved. That says it all, she thinks.

To be continued