A/N: I'd like to thank you all for hanging in here with me on this story. We are drawing to the end, but alas, I couldn't quite get there yet. Bear with me, there should only be one more chapter to go.
Reasonable and Customary Charges
April 2001
She told herself that she needed to pull on some Nikes and just do it. She told herself that it was better to know now and get it over with, that way she'd know how to proceed. She sat the in gazebo for a minute, simply watching him through the window. She could make it quick, almost painless. She had to know, because not knowing was making her crazy. Or, it could be the sleep deprivation. Lorelai forced herself to look away from the diner, her eyes trailing random passersby as they went about their business, skipping along like the thoughts skittering through her head.
I hope Rory slept well. I hope she snuggled down in those five hundred thread count sheets and pressed her peaches and cream cheek deep into that eiderdown pillow, she thought bitterly. One of us should sleep.
Lorelai sighed, looking down at the toes of her distinctly non-Nike shoes as she reminded herself that she wasn't really mad at Rory. She was a little, and she felt that she was justified in that. The running away part was pretty bad. And running away to her parents' house, well, that was almost unthinkable. It also made Lorelai feel a touch resentful, because now she would feel even more indebted to her parents. Pile a heaping helping of disappointment on top of that little bit of anger and the touch resentment, and that would pretty much the stew that was bubbling away inside of her at the moment. She was a little mad, a little resentful and a little disappointed in Rory. And herself. Rory and Lorelai, Lorelai and Rory; they were always tangled up in each other, and she was disappointed in both of them. Lorelai also knew that if Rory actually was anything like her mother; she'd take the anger and resentment a lot easier than the disappointment.
No matter how badly she wanted to stay out of it, Lorelai couldn't help blaming Dean for part of this whole mess. It boggled her mind that a boy who seemed so completely enamored with her beautiful daughter could treat her this way. She didn't know how he could stand to stay away from her. She'd never comprehend how someone who so clearly wore his heart on his sleeve could suddenly pull an about face and completely cut that person from his life. Cut Rory out of his life. It was a complete mystery to her.
Lorelai looked up and saw Luke standing at the end of the counter staring out at the square. Speaking of mysteries, she thought with a wry smile. For a moment, she thought he saw her. When she tried to lift her hand to wave, she found she couldn't make it budge.
She couldn't move. The disappointment was weighing her down, keeping her planted on this bench instead of moving forward with her life as she knew she should. She felt that she was a disappointment in her own failures as a mother, as a lover and as a friend. She accepted the sharp stab of disappointment she felt at the stunning discovery that her oh-so-grown-up little girl wasn't quite as mature as they both had thought; but a vague, aching disappointment gnawing in her stomach told her that maybe that her little girl's mother may not be all that grown up either. Worst of all, was the disappointment she felt in knowing that Rory had run to the one place she knew Lorelai would never understand, and she did it to hurt her. She thought of the way Luke glanced over at her whenever Rachel touched him or he draped his arm over the other woman's shoulders, and Lorelai couldn't help thinking that he was rubbing it in a little. Suddenly, it seemed that everyone she loved wanted to hurt her somehow, and the very thought it that made tears burn behind her eyes.
Okay, so, she had a few issues to work out with Rory; that much was obvious. But for all of the anger, resentment and disappointment mixing and mingling inside of her, the one thing that Lorelai was absolutely sure of was that she and Rory would work it out. They'd talk, maybe shout a little, but in the end, it would all be okay.
She wasn't so sure about Luke. Lorelai found herself staring at the diner again, watching dispassionately as Luke moved from table to table. She needed to know if they were too far gone. She needed to know, but she didn't want to know. What if he said they were? What if he told her that they couldn't be friends anymore? What if he said that she shouldn't come in there, that he couldn't be a part of her life, their lives, anymore? she fretted.
It was almost too painful to think about, but at the same time, it was all she could think about. How would she explain that to Rory? How could she even begin to make sense of it all? Didn't her realize how much that would hurt? Did he even care?
Lorelai shook her head, trying desperately to dislodge the disturbing thoughts before they took root. No, I just need to go in there and get it over with. Be quick about it, like ripping off a band-aid or yanking out a loose tooth. Better to just get it over with, that way I can figure out what to do from there.
Lorelai stood up and walked slowly from the gazebo, picking up speed as she crossed the grass, cutting straight across to Luke's. The bells announced her arrival and Luke stepped out of the kitchen just as she dropped down onto her usual stool. She saw him draw up short, and then his brow creased as he looked at her.
"Geez, what happened to you?" he asked with his usual aplomb.
"A happy 'how do you do' to you too," she muttered.
Luke reached for a mug and the coffee pot and poured without bothering to ask. "Sorry, you just look bad."
"Well I didn't get much sleep last night," she said tiredly.
"Why not?"
Lorelai lifted one eyebrow as she looked up. When he stared back impassively, she blurted, "Rory and I had a fight and she ran away."
"What!" he gasped. "Where? Did you…" he began, panic coloring his voice.
"She's fine. She's at my mother's."
"Sheesh, throw that information in with the first part. You'll scare a person to death," he grumbled as he grabbed his trusty rag and began swiping away at the counter.
Lorelai watched him for a moment, oddly soothed by the familiar movements of someone else's nervous habit. "You know, I got in my car three times to go get her. I drove halfway there and drove back, drove halfway there and drove back. I actually ran of gas driving halfway there and back," she confessed.
Luke nodded his understanding. "She'll cool off and come home."
"I know," she sighed. "Just, breaking up with Dean has been so hard on her."
"Yeah."
"I just hate that she's going through this. I mean, she's such a good kid. She's so nice to everyone, she cares about everyone. And she's walking around in this unbelievable pain and there's nothing I can do about it," she said helplessly. Lorelai looked up and saw the same futility reflected back at her in Luke's eyes. "She still won't talk to me. She won't tell me what happened."
Luke's jaw tightened as he gripped the rag tightly. "I'll tell you what happened. That Dean kid is a jerk and he finally let her know it."
Closing her eyes for just a second, Lorelai gave in to the pleasure of finally having a comrade in arms back. "I wish I could just pinch his head right off," she hissed.
"I'll help," Luke offered with a nod.
Shaking her head she said, "I warned him. I warned him when I first met him, if he hurt her…" Lorelai trailed off, knowing that there was nothing that she could do to Dean, just as there had been nothing she could do to shield Rory from the pain. "Agh. Maybe I could key his car," she said lamely.
"Or better yet, you can key Taylor's car and tell him Dean did it," Luke suggested.
Lorelai brightened at the thought, glad to have him on board for today's round of hatred and loathing. "Yeah, that'd be good."
Luke nodded emphatically. "You can key Taylor's car, tell him Dean did it and also tell him that Dean littered and walks his dog without a leash."
"He'll run him out of town," she crowed.
"Good."
She smiled at him warmly, her cheeks flushing when his smile returned the same affection. She glanced down at her barely touché coffee mug and said, "All right. I should go. Rory's probably out of school by now and I want to be home in case she decides to call," she explained as she reached for her purse.
"Coffee's on the house."
"Oh, thanks," she said softly as she stood up. Forcing her eyes up from the formica counter, she noticed a little something different about Luke. "Hey, is that the belt I bought you?"
"Oh! Yeah, yeah, yeah. The old one broke," he said offhandedly.
Lorelai smiled smugly. "Oh, lucky you happened to have a spare."
"Yeah," he agreed as she started for the door. "Hey," he called out, stopping her in her tracks. "She'll be home soon," he reassured her.
Lorelai nodded silently, and then slipped out of the door, exhaling her relief as she started for home.
****
Luke looked down at the belt tucked into the loops of his grease spattered jeans and wondered how someone went about actually 'breaking' a leather belt. Granted, his old one was worn and cracked and the leather was getting frayed along the edges, but it was far from broken. He's knows that he should feel guilty for pulling this belt out of the Bloomingdale's bags piled on his sofa. He does feel guilty for waiting until Rachel went into the bathroom before winding his own belt into a tight coil and hiding it behind a sledge hammer that has sat undisturbed in his closet since construction on the diner ended. The bells rang out, jolting him from his thoughts, and a fresh rush of guilt took form in a pink flush that sufficed his cheeks.
"Hey," Rachel said softly as she walked toward him, her camera swinging from her neck. "Still not feeling so good, huh?" she asked, pressing her fingertips to his warm cheek.
"Hey," he croaked, and then cleared his throat. "I'm okay."
"Throat still sore?" she asked worriedly.
"Uh, um, a little," he answered as he stepped back. When she let her hand fall to her side, he shrugged and forced a weak smile. "I don't want you to catch whatever this is."
Rachel nodded. "You should sleep in the bed. You couldn't have gotten very much rest last night."
Shaking his head adamantly, Luke gave her wrist a gentle squeeze. "Sorry about dinner."
"Dinner was fine," she said quickly.
"I know I wasn't very good company, and it was your birthday," he said, another flash of guilt twisting the knife in his gut a little harder.
"We'll have a do over when you're feeling better."
Luke nodded again. "Good. That would be good."
"You go upstairs and lie down for a little bit. I'll keep an eye on things down here," she told him.
"You don't have to…"
"Luke, go," she said firmly as she lifted the camera from her chest and ducked out from under the strap. "Take this up for me?"
Luke took the camera from her, cradling it gently but securely in both hands. "Come and get me if it gets busy?" he asked.
"Go. Caesar and I can handle it. You shouldn't be down here if you aren't feeling well, anyway."
"Thanks," he said gruffly as he turned on his heel and walked quickly toward the curtain.
Anxious to make his escape and faintly excited about having his own apartment to himself for a while, he climbed the stairs quickly. He placed her camera on the table, knowing that she was particular about her equipment, and inexplicably wary of placing it in the soft leather camera bag that Lorelai had picked out as Rachel's birthday present. The guilt ground away at his insides as he looked down at the bag.
He didn't know why he did it, but before he could stop himself, he lifted the bag and held it up to his nose; inhaling deeply, just as Lorelai had. His fingers tightened on the buttery smooth leather, and then flexed, releasing the bag as if it had seared his skin. He winced as it dropped to the chair with a thud, and closed his eyes, praying there hadn't been lenses or something breakable in the bottom. He pawed through it quickly, reassuring himself that he hadn't harmed anything, and then backed away from the table holding his hands up in surrender.
Luke trudged to the bed, dropping down onto the squishy soft mattress and feeling it bounce back under his weight. He didn't bother removing his boots before falling back onto the pillow and staring up at the ceiling. He wanted to close his eyes. He wanted to so badly that they ached. But he couldn't close his eyes. If he did, he'd see Lorelai standing there with his shirt in her hands, he'd feel her fingers brushing against his chest, he'd taste her lips on his.
So close. They had come so close to breaking one of the rules, probably the biggest rule. They'd come within centimeters, no, probably millimeters of smashing that rule to pieces. All he knew for sure was that it was a hell of a lot closer than inches. Luke covered his eyes with his hand, still refusing to close them, but shielding them from the sunlight that streamed through his windows.
Luke knew he'd already broken some of the rules. He knew he'd definitely broken the second one. He was living his life ruled by guilt. He wanted to tie Lorelai up in so many strings that she'd never get free. And worst of all, he had let himself have hopes and expectations. The third rule, the one about the head games, well, they had both tossed that one out of the window a long time ago. He could admit that, even if Lorelai couldn't. And then yesterday, they'd come within a breath, literally, of squashing the simplest rule. He knew without a doubt that in that moment neither of them had particularly cared if Rachel was in the picture or not.
This didn't sit well with Luke. Luke liked to follow the rules. He liked an orderly life. He liked to know that things would be the way that they were supposed to be. For that reason alone, he clung steadfast and true to rule number one. He would be her friend, just her friend, always her friend, for as long as she wanted him to be. For his own sanity, he held on tightly to his own rule too. He wouldn't chase her down, he wouldn't seek her out, and he wouldn't beg her to love him the way that he loved her. He'd done that once, and he didn't think he could go through that again. No, he'd learned that lesson long ago from the woman that was at that moment tying his apron strings snugly around her own waist.
He'd tracked her down in San Francisco, just before she was set to leave for the Philippines on a free-lance assignment. He sat alone in a house that had once held his entire family, and realized that he was the only one left. In a moment of profound loneliness, or possibly simple weakness, he'd called the number she had left in her note.
He'd called that number, his voice breaking as he told her that he loved her and needed her, that he wanted to marry her, and begged her to come home. He'd listened quietly as she listed all of her reasons for going. He'd swallowed the lump in his throat and whispered the only word he could form when she asked him to come with her to see the world, 'No.'
For months after that phone call he'd received postcards from far-flung corners of the world that sounded like an international version of David Allen Coe's 'Please Come to Boston,' but in reverse. She asked him to join her for Thai in Thailand, she wanted him to walk the black sand beaches on Bali with her, and offered to teach him to surf off the coast of Australia. Each postcard was signed with a simple, 'R' and the same telephone number he had dialed months before.
Late one night, the phone jolted him from his sleep. When he barked his greeting, she simply laughed, her voice flowing warm and soft over the line, seeping into his pores. "Have I tempted you yet?" she asked at last.
"No," he answered honestly.
"Luke, you say that you love me, that you want me to be happy…"
"I do," he insisted.
"This is what makes me happy. I tried it your way, can't you at least try it mine?" she asked reasonably.
Luke chewed the thought over for a moment and then answered softly, "No."
"So, it's your way or no way at all," Rachel demanded.
"It's not that," he tried to protest.
"Oh, yes it is," she snapped, and the conversation spiraled out of control from there.
He'd curled his hands into fists as he sat with the phone tucked against his shoulder and his eyes screwed tightly shut, letting her words roll off of him as she railed at him; calling him selfish, narrow-minded, and even misogynistic. He'd made a mental note to look that one up as she claimed he wanted her to abandon her dreams to live his. He'd sat as still as a stone as she detailed all of the ways that his dreams were too small for her. And when she finally took a breath, he exhaled slowly and rubbed his hand across his eyes.
"You're right," he told her gruffly.
His admission gave her pause. "I am?" Rachel asked.
"You need to live your life the way you want to live it."
A hiss of static punctuated his statement as the silence hung between them. "Without you?" she asked almost fearfully.
Luke wet his lips and nodded, knowing that she couldn't see him. He cleared his throat and said, "My roots are here. I've never wanted to be anywhere but here."
"You've never tried," she argued.
"I don't have to try. I like having roots, Rachel. I need them."
"Those aren't roots, Luke. Those are cement blocks tied to your feet," she said angrily.
"Maybe to you they are, but they're my cement blocks." When she seemed to have no reply to that, he sighed softly and hung his head. "Goodbye, Rachel. Thanks for calling, travel safe," he said quietly before hanging up.
Luke lowered his hand, pulling on his cheeks as he blinked into the late afternoon light and stroking his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. Over and over again, they went through the same thing. Over and over again he'd let himself believe that this time things would be different. Over and over again, she'd proven him wrong. Or, right, depending on how he looked at it. And now, she was back again, and even Luke had to admit that this attempt seemed more sincere.
Rolling onto his side, he flung one arm up over his head to shield his eyes from the sun. He lay still, focusing on breathing in and exhaling slowly. As his pulse slowed and his breathing grew deep and even, Luke wondered if this new sincerity was because she sensed that she'd lost her grip on his strings. He couldn't help but think that this time was indeed different. He also couldn't help thinking that Rachel was trying harder because she knew that, this time, he wouldn't.
****
It was stunning to her. She'd tried so hard. She'd done everything that her parents had never done. When Rory was still an infant, Lorelai had promised herself that her daughter would never doubt her love for her. She vowed that Rory would never be made to feel that she was a disappointment, that her best efforts weren't good enough, or that she should try to be anything other than who she was. She'd tried so hard to be everything that her own parents were not; supportive, understanding, accepting. Maybe that's why it hurt so badly to know that she had failed the one person she never dreamed she would let down.
I would hate to think that I raised a kid who couldn't say I love you.
Lorelai winced, using the blow of her own words to propel her over onto the other pillow, closing her eyes as she pressed her cheek to the cool cotton pillowcase.
My point is that it's scary to be in love, that much I know, but it's also wonderful and special… Such sage understanding, such open acceptance, she mocked herself mercilessly.
Rory had hit the nail right on the head as she asked, 'Are you ready for that moment when it happens?' Lorelai had answered as honestly as she could, 'I'm working on it.'
Of course, she'd had to deflect it with a joke about the dress she'd be wearing. If she were going to be totally honest, she'd have to admit that she probably wouldn't have been wearing anything at all if she had dared to let her heart speak.
"I know what you do to me," she had whispered, brushing his softly curling hair back over his ear. "You make me feel…"
"Loved," Lorelai whispered to her pillow. She opened her eyes and tried to blink back the rush of tears that threatened as she found the other side of that pillow empty.
There in the dark, all alone in her room, Lorelai Gilmore wished that she had the courage to have said what her heart wanted to say in that moment. She burrowed into her pillow, wondering if it would have made any difference if she had. Would her feelings for Luke, and whatever feelings he may have for her hold up against his love for Rachel? Would the promise of her very best be enough for him? If he knew who she really was, would he be disappointed?
Lorelai knew that these questions didn't matter anymore. She hadn't let her heart have its say. Instead, she'd guarded it jealously, cloaking it in pride, and hiding it under a thin veneer of flirtation, seduction and false bravado. She promised herself that she wouldn't make the same mistake again. She vowed that she'd be open to the possibility of love, even if it meant the probability that she could be found wanting. She had to learn to take the risk, because there was more at stake here than the possibility of a broken heart.
Children learn from their parents. Although she had done her very best to ensure that her daughter never doubted her love for her, Lorelai knew without a shadow of the doubt that she had failed Rory in the larger lesson. She hugged her pillow tightly as she decided that it was time to break out her old copy of Abbey Road, and let the Fab Four school them both in one of life's most important lessons.
It's time for the Gilmore Girls to put their fears behind them, she told herself firmly. Because in the end, John and Paul want is to know that the love you take is equal to the love you make.
Lorelai smiled as she closed her eyes as she flopped over onto her back and flung her arms wide across the empty bed, singing softly, "Ahhh-ahhhh," as George Harrison's guitar gently wept the accompaniment in her head.
****
He dreamed he was smothering. Every night, the same dream. The first night, he tried to tell himself that it was because he woke up face down on the couch, sucking in the sour taste of ancient leather. The next night, he woke up coughing, choking on something that wasn't there.
The coughing turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because it earned him another night on the couch. That night, he saw them; the pleased smiles on their faces as they passed by one by one peering down at him, telling him how happy he must be. Luke tried to tell them that they had it all wrong, but the words wouldn't come out. He tried to climb out of the deep hole he had dug for himself with his own two hands, clawing at a sheer wall of dirt that disintegrated into dust the moment he touched it.
The following morning he tried to replicate the cough, but unfortunately, he had never been a very good actor. He saw Rachel's eyes cut to him as she rolled from his bed and padded toward the bathroom. The moment, the door closed behind her, he dropped back down onto the couch and flung his arms up over his head, letting a wave of shame wash over him. When she stepped out of the bathroom, he stood up and smiled as he passed her.
"How are you feeling?" she asked solicitously.
"Better today," he answered, closing himself into the bathroom before she could question him further.
Once the morning rush had passed, Luke ducked into the kitchen to tell Caesar that he'd be out for a couple of hours. He went up to the apartment to retrieve his toolbox and found Rachel sitting at the table sliding contact sheets into plastic sleeves. "Hey," he said, his steps slowing as he entered the apartment.
"How's it going?" she asked.
Luke stifled a smirk at her question and he walked to the closet. "I promised Rory I'd fix that loose gutter on the house. It scrapes against the house when the wind blows and creeps her out," he said with a shrug. "I figured I'd take care of that before the lunch rush."
"Oh, okay."
"What's your plan for the day?" he asked as he hefted his toolbox.
"Um, I thought I'd shoot a couple of rolls down by the lake, see if the Armbrusters feel like walking the walk."
"The Armbrusters?"
"Mean duck family," she said with a shrug.
"Ah, yes. Okay, well, I'll see you later," he said as he leaned down and pecked a brotherly kiss to her forehead.
"Yeah, see you later," Rachel said, her voice trailing off as the door closed behind him.
It was so quiet at Lorelai's house. Rory was at school and Lorelai at work, and for the first time in weeks he felt like he could breathe freely.
He dreamed again that night. His friends and neighbors filed past, one after another, telling him how happy he must be and how happy they were for him. He wanted to tell them, he needed to make them understand; but when he opened his mouth he found himself choking on a mouthful of dirt and debris. He sat up in bed, his body wracked with coughs. Rachel sat up too; her hand rubbing his back, trying to soothe away the spasms. Luke swung his legs over the side and lurched up off of the bed, shuffling to the sink to run a glass of water straight from the tap. Rachel watched as he gulped the entire glass down in three large gulps.
"Are you okay?" she asked as he slammed the glass down on the counter a tad too forcefully.
"I just, uh, there's this…" he said, gesturing vaguely to his throat.
Rachel stood up and took her pillow from the bed. His brow furrowed as he watched her carry it to the couch. The leather creaked as she stretched out and pulled his mother's afghan down over her legs. "Get some sleep," she said firmly, settling into her pillow.
Luke nodded once and then said, "Sorry I woke you up," as he padded back to the bed.
He had an early bread delivery the next morning. By the time he had everything put away, Rachel came down the stairs. "Hey. Sorry, I tried to be quiet," he said gruffly.
"I just thought I'd help out this morning," she said, accepting the mug of coffee he poured for her.
Luke paused for a moment and then said, "Hey, that would be great. Listen, Caesar should be here in a minute, and if you don't mind helping out, I thought I'd just run over and fix that loose porch rail at Lorelai's before someone breaks their neck."
"Porch rail?"
"Yeah, it's really loose. It shouldn't take long, and I would have taken care of it yesterday, but I wanted to get back before lunch," he told her, trying to sound casual. "I've got more deliveries this afternoon, so if it's okay with you, I could do that now and get back before breakfast is over."
"Um, okay," Rachel answered with a nod. "Sure, why not?"
"Great," Luke said as he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. "I'll just; I'll go take care of that now." Within minutes, he had dashed upstairs, grabbed his toolbox and was out the door.
Once he was away from the diner, he took a deep breath. His steps slowed as he drank in the cool spring air, taking his time and relishing the quiet of the morning. His efforts were rewarded when a delightfully rumpled and definitely cranky Lorelai Gilmore stepped out onto her porch to read him the riot act for waking her up. He considered the fact that she had accidentally locked herself out of her own house a special added bonus, and greatly appreciated the diversion.
The dream came again, night after night. Each night, he saw a little more, fought a little harder, and tried in vain to force the words from his mouth. Each day, he found another excuse to leave the diner, finding that the fifteen stairs that separated the dining room from his apartment weren't quite enough of a buffer for his lungs to fully expand. Some roof shingles needed to be replaced at Lorelai's house. The porch rail had to be fixed again due to an unfortunate incident that happened when he tried to replace the shingles.
Every time he turned around, Rachel was there. She smiled at him; she petted him, and tried to cajole him into conversation. She made plans to have lunch with him, and she put his milk carton in the refrigerator door instead of on the shelf where he liked it. Every day, he felt a little more hemmed in. Every night, the dirt walls closed in around him. His bathroom was a dark room. When there wasn't a couple of dozen prints clothes pinned to the string she had strung across the tiny room, there were strategically hung bras made of lace and skimpy pairs of panties taking their place. It was enough to make a guy's head explode.
That morning, he turned around holding a carafe of decaf in one hand and a pot of regular in the other, and walked right into her. Rachel had laughed and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly right there in the middle of the breakfast rush. When he saw Miss Patty's beaming smile, he almost choked. When Patty whispered that she was so happy for him, Luke knew that he had to get out. He slammed the pots down on the burners and rushed around his diner like a man possessed, pushing table after table of customers through as quickly as humanly possible. The moment the crowd thinned, he called to Caesar that he was going out, and mumbled an acknowledgement to Rachel as she reminded him of their lunch date.
The moment he was past the square, he broke into a jog, making it to Lorelai's within two minutes. He circled the house and trotted up the back steps. Luke grimaced as he remembered that he had fixed the lock, and started to check the windows to see if any of them could be breached. When he struck out, he walked back to the door and frowned as he stared down at the cheap lock that had been there for years. One well placed flat head screw driver and a couple of whacks with his hammer later, the lock was toast and Luke stood in her sunny kitchen.
He made a mental note to replace the back door lock, and then carried his tool box upstairs, intent on fixing the drip, drip, drip under the bathroom sink that Rory had complained about earlier that week. He stopped in the bathroom doorway, his eyes locked on the lacy bras slung over the shower curtain rod to dry. Luke inhaled deeply, unable to deny the fact that these particular bras were having an entirely different effect on him than the ones in his own apartment. He recognized the blue one for sure. He thought he knew the pink one, but it was possible that it just looked similar to one he had seen before. But the red one, that was new, at least, new to him. He set the toolbox on the floor and placed the hammer and screw driver he had used to break into her house carefully on top. He almost reached out to touch the tantalizing scrap of lace and satin, but yanked his hand back at the last moment. Thankfully, there was a tiny part of him that realized that breaking into his friend's house and then pawing her underwear, was somewhere just beyond creepy.
Luke hurriedly stepped over his tools and the toolbox, anxious to remove himself from temptation. Backing into the hallway, he spied a stack of boxes near the attic access and smirked as he saw read Rory's neat lettering labeling them as Christmas decorations. He carried the boxes up to the attic, storing them close to the steps so that he would have easy access to them when Lorelai inevitably asked him to bring them down again. As he closed the narrow door, he heard the front door close and Lorelai call out a cautious, 'Hello?'
He was busted. He knew that he was busted in every way possible, so he did his best to take it like a man. He listened to the lecture, pushing back his masculine pride and clamping down on the simmering anger inside of him as she reasonably, but relentlessly, pointed out every way that he was failing in his relationship with Rachel. He knew logically that she was just trying to be a good friend, but there was something about Lorelai that made him itch to be illogical. He knew that she was right, that the way that he was avoiding Rachel was not the right thing to do, but a perverse part of him didn't mind being wrong.
That perverse part of him, one that was growing larger and louder as each day passed, wanted to say, 'Screw Rachel' and 'Screw Lorelai'. He wanted to tell them both to take their advice and their logic and their reasons for screwing him over literally and figuratively, and shove them straight up their shapely little asses. That perverse part of him wanted to pack Rachel's bags for her and drive her to the airport. That perverse part of him wanted to find some other girl, maybe a blonde this time, and park her on Lorelai's favorite stool as a permanent fixture in his life.
But he wouldn't do that. As much as he may want to stick it to both of them, it simply wasn't in him. He listened to Lorelai's lecture with half an ear, nodding along in all the right places, he thanked her as he stood to leave, and then he went home to Rachel; all the while trying to psyche himself up enough to decide whether to be in it or not, once and for all.
That night, he dreamed the dream again. That night, he saw her. Patty and Babette and Kirk filed by. Taylor even stopped to wish him well with his impending happiness, making a snide comment about how he hoped that Rachel could improve Luke's disposition. Andrew and Sy and even Mrs. Slutsky from next door passed by; each smiling, each congratulating him on his newfound happiness as he continued to claw at the narrow dirt walls that surrounded him.
Each handful of dirt crumbled to his feet, burying his boots and weighing them down so that he couldn't move. He opened his mouth to call for help, to tell them that they were all wrong, and plead with them to get him out of there. That's when he saw her.
Lorelai and Rory stood above him smiling brightly, their blue eyes twinkling with delight. Then Rachel appeared; taking Rory's place next to Lorelai. Her smile was softer, filled with affection and nostalgia. Suddenly, Lorelai clutched Rachel's arms, pushing her out in front of her, almost using her as a shield.
Here it is, right in front of you. Just take it. Take the plunge. She could be ready. Just jump in and believe her.
He opened his mouth to answer, but instead, Lorelai gave Rachel a gentle nudge. Rachel jumped down into the hole with him, and Luke caught her, shaking his head in denial as her arms wound tightly around his neck.
She's crazy about you. And if her worst trait is she's a milk whore, you have it pretty good. You just need to give this situation a fair chance.
Luke clawed at Rachel's arms, trying to pull them from his neck, but she held on tight, locking him in a stranglehold. He looked up and saw Lorelai beaming down at him as she tossed a shovelful of dirt into the hole. Soon the rest of the town joined in, quickly burying them up to their knees and then to their thighs.
Panic rising in his chest, Luke shook his head and called out, "No! No! Lorelai, no!" He could feel the dirt and debris choking him as he sat up in bed, coughing to clear his airway as he shook his head adamantly, trying just as hard to clear his head.
"What happened?" Rachel asked quietly as she patted his back.
"Dream," he gasped as he rolled out of bed and stumbled for the sink.
Rachel watched warily as he downed one glass of water and then quickly refilled it. "A dream about Lorelai?" she asked cautiously.
Luke shook his head and quickly said, "No, not about her. She was there."
"Oh. Well, I guess that makes sense, you've been seeing her a lot lately," Rachel said slowly.
"I see her a lot all the time," Luke answered defensively.
"No, yeah, I mean, you've been doing stuff for her," Rachel amended.
"I've always done stuff for her."
"I know," Rachel said as she stood up. "Luke, honestly, I'm not trying to pick a fight," she assured him.
"Sounds like it."
"I'm not."
Luke ran his hand tiredly over his face and then sighed as he glanced at the clock. "I need to go back to sleep. I have early deliveries in the morning. I'll take the couch so I don't bother you anymore."
"You don't bother me," she said softly.
"I'll just, I'll take the couch," he said gruffly, retrieving his pillow and carrying it over to the worn leather sofa.
Rachel squinted at him through the darkness. "Okay. Goodnight."
"Night," Luke murmured, and then stretched out on his side, cradling his head on his arm and closing his eyes as he took a deep breath, just to be sure he could.
He knew he shouldn't have been surprised to see Lorelai show up at the town meeting with the teacher guy. He figured that he should have known. Normally, he knew, but this time, things were a little fuzzy. Her wardrobe hadn't changed much, and that was the usually the first indicator. She never said anything, and he hadn't picked up any bits or pieces that fell from the grapevine; so when he looked up and saw the dark haired teacher guy slip into the seat next to Lorelai, he knew that he shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. Luke cussed himself for choosing a stupid town meeting as his excuse to escape. Now all he wanted was for it to be over.
The moment Taylor banged his gavel, something that felt strangely like a french fry hit him in the back of the head. Luke turned to glare at her, but Lorelai simply smiled, holding out the bag of fries from JoJo's as she asked, "Do you want some fries? We have extra."
His eyes cut to the teacher guy as he shook his head. "Nah, Rachel's minding the store so I should probably get going," he told her, trying to play it cool.
Lorelai grinned as he stood up to leave. "Yeah, I agree."
"I knew you would," he grumbled as he slid out of the row, averting his head as he saw the guy lean over and kiss Lorelai on the lips.
Luke's jaw tensed, and then he flexed his fingers, determined to not let them curl into a fist. He jogged down the steps of the dance studio, his eyes focused intently on the diner, and telling himself what a lucky guy he was that a woman like Rachel was waiting there for him.
****
Lorelai felt good about things for the first time in weeks. She and Rory had talked, really talked. And, in doing so, Lorelai not only learned some very important things about her daughter, but also about herself. She liked that. She and Max were moving forward after weeks of telephone interviews, and he was feeling comfortable enough to commit to an actual dinner date. And then another. And then, he agreed to come to a town meeting with them. All of a sudden, Lorelai Gilmore found herself in the middle of a real live relationship, and she had to admit, she thought that she was doing much better with it this time around. She liked that too.
Luke had been coming around more, fixing little things around the house. She liked that most of all. She liked knowing that, no matter what happened between them, their friendship had survived. She liked coming home and seeing that he had been there. And, she was proud of herself. When Lorelai realized that he was coming to her to hide from Rachel, she only gloated for a moment, and did so very quietly. On the inside, where no one could see.
She was proud that when her friend Luke found himself at a crossroads, she could be there for him, truly be there as a friend. Yes, she was proud of the advice that she had given him. It made her feel useful. She knew that only she could convince him that it was okay for him to be happy, that it was all right for him to have hope once again. And after years of Luke being the one to do most of the giving, Lorelai was more than happy to return the favor, even if it felt a little something like a knife in the gut.
But then, there he was, standing in her house dropping bombs on her and raining nuclear fallout all over her personal ticker tape parade. Her heart stopped for what felt like one full minute, and then her curiosity kicked into overdrive. He said Rachel had left, but the only words she could muster was a string of breathless platitudes. His typically Luke-ish response about Rachel having her reasons made her want to punch him in the mouth. The fact that Rachel was gone and Luke was standing there in front of her looking not at all heartbroken, made her want to kiss that mouth and make it all better, but not until after she committed the assault.
And then Max showed up. She wanted to scream. She wanted to shout at him as he made lame jokes about trying to be late. She wanted to push him out of the door, across the porch, down the steps and back into his car. She wanted to scream at both of them. She wanted to grab Luke by the shoulders and scream questions at him until he finally deigned to give her an answer.
Of course, she didn't do any of that. See how mature she had become in one short week? No, she introduced the two men to each other, and then stepped back, her eyes widening in shock when a pissing match, the likes of which she had never seen before, broke out in her foyer. Her eyes darted from Luke to Max and then back again as they one-upped each other, neither man backing down as they tried to best each other again and again. She stood back, watching like a spectator at Wimbledon as each man returned each salvo the other lobbed, trying to smash their point home. She had to smother a smile as Luke made his points concerning longevity and proximity. At the moment, Max seemed to think that he had the inside track and he had no qualms about letting Luke know it. Lorelai had to concede that Max's certainty was not wholly misplaced. At least, not until she knew a little bit more about what happened between Luke and Rachel. Then, she'd have to figure out what to do, and if there was anything to do.
The minute Luke left, Max lit into her. Lorelai tried to deflect his questions, stunned that he read the 'vibe' between her and Luke so easily, and slightly panicked over their apparent transparency. As he persisted, her mind raced ahead, trying to figure out who else could possibly know. She argued with him, even though she wasn't truly paying attention to a word he was saying. Weeks of pointless phone calls had made her fairly adept at tuning Max out while still continuing a conversation. It was a talent she planned to hone to a fine edge.
She moved about the living room preparing for her date, but her thoughts followed Luke home to the diner. When she snapped to, she quickly realized that things with Max were about to get ugly, and she wasn't entirely sure how they had gotten there. Unfortunately, the well of anger and confusion she had so carefully kept under cover began to overflow as he rambled on about dating other people while they were apart. He was so obviously dying to tell her about his exploits that it set her teeth on edge. She tried to keep her cool about it, she tried to dismiss the subject, knowing that it was nothing but a minefield that they didn't need to explore. But Max seemed intent on full disclosure, so she let him have it, right between the eyes.
Of course, she didn't tell him about Luke. Telling Max about Luke would make what happened between her and Luke something that it wasn't. Christopher and what happened on her parents' balcony? That was just stupid. It was nothing. Less than nothing, it was a mistake. A stupid, nothing mistake that meant absolutely nothing in terms of who she was and what she wanted, and therefore, was fair game to be used as a weapon because Max didn't know how little it meant. But Luke? Not Luke, never Luke. He was so much more than a convenient excuse to derail whatever it was she and Max were doing here.
Lorelai shook her head in dismay as Max doggedly tried to change the subject. Then, they started arguing about why they argue, and the whole thing suddenly seemed like far more trouble than it was worth. Round and round they went, and when Max finally threw up his hands in frustration, she blurted the first answer that came to mind. Max, on the other hand, had a different solution in mind for their problem.
Once again, Max Medina astounded her with his audacity. Of course, his solution to their problem was ludicrous. She knew it and he knew it. At least, she thought that he knew it. When he suggested that they set the whole argument aside and start the evening over, Lorelai was too shell-shocked to do anything but agree.
As they drove to dinner, she told herself sternly that she had invested too much time and effort in getting this relationship to the point where they were at to give up so easily. She reminded herself that these things took work and commitment and a willingness to be open to new possibilities. She remembered what she had told Rory about working on being open to love, and all of the complications and confusion that came with it. And because of that, because of her new-found dedication to letting go of childish romantic notions of love, she tried to stick to a more mature approach to dating and relationships, telling herself that this was just a bump in the road, and that they could get past it.
She smiled her way through a dinner that seemed like it would never end, she chattered her way through a drive home that seemed to stretch ten extra miles, and when they drove back into Stars Hollow three hours later, she tried with all of her might not to peek the diner as they passed. She tried, and she failed miserably.
After kissing Max goodnight and checking in with Rory, Lorelai trudged tiredly up the stairs. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she toed her shoes off, letting them fall to the floor. She closed her eyes as she fell back across her bed, but all she could see was the soft glow of the lamps burning in the apartment above the diner. Sighing in defeat, she rolled up and let the momentum of her body carry her forward until she could reach the cordless phone on her nightstand.
Lorelai used her thumb to dial a number long since memorized but seldom used, and then clutched the phone tightly as it rang.
"Hey, it's me," she said softly. "Were you sleeping?"
"Not yet," Luke answered. "I thought you had a date."
"Dinner," she confirmed. "I'm home now." Lorelai stretched out, swinging hr legs up onto the bed as she lay back against her pillows. "How are you?"
"I'm fine," he answered gruffly.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Are you sure? 'Cause you don't have to be fine, you know," she prodded gently.
Luke exhaled, the sound of it seeping through the phone line and coiling its way around her heart. "Are you sad?" she whispered.
"Yes and no," he answered at last.
Lorelai nodded as she twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not really," Luke grumbled.
Lorelai wet her lips and nodded again as she swallowed hard. "Well, you can, you know, if you want to," she told him.
"Thanks." There was a pause and then he asked, "Dinner go okay?"
"Dinner? Yeah, that was fine," she said as she rolled her eyes.
"Good."
Lorelai looked up at the ceiling, searching for something, anything to say that could keep him on the line just a little bit longer, but coming up empty. "Well, uh, I should let you go."
"Thanks for calling."
"Anytime," she whispered. "Goodnight, Luke."
"Goodnight, Lorelai," he answered, and then hung up.
****
Timing is a funny thing, Luke mused as lay staring at his ceiling waiting for the alarm clock to buzz. Timing is such a funny thing that it isn't even funny. Not when it bites you in the ass over and over again.
He saw a girl one night in a bar; a night when he was definitely worse for wear, a night when he should have stayed home instead. He kissed that girl when he had no business kissing anyone, and he waited for her to come back, knowing that he wouldn't be of any real use to her even if she did.
A rush was on and he was spread too thin. He was spread as thin as his skin; stretched taut over a heart so bruised it could barely beat, and an ego that hunkered down to avoid further blows. A rush was on, and that girl was leading the charge; teasing him, taunting him, pushing all of his buttons until she found the one that could open him up again.
She blew into his life like a whirlwind, scattering all of his defenses, though he never let her know it. He just couldn't. The timing was never right. They circled each other like punch drunk boxers, dancing safely out of reach each time one dared to advance. Their footwork was all wrong. Their timing was way off. But each time she climbed through the ropes, he stood there waiting, ready to go another round.
Timing was a funny thing indeed. He hadn't needed Rachel's prompting to know that he had to do what he had to do. He gave himself one day, just one, to work out exactly what to say because he knew how important it would be to get it just right. And then, just when he'd managed to muster the words and the courage to say what he needed to say, to tell her what she needed to hear; some glib guy with slicked back hair and attitude to spare waltzed right in and swept her right out from under him.
Luke snorted and shook his head as he rolled onto his side, nursing his wounded pride and cursing his lack of timing. He pulled the pillow out from under his head and pressed it over it to muffle the sound of the fresh round of self-recrimination brewing in his head. "Timing is everything," he muttered, and then squeezed his eyes shut tightly.
****
I am an island, Lorelai thought as she sat as still as a statue, gazing at the sea of bright yellow daisies that surrounded her. One thousand yellow daisies. Not nine hundred and ninety-nine, not one thousand and one.
He had given her exactly what she'd asked for, not a stem more, not one bloom less. It was stunning; this extravagant display, this grand gesture. She had to hand it to him, the man had style. She couldn't help but smile as she imagined what Luke would say to such an overt ploy. After all, he was a man who bought oven mitts in the shape of cats for the woman he loved. She shook her head and then tucked her chin to her chest, knowing that it wasn't right for her to be thinking of Luke in that moment.
Her cheeks warmed with a blush as she stared down at the phone clasped tightly in her hands. Max Medina was a man who knew what he wanted and went after it with single minded determination. She admired his passion. It was heady, sitting in the midst of a thousand yellow daisies and knowing that they were all for her. Every single one of them. Without a doubt. Unquestionably.
Lorelai wanted to keep a level head about it. After all, she was the new, improved mature Lorelai who was seeking a real relationship with a real man and the possibility of a real future. She told herself that it was too soon. She kept reminding herself that they didn't know each other well enough to take this step. She worried that in her heart she wasn't quite sure of him.
The flowers were unquestionably for her, but she still had questions. Questions with answers she feared she would never know for certain. Lorelai pulled a single yellow daisy from the pot next to her and eyed the petals closely. There were two men in her life. Two men who stood in her house swinging those things around so hard that she was tempted to fill a pool full of mud and let them go after each other. The problem was, if she dared to ask that poor daisy those age old questions; she knew what one man's answer would be, and she was afraid to know how the other's would turn out.
Cast adrift in this sea of yellow daisies, Lorelai Gilmore knew one very important thing for certain. Well, two, really, and they were both very difficult things to ignore. Max Medina had made it crystal clear that she was the one that he wanted, and he had proved time and time again that he was willing and able to come after her. That had to count for something, right?
tbc