Author's Note: The extent of my lameness knows no bounds. It has been over a year since I last posted a chapter for this story. Blame Rosenthal and Joss Whedon (the latter for writing and captivating me with Firefly, the former for obvious reasons). But the finale was actually satisfying, all things considering, and it inspired me to start rewatching the seasons that made this show great. So here, a year later, is the sixteenth chapter. I expect there to be two, maybe three chapters left. I just plan on showing through Christmas. There is a sequel in the works, however, set after the boys have gone to college. I'm not making any promises, because we all know my track record, but I hope to have Reflecting Lightdone and the sequel up this summer. I'm not extremely happy with parts of this chapter, but I couldn't sit on it any longer if I ever wanted to finish. This chapter is also dedicated to the boatload of reviewers demanding more and the phenomenal last ten minutes of the finale, which reawakened the 'shipper in me. "I just like to see you happy."
Chapter Sixteen: And I'm reflecting light.
She tried once again to talk herself out of this before she turned off the car, but the same curiosity that made her turn off the highway got the better of her once again. She slammed the car door behind her and took a steadying breath. Her therapist had thought this would be a good idea. She wasn't so sure about that right now.
The town was unchanged, though she hadn't been there in nearly twenty years. Even the people looked the same. Except, she found as she entered the town's favorite (and only) diner, for the person behind the diner's counter. The sign still read "Luke's", but as hauntingly familiar as the boy looked, he was much too young to be the proprietor she'd known.
"Good evening, ma'am," the boy grinned, a gesture also familiar. "What can I get for you?"
The teen's sandy brown-red hair peeked out from under a forward baseball cap with a gothic 'C' on the front, and he wore the remnants of a school uniform, tie gone and shirtsleeves rolled, 'Chilton' printed on the pocket.
"Coffee, please."
"Coming right up. Anything to eat?"
"Umm, what kind of salads do you have?"
He placed a menu in front of her with a flourish, winking an intensely blue eye as he turned to grab a coffee cup and the pot. As he poured her coffee, she ordered a Caesar salad, then worked up the courage to ask:
"Is the owner in?"
"No, ma'am. He's at the town meeting. Should be back soon, though. Hey, Jack?" he called to the kitchen. "When's Dad coming back?"
What?!
An identical boy (hat backwards) poked his head out of the kitchen. "Umm, five, ten, probably. You better start a new pot of coffee before he does, though. Caesar salad, right?"
The first boy nodded, and the cook receded.
She was pretty sure Luke didn't drink coffee, or at least he didn't used to. She cleared her throat. "Um, why do you need a new pot of coffee?"
The boy didn't seem to be surprised by the question and merely laughed. "Our mom's a coffee addict."
No!
She glanced first at the boy's eyes again, then noticed the till, centering on the wedding portrait, then a snapshot of Luke holding twin toddlers.
Yes.
"So you must know my dad, then, huh?"
She nodded unconsciously.
"Well, I'm Will. I don't think we've met." He extended his hand. "That grump in the back is my slightly younger brother Jack. Takes after Dad. Thankfully, I'm more Gilmore."
She managed a weak smile and shook the proffered hand.
Jack brought out her salad, reminiscent of Luke in every gesture he made, from the setting down of the plate to the respectful nod of acknowledgement he offered.
As she was finishing her salad (which like almost everything in this town was unchanged), the bell over the door rang, followed by Luke's laughter, which had been rare in their time together. She glanced over her shoulder to see an older, grayer, but much happier, Luke push into his diner, Lorelai in tow grinning and making some inane joke. She, too, was older and more worn, light crows' feet circling her bright eyes, but she still bubbled with youthful vivacity. Her left hand rested affectionately on Luke's shoulder, her rings sparkling in the phosphorescent diner light.
"Boys!" Lorelai sang, "Where's Mommy's coffee?"
"A fresh pot just finished perkin'," Will replied, presenting a giant coffee mug from behind his back and setting it on the counter with much flourish, grabbing the coffee pot and filling the mug in one fluid spin.
"Aw, look at our boy, Luke! All Tom Cruise in Cocktail."
"Yeah," Luke grunted warmly, "Keep him away from younger women."
"I believe that's Jack's department," Will deflected.
"Uh, do you want me to spit in your burger?" Jack called from the kitchen.
"Jack," Luke scolded gruffly, "Not when we have customers." The proprietor turned to apologize as his wife settled herself at one end of the counter with her coffee mug, eagerly filling Will in on the details of the town meeting. It was then Luke finally saw and recognized the sole diner patron.
"Nicole?!"
"Hey, Luke."
Lorelai spun around to face Nicole as well, surprise evident momentarily before she plastered on a grin to hide it.
"Wow. Hi, Nicole."
"Lorelai."
Will, confused, looked from his parents to the stranger, motioning for Jack to come out of the kitchen.
"I believe we've missed something," Will said lowly to his brother.
"Ex-girlfriend, you think?"
"Naw. Not Dad's type. Too skinny. Too fake. Rachel was flighty, but down-to-earth. This is Professional Barbie."
Jack snorted, earning a quick glance from his father.
"Wow, we definitely missed something," Jack whispered.
"What, uh, brings you out here, Nicole?" Luke asked, ignoring the looks his sons were giving him.
"Just driving around the area and decided to pull off. Curious."
"Should we disappear?" Jack whispered to his brother.
"No! I want to find out the dirt!" Will whispered back, this time catching heat from his mother's glance.
"Boys, why don't you go clean up the kitchen?"
"Already done, Mom," Will said proudly.
"Do it again," Luke ordered.
"But I did it right the first time!" Will objected, a hint of playfulness in his voice.
"Shut up, Will," Jack murmured, grabbing the back of his brother's collar and dragging him into the kitchen.
"Hey! Watch it, man…"
"Get in the damn kitchen."
"Language!"
"Ah jeez… Shut up and listen if you want to know what's going on."
Will complied, pretending to wipe down the prep counters while listening in on the conversation outside.
"They are giving nothing away! Oh, crap, she's leaving. Mom looks a little tense. Dad looks a little unhappy."
"I don't need a running commentary, Terry."
"I don't need lip, smart ass. Uh oh, here comes Dad! Look busy."
They returned to pretending to clean up, Will whistling under his breath.
"Stop acting innocent. You two were born guilty."
"Ooh, original sin."
"Shut up, Will."
"Play nice, Jack. So, Dad, are you going to tell us who that lady was?"
"Ex-girlfriend?" Jack questioned.
"Getting warm!" Lorelai called from the diner.
"Ooh, Mommy's going to tell us!" Will grinned, exiting the kitchen and leaning conspiratorially over the counter.
"Wow, girls actually find your immaturity attractive?" Jack asked.
"Shut up, Jack."
"Be nice to your brother," Lorelai scolded, "Or you don't get to know anything."
"They don't need to know anything, anyway."
"Now that's just mean, Daddy," Will teased.
"How old are you?"
"Three," Jack answered his father's question. "Mentally at least."
"You know you're curious, Jack."
"Of course I am, I just don't feel the need to express my curiosity like a three-year-old."
"Are you going to tell them, Luke, or should I?"
Luke sighed. "Nicole's my ex-wife."
"What?!" the boys cried in perfect unison, Will immediately losing the playful act.
"You have an ex-wife? And you never told us?"
"Sketchy, Dad," Jack said.
"It just never came up."
"How long were you married?" Will questioned, still gaping.
"Not long."
"When?" Will pressed.
"Before your mom and I got together."
"Well, duh, Dad," Will huffed.
"I mean, right before."
"Weird," Jack sighed.
"You said it, brother. So why didn't she stick around?"
Jack smacked the back of Will's head. "And on that intelligent note, I'm off to take Nat to a movie."
"Don't suck face too much," Will called after him, brushing past his dad. He grabbed a to-go cup of coffee for himself and set it down in front of his mother, leaning on his elbows as he said conspiratorially, "So, Mommy, any more deep, dark secrets about Daddy?"
He didn't show the guilty pang that ran through his stomach at the reference to secrets deep and dark, smile plastered across his face.
"None that she'll be sharing right now. Don't you have a girlfriend to be making out with right now too?" Luke changed the subject.
Will hid the guilt again with a cavalier grin. "She has other plans tonight. We're not as co-dependent as Jack and Nat."
"Everything okay with you two, Wills? You haven't been over there as much."
"We're fine," Will said, perhaps a little too quickly. Yeah, that didn't even convince himself.
Lorelai narrowed her eyes at her son's discomfort but decided not to push.
"Okay, I'm going to go home and read Love in the Time of Cholera. See you two there."
And he made for the exit, to-go cup in hand.
"Well that was weird," Lorelai mused after she watched him go.
"Which part?" Luke grunted, dumping the rest of the coffee into a Styrofoam cup for his wife and handing it to her as she gathered her stuff.
"About all of it. Why was Nicole here again?"
Luke shrugged. "Feeling jealous?"
"Nah. You've actually stayed married to me. There's not some hot inn-owner you've been secretly lusting after, is there?"
"How'd you find out?" Luke dryly teased as he held the door open for her.
"It's Michel, isn't it?! I always knew you two had something going on."
"Ah jeez! Lorelai!"
Lorelai threaded her free arm through her husband's and grinned as they walked back to the house. "So, when do you start cooking my turkey for Thursday?"
"Lorelai, that's in three days."
"You have to get started early!"
On Thanksgiving Day, the troubadour walked the empty streets of Stars Hollow, guitar in case instead of in hand and pumpkin pie clattering around in the plastic bag he did have in hand. In the past, he'd spent Thanksgiving the same way he spent everyday, wandering his territory and playing for any lonely souls who happened to be out and about. But over the past four years, he'd found a new tradition.
He stopped momentarily to readjust the guitar strap, steeled himself to the bitter November wind, and continued to strum. There was no one around to hear him, but he played all the same, if only to keep warm. From his post in town square, he noticed a trio of small figures hustling towards him. Their headwear (two baseball caps and a pom-pom-topped beanie hiding dark curls) identified them as the three nearly inseparable Gilmore-Danes kids, recognizable to anyone who frequented the Hollow. As they came closer, his guess was confirmed, and they approached him, shivering.
"Hello, Mr. Troubadour," the youngest, six-year-old Laylee Gilmore, greeted brightly, little nose so red from the cold that it matched her strikingly scarlet hat and scarf. "Happy Thanksgiving!"
"Happy Thanksgiving, Laylee," he smiled, pausing in his strumming. "What are you three doing out here?"
"Dad 'forgot' the canned cranberry sauce this year," Will (judging by his dress and the set of his cap) informed him, air-quotes around 'forgot'. "You know, the jellied kind?"
"Right…"
"Mom doesn't like anything but the jellied stuff," Jack (more disheveled clothes and backwards cap) supplied, "It's gross and artificial, but she says she won't eat dinner without it."
"The market's closed today."
"We know," Will answered. "Dad knew Mom wasn't going to eat the real stuff, so he picked up a few cans yesterday. He hid them in the refrigerator in the apartment, though, and forgot to bring them home with him."
"So it became our job," Jack finished, pulling a chattering Laylee closer to him.
"Why are you out here, Mr. Troubadour?" Laylee asked, rubbing her mittened hands together. "Everyone's eating turkey."
"I don't have anyone to eat turkey with. It's no fun by yourself."
"Ooh! You should write a song about that, Mr. Troubadour!" Laylee giggled. "No turkey to share…"
"Alright, Lay, stop there," Jack commanded gently, hand on her shoulder. "Would you like to come over and eat with us? We've already got fifteen people. Dad, Aunt Sookie, and I made enough food for twenty, which with Mom and Rory eating, leaves just enough food for you."
"That's okay, guys…"
"No, we insist. It's cold out, and it's Thanksgiving. No one should spend Thanksgiving alone. Jack and Laylee'll take you home and get you settled. I'll run up and get Mom's cranberry sauce," Will announced, shooing them back towards the house.
"Laylee, run ahead and tell them to set an extra place," Jack told his niece as Will left them. "Can I help you carry anything?"
"I'm okay," the troubadour assured him. Jack shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets, indicating the direction Laylee had just run off in with his shoulders.
"Right this way. Are you ready for a little craziness?" the twelve- year-old asked. "Mom did the seating arrangement, so Uncle TJ and Aunt Liz are sitting next to Grandpa and Grandma. Believe me, she's an evil lady."
By the time they reached the stairs, Laylee was waiting on the stairs between fourteen-year-old Martha and sixteen-year-old Davey Belleville. She was grinning and waved exuberantly when she saw them.
"Nonna set you a place!" she called, "Come on in! Half time's almost over!"
At those words, the boy on his left quickened his pace, headed for the warmth of the fire and the glow of the television.
"You like football?" he asked in his monosyllabic way.
"Sure," the troubadour said, though not enthusiastically. "I'm not a diehard fan or anything, but I appreciate a good game every now and then."
"Will and I play."
"I've heard."
"It's a good game on; you should appreciate it."
The troubadour grinned at the logic. "Alright."
The lady of the house was waiting for them inside. She greeted him warmly, showing him where to deposit his musical instruments and sending Jack up the stairs with his coat.
"Come in, come in. Get warm. Though I gotta warn you: we might make you sing for your supper, later."
"Not a problem. Thank you very much."
"Hey, this town's a family."
Laylee made all of the introductions (all two of them), giving his name as Mr. Troubadour to two very confused great-grandparents.
Jack had settled himself between Jess Mariano and Davey Belleville on the couch, focused intently on the football game.
Will returned soon after from the cranberry retrieval mission, and later they all sat themselves around the dinner table in seats which remained as tradition to this day. Richard and Luke took the heads of the table, Emily to her husband's right, TJ to his left. Will played diplomat beside his grandmother and across from his Aunt Liz, Rory assisting to his right, when she wasn't checking on Laylee beside her or debating with Jess across the table. Laylee was sandwiched between her mom and Aunt Sookie, caught in girl talk with Martha across from her. Jackson was to Martha's left, between his two children. Jack was nestled next to his mother as ever, though often picking apart the plays of the pre-dinner football game with Davey across from him. The troubadour found himself seated at the right hand of the diner owner, making conversation with the lady of the house across from him. Often after dinner he could be enticed to play a few things, Will sometimes joining in on the piano. The boy had promise.
The town troubadour mounted the steps and knocked on the door, noting the line of autumn flowers in vases stretching across the porch. He'd been told it was a Gilmore-Danes inside joke, one only Luke, Lorelai, and Rory understood. His knock was answered by a grinning Laylee Gilmore.
"Hey-lo, Mr. Troubadour," she greeted, gesturing for him to come in out of the cold.
"Have I missed any TJ-isms, yet?" he questioned lowly, smiling at the playful girl.
"Nope," Laylee whispered back. "They're not here yet."
"Good," he grinned. "Was hoping I hadn't missed anything."
He made the rounds, making conversation with all of the familiar faces. He didn't see Sookie, Luke, or Jack, but he assumed the trio was working magic in the kitchen, mostly during commercial breaks judging from the football commentary emanating from both the kitchen and the family room. Setting himself on the couch between Will and Davey, he watched the game until commercial, then complimented Will on his performance earlier that month with Morey. Laylee and Martha set the table, and Lorelai was shooed out of the kitchen and into conversation with Rory and Mrs. Gilmore, petulant pout on her face that looked out of place for a woman of her age. Richard and Jackson were watching the game as well, most likely after having exchanged all of the pleasantries and small talk they could muster.
In the past four years, he'd come to know these people fairly well, he believed, at least their interactions with each other. Things between Laylee and Rory seemed a bit strained, probably just an almost pre-teen acting out against her mother, and things were likewise stressed between Lorelai and Mrs. Gilmore, but that wasn't unusual at all. Will seemed his usual charming self as they discussed music during breaks in the game, if a little distracted.
"I get my cast off a week from tomorrow!" Laylee announced later, after grace had been said and the turkey cut. "Jack says it's gonna stink."
"Laylee, is this really proper dinner conversation?"
"Just lettin' everyone in on my big news," Laylee defended, nonplussed as ever by her great-grandmother's comments. She seemed the only Lorelai who could handle them.
Mrs. Gilmore sighed and looked a little pained by her wayward progeny.
"Your arm is going to be really skinny, too, sweetie," Martha informed her, diverting attention like the good pseudo-big sister she was. "Make sure one of the twins takes a picture and e-mails it to me."
"I'm sure Will'll take care of that," Jack said.
"Attack of the freakishly thin arm! Argh!" Will teased from the opposite end of the table, holding up a turkey bone for effect.
Laylee squirted milk out of her nose, hurriedly bringing her napkin up to catch it.
"Ow!" she cried, quickly following it up with a sheepish, "Sorry!"
"Will's fault," Lorelai declared, throwing a playful glare at her eldest son. "As punishment, he gets to wash your arm when it's out of the cast."
Mrs. Gilmore didn't look happy at any of the events or comments at the table, but she seemed resigned to them. The troubadour guessed that she knew what to expect of a Stars Hollow Thanksgiving by now.
The tenor of the table moved away from the uncomfortable, and the troubadour was once again sucked into conversation with Lorelai Danes.
Laylee, newly released and terrifyingly skinny arm swinging at her side, bounded into the diner a week after Thanksgiving, the bell drowned out by her cry of "Luka!".
"What?" Luke cried back in a matching tone, looking up from the till as Laylee climbed up onto a stool.
"Notice anything different?" she asked, striking several dramatic poses.
"No," Luke shrugged, mostly successful at hiding his grin.
"Luka!" Laylee objected, scandalized.
"Did you cut your hair?"
She looked un-amused.
"New shirt?"
Her look turned withering.
"Fine. I give up. What's new?"
"Luka! My arm!" She waved said appendage in front of his face as if to underscore her point.
"Oh right. God, it stinks."
Laylee groaned and collapsed into her chair. Luke let his grin come out.
"'Looks great, Lay. Really. I'm happy for you."
"Thanks. They sawed it off! How cool is that? And it so doesn't stink. I washed it when I got home."
"Just pulling your leg. Can I get you something?
"The usual."
Luke nodded and turned to tell Caesar as the phone rang.
"Lay, can you get that?" he called over his shoulder, walking into the kitchen to help his overwhelmed employee.
"Sure!" she chirped, hopping down and skipping behind the counter.
"Hello, Luke's Diner. This is Laylee speaking. How may I help you?"
Her face screwed up in confusion, little eyebrows scrunching together. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Hold on a sec." Her hand covered the receiver, and she shouted for her grandfather.
Luke took the phone from her.
"Hello. Yes." His face fell. Laylee strained to hear what was going on. "No, I… I understand. We'll be right there."
"What's going on?" Laylee asked as he slammed the phone onto its base.
"Go get your uncle from practice. Tell him not to bother showering. I'll pick you both up in the truck."
"Luka, what…"
"Just go, Laylee," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "Caesar, you're in charge. Serve everyone and then close up."
Watching a now anxious Laylee sprint towards the high school, Luke pulled out his cell phone, dialing Will's cell.
"Will, get to the hospital. It's your grandma. I don't know. Just hurry."
tbc