Chapter 2: Scared to Death

Rory bounced her leg nervously as she waited in the doctor's office, flipping through an old magazine. There was an article about J. Lo and some new boyfriend, but she could not focus on the words on the page. Beside her, Lorelai grasped her hand and squeezed it soothingly.

It had been several weeks since that tumble down the stairs. Lorelai had grown concerned when the bruise wouldn't heal on its own in due time. Rory had tried to shrug it off, asking if there was a set timetable for bruises to heal. But after sitting on their hands and waiting for something to happen that ultimately didn't, Lorelai had insisted they see a doctor.

A nurse with a friendly smile now appeared at the door. "Rory Gilmore?"

Rory stood, failing to hide a gulp. When she was a toddler, she had been scared of even the most inconsequential doctor's visits - a passing childhood phase - but this was different. This was something that she could not identify, and she was scared. But she tried to put on a collected face as she followed the nurse back into the nearest patient room, Lorelai following behind her.

"So, we're going to start with some preliminary blood tests, as ordered by Dr. Olila. We'll run them right here, today; should be no more than half an hour. Just to see where we're at," the nurse chirped, her smile clearly now trying to make Rory feel better.

Rory nodded mutely and hopped up onto the examination table. Lorelai took a seat opposite her, in a chair squelched in one corner. In a deeply uncharacteristic display of lethargy, neither Gilmore spoke. The silence remained until the nurse returned with some needles and wipe pads.

Getting shots or blood drawn of any kind had most certainly not been a childhood phase, and Rory turned her face away as the needle was administered, Lorelai singing Happy Birthday as a traditional distraction. Rory felt a simple prick, and then it was over, the nurse whisking the sample away and leaving the patient room in once again eerie silence.

A little more than the estimated half hour passed, until finally, a middle-aged man with glasses and a kind face entered.

"Good afternoon, Gilmores. I'm Dr. Olila, the leading oncologist here. I have just reviewed Rory's blood tests..." His voice trailed off unexpectedly, and clearing his throat, pulled up an empty chair and scooted it close to Rory on the examination table. His expression seemed to indicate a preparation over what he was going to say, one of those "You'd better sit down," kind of faces, and Lorelai and Rory both tensed.

"Rory..." Olila began slowly. "There's... something not right between your red and white blood cells..."

Lorelai didn't let him finish, clapping a hand over her mouth and choking back a sob that seemed to appear from absolutely nowhere. Rory's eyes snapped to her mother's in distress, and it was obvious that her mother - along with Olila - now knew something that she did not.

"It's breast cancer," Olila explained gently. "But don't worry, we're going to take care of you. There's a new therapy we're going to try, one that estimates a 60% chance of permanent remission. It's just been FDA-approved; it's the strongest treatment yet in existence. And I think we caught it in time. Besides, you're young - so young. The odds of survival are very, very much in your favor."

Despite his calm, soothing words, at the word 'survival,' Rory winced. She shouldn't be having to deal with something so life-threatening so young. The worst illness she had heretofore experienced was a bout of the chicken pox when she was eight, and that had merely confined her to bed for a week, and a diet of Luke's mashed potatoes.

"I wish to begin treatment with Rory as soon as possible," Olila turned to Lorelai, his voice now classically clinical, but determined.

"Chemo?" Lorelai whispered through her hands, the tears glistening in her eyes.

"Of course. But don't worry - we discourage all kind of stigma that comes with it. You can't imagine the number of patients I've seen go through it, in my career. There is only love and support here." He shook hands with both the Gilmore girls. "I'll be calling you with a consultation next week, Mrs. Gilmore. Oh, and Happy St. Patrick's Day!"

The drive back to Stars Hollow was numb. Lorelai couldn't bring herself to turn her head as Rory sobbed quietly in the shotgun seat, focusing on the road as she rubbed a free hand along her daughter's arm. Pulling up to the Crap Shack, Rory got out, pausing when her mother didn't follow out the driver's side.

"Go on in, babe. I gotta check on something." And Lorelai turned the Jeep for the town square.

She pulled up just beside the Gazebo, the yellow coffee cup sign in clear view. She felt like she had to tell someone, or she'd explode. Her parents were high on the list, of course, and they would surely panic, as would Christopher, Rory's father. But there was one person's comfort that she needed right now. One person who had been her strongest confidant for years.

The bell jingled as Lorelai entered Luke's Diner. Luke Danes spotted her from clear across the room, from behind the counter, and snapped to attention with the coffee pot. "Your usual?"

Lorelai shook her head, blinking back tears as she crossed to the counter. "Got anything stronger? Like liquor?"

Luke frowned. OK, something was up. Lorelai never imbibed alcohol, at least not casually, and certainly never in here. Coffee was her addiction, and if she was refusing coffee, even in the unusual circumstance when he offered it up willingly without a witty fight...

Lorelai was nearly at the counter when she swayed, and nearly fell against it as she broke down. Luke gaped as she dropped the coffee pot in the sink and sprang around to her side. "Lorelai?!" he tried to get her off the floor as gently as he could without hurting her.

"Ro... Rory..." Lorelai choked on her sobs.

"Rory? What about Rory? Lorelai, what happened?"

"B... breast cancer!" This came out in a wail, so that everyone in the full Diner heard it. Luke snapped his gaze around to everyone!

"Get out!" he almost yelled at the other customers. "All of you! You're sworn to silence!" He reserved the last for Miss Patty and Babette, and they seemed to have enough sense - and control over their gossipy impulses - to obey.

Luke helped Lorelai onto a stool and took her hand, which she grasped like a lifeline. He didn't ask her to repeat the news, though his head and his heart were drowning in denial, begging that it wasn't so. Rory was still but a babe herself, she hadn't even lived - how could she have cancer? She'd never hurt anyone.

"Start from the beginning," Luke rumbled low, once Lorelai's sobs had subsided into sniffles.

Lorelai told him everything: how Rory had fallen down the stairs one Saturday several weeks before, and how the bruise had refused to abate. Olila's explanation. The upcoming Chemo treatment.

Luke nodded grimly, even as his heart broke and he possessed the sudden desire to bash a hole through the front diner window. "What do you need?"

Lorelai chuckled bitterly. "Money for chemo. But Mom and Dad are already footing the bill for my kid's education as it is. And who knows how much Christopher can throw down?" She dropped her head to the table, moaning. "We're screwed."

"Oh, no you're not," and Luke whipped out his checkbook. "How much for the first couple rounds?"

Lorelai's eyes went wide. "Luke, no..."

"Yes," he growled firmly. "Lorelai, I feel... responsible for Rory. And I'll be damned straight to hell if she dies on my watch."

Lorelai flinched at the word 'die,' even as she eyed the checkbook with a mixture of wariness and hope. "You would do that?"

"For you two - anything," and there was something in his gaze that Lorelai could not quite describe. It frightened her a little, just as much as it warmed her heart. She choked out another sob, this one now of gratitude.

"I could kiss you right now!"

Luke glanced away, mumbling something about giving him a number, and at Lorelai's prompting, he scribbled the amount down, ripped off the check and handed it to her. "Anything else?" he called to Lorelai's back as she headed for the door.

She turned, and though she was the farthest thing from a religious person, she requested, "Pray, Luke. Just... pray."

And so he did - every night.