Disclaimer: Theirs.
READER ALERT: Chapters each treat two characters, so yes, this is going to time-jump and POV-hop.
AN: I've already been hit with the OOC charges. This is a thirty-chapter-long fic, so if you already dislike it? Bail now, no harm, no foul. There are many excellent stories on this site that make Luke the ultimate hero of all virtues, and so forth. Huzzah!
GG GG GG
CHAPTER TWO
Emily Gilmore did not tolerate insults.
She re-directed them.
When Richard didn't come home for three days and nights, and neither daughter nor husband answered her calls, Emily decided enough was enough.
She marched into that man's despicable diner.
It was remarkably empty. The usual charmingly eccentric ladies weren't to be seen, or heard, and Emily bit back frustration. She had counted on Miss Patty for information. The pompous Taylor Doose wasn't there, either. That odd little Kirk was, but Emily was certain the diner should be busier than this at mid-morning on a weekday. She felt a prickle of vindictive glee that it was a failing business. Emily wanted to be right, and it pleased her to be so.
"You," she sniffed at Kirk. "I'll pay for that disgusting slop, but I need to speak to Luke alone. Please go away."
"Thanks," said Kirk, and ambled genially out of the diner.
Luke Danes was as she remembered. Unclean, uncouth, unacceptable.
"This is your fault," said Emily primly, sitting at the counter. "Neither Richard nor Lorelai will speak to me, and I demand to know what you…"
To her shock, the greasy man stopped scrubbing the counter and hissed, "My fault? You're the one! Marry Christopher, marry Christopher, marry Christopher, you tell her that for twenty years and now she's gonna…"
Emily blinked. The man reeked of alcohol. Not freshly consumed alcohol, which was worse.
"Run off, be with that jerk, and then she's gonna tell me…"
Emily actually shrieked. It was unladylike, undignified, and disgusted. "Dear God, you really think Lorelai cheated on you? You're off with that despicable trollop at all hours, you had no intention of marrying Lorelai, you don't allow her near your child after she's allowed you to all but claim paternity of Rory, and you dare, you actually dare think she is off with Christopher?"
Luke's bleary glare was a warning to shut up.
Nobody told Emily to shut up. That is, they did, but never successfully.
"I have no idea what psychosis scrambles that tiny little inbred brain of yours," Emily went on in her nastiest, coldest voice, the one that cowed the entire New England DAR into compliance. "You destroyed my daughter, you thick-headed fool, and now she and Richard are both ignoring me, and that is entirely your fault!"
Luke squinted at her. He blinked a few times. "Wait. How am I to blame for Richard growing a set?"
"You," spat Emily, "are not worth the energy required to run you down like a dog in the street. You throw accusations of infidelity, well, those who do that are far more likely to have a guilty conscience!"
"Go to hell."
"So you are with that Anna person!" crowed Emily in triumph.
"No!" shouted Luke, and flung his ball cap across the diner. By luck, it hit the sign and flipped it to "Closed".
"Well, you certainly aren't with Lorelai, while she's pregnant, with your child, after you lie to her, deceive her, treat her like she's worthless to you, after all that talk about loving her for years!" retaliated Emily, chin up and battle-heat in her blood. "Yes, when I love someone, I marry someone else, it's done all the time!"
"Get out," growled Luke.
"When I'm done!"
"You're done!"
"Fix this," commanded Emily grandly. "Grovel if you must, but I will not have my husband siding with my daughter over something that is entirely your doing!"
A vein in the man's forehead throbbed, then suddenly eased. He drew a long breath. "Wait. What… You saw Lorelai?"
Emily rolled her eyes. Truly, the man was dense. "She came to us Friday night, mumbling about how you got her pregnant and wouldn't marry her, and naturally I pointed out she'd ignored my good judgment, and then Richard moved into a hotel and won't return my calls."
The last thing Emily expected was for Luke Danes to sit down and start to laugh a horrible, jagged laugh. Nor did she anticipate tears in his eyes or on his face.
"You need a psychiatrist," she decided coolly.
He shuddered. He pulled himself straight. He said flatly, "I need to go back and undo the last six months."
"Agreed!"
"In my head… It's like I couldn't tell what was real. There's so much going on and…"
"Life is always going on! How low is your IQ?"
"Who forgives you for lying like I did? She was gonna walk away, they all do."
"And I don't blame them," inserted Emily with her very nicest smile. It turned her eyes into glittering glacial ice.
Luke ignored her, staring at his knees. "She did, didn't she. She really forgave me."
Emily groaned inwardly, and said crisply, "Yes, she did, if we could please move along to the present moment?"
"I couldn't believe it. I wouldn't. I'd never forgive that kind of lie. So why would she. But she did."
"Oh for pity's sake," sighed Emily impatiently, and stood, adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder. "Yes. She did. After which kindness, you treated her as if she'd committed a horrible crime, and then proceeded to accuse her of cheating on you. Do keep up."
His eyes flashed dangerously at her. Only for a moment, but Emily's hackles rose. She did not quite take a step away from him as he asked, "How bad?"
"Elaborate."
He stood. Emily did take a step away, telling herself it was not fear.
He retrieved his ball cap. He settled it backwards on his head. "How bad? I mean, is it gonna be twelve years before I see this kid?"
"This kid?" squawked Emily, stunned. "You mean, the child you're having with Lorelai? Your child?"
"You didn't see how she looked at me," snapped Luke, and made his way to the door. "Like she never knew me."
"If you could say that to her, perhaps she never did."
That blow struck deep. Satisfied, Emily thanked him for holding the door for her, and reiterated, "Fix it. I won't have my marriage ruined because of your failings."
She was two steps away, head high, a smile on her face, when Luke's voice sawed into her.
"Look in a mirror, lady, if you want to know why you're alone."
Emily looked over her shoulder and replied saucily, "Back at ya," before sauntering to her Mercedes to drive home to Hartford and await Richard's return.
GG GG GG
Once upon a time, Luke Danes fought hard to make a marriage work when he wasn't sure why he'd married the woman. Well, he knew why. He was drunk, lonely, far from home, and sick of feeling let down and passed by. Nicole never gave up on him. She kept pushing.
For which behavior he had more or less rejected every other woman who ever attempted to push him.
Alone, lonely, and out of beer, Luke studied himself in a mirror and concluded that maybe he had a serious problem when he couldn't lie to himself.
Giving in to Nicole became easier away from Stars Hollow. Giving in to wife Nicole was a legal, moral obligation, part of a vow. He'd managed to dodge quite a lot with Rachel (his reflection cringed) by staying put and not making promises. He'd justified much with past girlfriends by insisting that love did not change you. Love did not push at you. Love left you alone, and you did as you liked, and the other person just loved you anyway, and if you liked making them happy, that was great. And if you wanted them to go away, then they'd do that. And…
Nicole had been nothing like Rachel or Lorelai. Therein lay her appeal. She was fun to make happy. Nothing he did for her or with her required that he have fun, of whatever kind, and then not come home to his life. Nicole had been little vacations, small adventures, too busy to impose on him, and then… The cruise. That stupid cruise. He'd known he shouldn't go. Throwing the cruise in Lorelai's face had been… Been… What had it been? If she'd said "Don't go," he'd have told her he'd consider her advice, by saying, "Maybe." After all… After all…
His reflection twisted.
Love came to you. That was common sense (his reflection eased). You didn't go chasing it or making it.
And that had him back where he started, yet again. Alone, lonely, out of beer, unable to shave because his hands kept shaking.
The single-turned-double bed. The diner apartment. The diner itself. The flannel shirts. The backwards ball cap that he should've given up when he was 20. All of that earned him what? Women who didn't think he'd want to know if he was a father (except Lorelai, his reflection pointed out, by mouthing the words except Lorelai) and who didn't outlast his stubbornness (except Lorelai) and…
He bent, hands clutching the cold porcelain sink, so he could not see his reflection.
He'd asked out women. Except Lorelai.
Why was she the exception?
Because…
Because…
The handle of his razor snapped in his palm. He examined the pieces, and threw them away. He turned off the light, went to the bed in the next room, sat down on it, and remembered that he had bought the double bed because of Lorelai.
"She wanted me with Rachel," he said.
She didn't know, answered that nagging little Other-Luke that carved chuppahs and saved dogs and all the other things that Luke found despicably soft, sentimental, and ridiculous.
Except Lorelai…
"She was with Rory's dad."
Then she found out he was basically two-timing Sherry and how much of that was loneliness and how much was really love? Rachel came back, no questions asked in this apartment, nope, not one, and it'd been years, hell, she could've had a weird disease and I'd only have known when…
"Shut up!" Luke told that Other-Luke. It was the one that held much in common with Liz, and their dead mother, and rainbows, and hope, and could work and play well with others.
"Crap," he said to the room in general. "I sound like a teenager."
His stomach heaved. He hadn't been able to digest anything much but beer for a few days. Then he kept down toast, too. He was all the way up to egg whites on toast, and ginger ale, but none of it wanted to remain in his system.
Miss Patty had done it. Snapped him into this state, so to speak. He'd never known the woman could be infuriated. She'd nearly slapped him, he was sure, right there on the street not two minutes after Lorelai walked away. Her words were bouncing around in his head (helped along by that Other-Luke inside, he was positive) like a rogue hockey puck.
How could you?!
That summed up too much.
"Who's the lucky guy?"
He punched his own leg. The left one. The right one already had several bruises.
It never stopped that inner nag, the voice that told him he'd let his fears run his life, but he kept trying. Someday, that stupid Other-Luke-that-was-like-Liz-and-Mom had to shut up. It had to.
"I can't breathe," he said aloud.
You have to breathe. April.
He'd hated Lorelai for freaking out about Jess, at Jess, after Rory's broken arm. A nice excuse for why not to ask her out. She'd picked on his family. Therefore, Lorelai sucked. And if she didn't see he loved her from afar, that was on her. It wasn't on him.
Or maybe it was.
Okay, he should have said to her after the Chris-Sherry-whole-package thing. But…
But…
Fear is why you lock me up, and I'm you. You lock me away so much that you don't even know if you're you anymore, supplied his inner Other-Luke.
He drank a glass of water.
And neither does anyone else.
He dropped the glass in the sink, too hard. It cracked.
Sitting here alone above the diner waiting for it to happen and make itself right and giving up because hey, it'll end badly anyway so why bother, right?
Luke was certain his ribs were breaking from the inside. He really could not breathe.
Rachel never really forgave him for staying put, not even trying to go with her, when the excuse of his sick father was no longer in play because his father died. Of course, he never really forgave Rachel, either.
The shock struck him behind his own eyeballs, if such was possible.
He'd never forgiven Lorelai for anything. Nor Rachel, Anna, Nicole, Liz, his parents, any number of people.
He'd forgive, but only to a point.
Which means it's not forgiveness, chimed in that entirely too-helpful Other-Luke.
"She forgave me," announced Luke to the apartment. "I mean, she probably hasn't for everything since, but…"
But first you'd have to say you're sorry, and mean it.
Pride rebelled. Habit dug in its heels.
He looked at the envelope he'd received. The handwriting wasn't Lorelai's. The return address was some legal firm.
"Man up," he told himself, and finally opened it. It had come registered mail. It might be…
It might be hope!
A check for fifty thousand dollars fell into his hand. A note accompanied it.
He read, "For the inn and the house investment. If it is not a fair amount, please notify at below telephone number."
He sat down again. The check was printed from a computer, and so the ink could not easily run, but his tears did their best to erase the horrible finality nonetheless.