Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Me no make no money.

AN: Thank you for the support, the criticism, all of it, and on to the next!

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

"Ground rules," said Lorelai, pacing anxiously around her back yard, while her dog watched with interest. "We need ground rules. Absolutely. Ground rules. Okay. Good idea."

Paul Anka woofed softly, tail wagging.

Lorelai paused. Having no idea what the dog said, she decided to agree with a bright, "You're right, you're a good dog!"

Paul Anka tipped his head to the side and wriggled. He currently had a phobia of leaving the porch, unless his paws touched bare ground. Lorelai's pacing was conveniently wearing a nice grass-free track around the perimeter of the yard.

"C'mon, be a good dog, come walk, okay? Walk?" implored Lorelai.

He whined, and scooted forward on his belly to the ramp.

Lorelai sighed, crouching, and beckoned. "Look, the grass is almost dirt! C'mon, you can do this!"

The dog inched forward.

"Okay, gotta crawl before you walk, walk before you…"

Lorelai stopped mid-word, beaming, and gave an excited squeal, and hugged the dog. She lay flat on the ramp alongside him. "Oh my God! You're such a smart dog! Who's a genius dog! Who's a good Paul Anka!"

He woofed again, and crawled over her legs after she rolled onto her back and sat up. She rubbed her dog's ears with a wide grin, and dialed a number.

"Hey," said Luke. "I just got upstairs."

This was a new thing, along with the regular phone conversations. Casual, insignificant information, simply to be certain they spoke.

"Good day?"

"Pretty much, busy, missing Lane. The band's in Boston."

"Rory told me, I'm so glad Lane and Zach could work that out," sighed Lorelai in honest relief. "Not that I think Zach would've cheated, no way, but Lane was going nuts not being part of the music anymore."

"Tell me about it, she was drumming in mid-air for months," replied Luke, his voice warm with amusement. "I think it's great. For them. But it takes two normal people to do the job Lane does. At anything. Steve and Kwan are driving Mrs. Kim crazy." There was a pause. "Crazier."

"How can you tell?"

"She's only speaking Korean. I had a hell of a time figuring out she wanted to know if I had avocados."

"Avocados?" snorted Lorelai, trying hard to not laugh, and failing.

"Yeah. Apparently, the boys drink lettuce water and eat avocados when she's got them, they were giving me that look, y'know?"

"Oh, I know," she agreed sagely, leaning comfortably against her dog. "I was watching them for a few hours at the inn, and they had this look Lane used to get that said, please, just no more tofu."

They shared a chuckle, before Lorelai mustered up her courage. She picked at a flake of polish on a fingernail. "Okay. So. Um. Ground rules. We were thinking."

"We were," agreed Luke. "The first few weeks have gone really well."

"Yep, and Paul Anka helped me figure it out."

"Oh geez, the dog," sighed Luke, and she heard a pop that meant he'd opened a beer.

"We crawl, then we walk."

"That's making sense. The dog, huh?"

"Yep."

"When do we try walking, do you think?"

"I don't know. I'm scared," admitted Lorelai, wrapping an arm around the dog for comfort. "It's easy. Like this. On the phone. But. It's not that I don't believe you care. I know I care. It's…"

"Trusting," said Luke slowly. "Yeah, That's. That's a tough one. For both of us."

Lorelai's temper flared, from old hurt. "I trusted you just fine," she snapped, then softened it with a sad, "but it's hard to make that the present tense. And the future. Because, y'know. We had. We could have."

Her voice quavered.

Luke's was unsteady, too. "Yeah. I know. It's, uh, it's not as easy as those movies of yours."

"Or yours," she pointed out. "No magic phaser boom-boom to save the day."

"Yeah. That, too. Look, Lorelai, I know… You… You and me. Us. We. Okay, let me try that again."

She bit back quips. Anxiety and quippiness weren't going to help. He needed air to speak in, just as she did.

Luke said gruffly, "I feel like ranting, but I don't know what to rant about. Okay, I hate admitting that stuff, but that's part of the whole crawling, right?"

"Yes," Lorelai encouraged gently. "Exactly."

She closed her eyes, could imagine he was toying with the beer bottle, or his ball cap, and how rapidly he'd be breathing, his hands fisting.

"I miss you. I miss us. I miss the whole banter thing, and the way we could just be together and not need to banter, and I miss hiding from saying that stuff." He gave a cough. "The last time I talked this much about feelings and stuff… It was Rachel, we were basically still kids, and then she left, and I dunno why I ever kept taking her back except… I didn't want to start that over again? Only we were over anyway, it was like she came here and lived with me for a vacation or something? I can't figure her out, I never did." She heard a gurgle of (probably) beer. "Point is, Lorelai, I'm a lot happier this way. Now. Talking. Admitting things. It's like you said last week about your mom."

"The part about not bothering to fight about it anymore?"

"Yeah. About breaking a really bad habit. Bad most of the time."

"Exactly. Like, I need to be quiet more, and you don't."

"Yeah. And… Meet in the middle. Balancing things."

Lorelai thought about that. She had a memory of H-two-O being followed by a two-way arrow-thing, and two lone Hs with an O, separated by a plus sign. There was still the same number of H and O atoms, but they were put together a little differently. "I get the point," she assured him. "Same component parts, different results. It scares me, Luke. I know we've talked about how bad we've hurt each other, but… I just… I feel like you never trusted that I loved you, and that's awful, because I did, and if you didn't trust it…" She stifled a sob, then gave up and wept into the dog's warm fur.

"Oh no. Oh crap. Geez. No. Lorelai. I… Yeah, I didn't trust your love, but I didn't trust anybody's, this is new."

Lorelai fought down an urge to hang up, end the call, run for it while she was still intact enough to recover. Again.

Luke's voice grew deep, thoughtful. "But I always know Liz loves me, and she always knows I love her. So I guess I do know how to believe love is solid." There was a liquid noise, a thump of glass on something. "We practice. Me and Liz. Talking what's inside us. All that AA stuff of hers, some of it really makes sense, but TJ goes to this Al-Anon, I guess it's different."

"It is, it's for family and friends of addicts," supplied Lorelai. She didn't reveal that she allowed the local group to use the inn for free. Anonymous meant anonymous.

"They've got this saying. Love from a safe distance."

A cold ball in Lorelai's heart melted. She recognized it as self-loathing guilt. "Love from a safe distance," she repeated, thinking of Emily. "So that's okay?"

"When it's gonna get you killed to stay close, yeah. Which was kinda what I wanted to start with, y'know, you and your mom. It's okay to love her, but you can't be near her. She's dangerous for you. She's not an addict, but it applies. Thing is, I was using that safe distance thing when I didn't need to."

"So it was only distance," concluded Lorelai.

His chuckle was rueful, embarrassed. "I should pay you eighty bucks an hour."

"I'd have to pay it right back."

The dog gave a whuffle.

"The mutt wants his snack," said Luke gently. "You okay?"

"Yes and no. Are you okay?"

"Yes and no," he echoed.

There was a prolonged, increasingly uneasy hesitation between them. Twirling a bit of hair nervously, Lorelai prompted, "And?"

"Uh… So. Look, April wanted me to ask you, she needs soil samples for some project. She's looking for zoo-oh-somethings and you've got horses…"

Lorelai giggled. "You mean she needs manure. Does she need any from a dog?"

"No idea. She'll bicycle over after school this week sometime since it's okay."

"Look forward to seeing Michel's reaction," said Lorelai. "Thanks, Luke."

"Thanks, Lorelai. Good night."

"G'night," she whispered, ending the call, with a shiver. "Okay, wow. I'm a brave mommy, right, Paul Anka?"

He shoved against the door into the kitchen.

"I'm taking that as a yes," she told him, and opened the door, astonished to find she didn't feel a need to re-think the entire phone call.

GG GG GG

For Richard Gilmore, the days were busy.

It was strange, to be busy when allegedly retired.

He watched the financial news while on his blasted treadmill, every morning, before breakfast. He ate breakfast while perusing the Times, saving the Courant for later. Showered and dressed, he navigated e-mails, then took calls from old colleagues suddenly willing to pay for the privilege of a mere phone consultation. Richard found himself daily astonished by the basic ignorance of men who ran companies large and small. Their grasp of actual economics, of how financing worked, was limited. He felt as if he was forty years younger, telling Lorelai about it, at that same child's level.

After lunch, usually at the club or sometimes with a friend at a café, he might golf in fine weather. In less fine weather, he attended those small events that interested him, such as readings and recitals. He took another phone call or two, billing for his time to everyone but the oldest and best friends, mostly because he knew they sent paying customers his way. That was how it worked, for the successful.

Supper was followed by a leisurely workout while watching television, using absurd little hand weights as the BBC anchor told him about the world's events. He found it refreshing to remember the world existed outside Hartford, Connecticut.

Then he would read, listening to music sometimes, until bedtime. He slept deeply, and while at his age it was not possible to wake full of vigor, he did wake feeling more than capable of facing the day.

He loved Emily, still, but the restfulness of her absence had its compensations.

Sundays, he dined with Lorelai, and there was mellow conversation. Occasionally, they felt awkward, but Richard understood it would pass, and it did. He laughed at her tales about her ridiculous dog, and she opined about his clients, without spite, and with insight that came from her own limited experience and expertise. Like many highly intelligent people, Richard had little patience for the less gifted, but Lorelai had a way of asking questions that led to very good ideas. Rory's intelligence had never been from the Haydens, as far as Richard was concerned, but it was good to have that belief affirmed.

Monday evenings, he had his supper with Miss Cartman. They discussed the menu for the week, as well as general topics of business. A caterer, he found, had quite an array of concerns. Insurance for the kitchen, employees, liability, vehicles, equipment, all needed tweaking, in his opinion.

The other evenings were blessedly his own.

Thus, when he saw Emily at his door on a Tuesday evening, he was extremely surprised.

"Oh no, another ridiculous jogging suit," was his ex-wife's greeting.

"As it happens, I was engaged in exercise," he stated.

"Well, aren't you going to invite me in? It's chilly!"

"Of course, Emily, do come in."

She did, tastefully dressed, lovely as ever, save for the sourness around her mouth. "Quaint," she judged, but he wasn't foolish enough to believe her insulting tone was personal. He knew she was after something. What it was, of course, he'd find out.

She turned on him, fluid as a snake striking. "I'm told you plan to remarry. Is that true?"

He boomed a laugh that came from his gut. When he calmed, he gestured her to the couch and sat in his favorite chair. "My dear, no, it is not. Good God, once was enough. Moreover, I still love you. It would be unfair to any woman to marry her."

"Then why do I hear…"

"Miss Cartman," he deduced, heading her off before she could work herself into a froth. "Emily, she needs help with insurance and we give each other tips on potential clients and events and so forth. She's a very nice person, but as you can tell, we're not even on a first-name basis."

"Well, whyever not? And what if I want to remarry?" demanded Emily, chin jutting out.

"Then I give you my blessing, and envy him," said Richard simply.

"If you love me and you'd be upset, then why did you divorce me!"

Richard felt his blood pressure rising and his breathing grow shallow. He took several breaths in through his nose, and let them out his mouth, until he was reasonably safe in saying, "We've had this discussion. For pity's sake, we're divorced! My dinner companions are no longer your concern. You receive your checks on time. Your status in society is unharmed."

"You took the girls from me!" shrilled Emily, re-crossing her ankles. "You took Rory and Lorelai from me!"

"Very well, Emily, if you want to have this out, let us have it out." He rose, and took from his coat pocket a small vial. He took one pill, as precautionary, according to prescription, and poured himself some carbonated water. He gave Emily the same.

"Rory will barely text me, or e-mail!" Emily snarled, bosom heaving. "As for Lorelai, she looks at me with pity. My own child! Pitying me! What have you done, Richard, what did you tell them to take them from me!"

Richard frowned, swirling the fizzy water in the tumbler. He kept a small discreet refrigerator and a few drinks in the living room, out of habit. He wished he'd had to go to the kitchen.

"Answer me, Richard!"

"Do you hear yourself, Emily? Truly hear yourself?" he ventured kindly, in a lullaby cadence. "I took them? They were not your possessions. I did not steal a car or Ming vase. I did not ask them to have any allegiance. That is a despicable thing to do. We are family to both of them, and to each other, through them."

"I don't understand you!"

"Obviously," intoned Richard gravely. "Have you never once in all this mess wondered if you should help clean it up?"

"What mess? You're babbling! You're as bad as Lorelai, you're not making sense at all! What mess did I make?"

He finally lost his temper with her as he'd longed to do for well over a year. He stood, and the words rolled like boulders in a flooding river from his tongue.

"What mess? You cried for years that our child didn't trust you, but you called her a tramp! You disdained her every choice, tried to control her every choice, even when she was quite definitely an adult! You did not even care that she lost a child, Emily! We would have had a second grandchild, but you did not so much as write her a note!"

Emily tossed her head, with a dismissive, "Why should I, she wasn't even married."

"You broke your word to me, you broke your word to Lorelai, you kept insisting on Christopher Hayden, well, Emily, if he's so blasted marvelous, then marry him yourself! My God, Emily, for two decades you harped on Lorelai's inability to grow past adolescence, but when did you ever mention anything that wasn't related to her teen years? Christopher," he ticked off on one upraised finger. "Unwed motherhood. Rebellion, which, by the way, is quite normal in teens. Every time you spoke about her or to her, you were finding some way to bring up the past! To ignore what is! Yes, she hurt us badly, and you were devastated, but my God, Emily…" He sank to his chair, shaking his head. "Did you never ask why she sought love from mere sex? Why she drank herself halfway to oblivion before old enough to vote? I have, these last months. And the answer is: she is no different than most of the children of our friends. She simply was caught. It struck me, not long ago."

"What did?" snipped out Emily, pale except for her bright red lipstick.

"She feared us. Rory never feared her. Rebelled, yes, manipulated, yes, and so forth. Us as well, if we're honest. Lorelai feared us. We never raised a hand to her, yet she was afraid of us."

Emily flicked a hand at the air. "Oh, poor Lorelai, boo-hoo. She's always been oversensitive!"

All Richard could find in reply was a sad, broken, "Oh, Emily. Is it any wonder so few trust you with their hearts?"

He studied his empty tumbler, a few regretful tears spattering into it, and did not stir when Emily huffed and stormed out, slamming his front door behind her.

GG GG GG

AN: I did learn that axiom in Al-Anon. "Love, but from a safe distance."
Emily isn't evil. She's just stuck in 1986. In a bad way.