Chapter IX

"He's going to be alright. Mr. Danes, like I said before, it was just a small complication with the tubing system."

"Are you sure?" Luke asks again.

"His lung doesn't seem to be in any worse condition. The system has been replaced." It is the same calm doctor from Friday night, with the clipboard of infinite sheets.

"So no surgery?" Luke re-affirms.

The doctor shakes his head. "For right now, no. We usually give it four days before definitively saying surgery is off the table. As far as we can tell, it doesn't seem necessary in your nephew's case."

"But he's okay?" That's number three.

The doctor nods with a tight little smile. 'How many times is he going to ask?' are the words stretched thinly over the line of his lips but instead goes, "Yes. His breathing and systems are stable now. Like I said, he has a small fever, but it should be gone by tomorrow, Tuesday at the latest. And we are still on schedule to move him out of ICU in the morning."

Hallelujah, Luke thinks. He knows Jess won't be happy in the non-private room, but it's all he can afford. Well, it's the most affordable, anyway. He brainstormed last night and arrived at a frightening conclusion. For now, it is the last resort. Hopefully some path to debt-free paradise will be illuminated by the glorious lights of a gracious higher power. If not, Luke is taking a walk to the bank. Loans are dumb. Loans are the worst. Loans are the bank's way of keeping you enslaved to them, and Luke refuses to belong to any institution that isn't his diner. But it's a last resort. He also a strategy to repay it as quickly as possible, a last resort to the last resort, but it all depends on the market.

"Good, good. How often will you check on him? What if something like this happens again?"

The doctor replies, "This shouldn't happen again, Mr. Danes. We can't check in multiple times an hour like we do now, but he also has a call button if he ever needs us."

Luke asks, "Is that what happened today?"

"Actually, someone was with him. She pressed it, she said."

Luke knows there is only one person who would be visiting the hospital to see Jess. After all, there could be something else going on, anything else going on. The townspeople would rather watch Kirk try to make a decision about a purchase than come see his nephew. He asks, "Is she still here?"

"I believe so. She looked shaken up. The nurse had trouble getting her to let go of him when she got there. After we told her he was okay, she just walked away muttering about coffee."

Suspicion confirmed. Luke says, "Thank you, I'll find her. I can see him soon?"

The doctor nods. "Maybe in 30 minutes? They are doing some last checks just to make sure then he should probably rest for a bit. Lora is going to bring you our outline for antibiotic therapy. You'll be in the waiting room?"

Luke is tired of waiting. And it's only been two days. He's impatient for Jess to be well so that they both can go back to their bumpy, awkward equilibrium in their shared apartment ridden with fights. He'll argue with that dumb kid every day if he can just get better so they can go home. Luke is tired of the waiting room and the X-rays and the doctors and the estimates and the phone calls and the calculators. He's tired of the townspeople staring at him, none of them actually asking how Jess is doing, but overly willing to hurl out insults, fish for gossip, or loudly whisper about his nephew when his back is turned. He's tired of building then breaking down packing boxes because he doesn't know if he agrees with Jess or not. He's tired of being given options just to feel like he doesn't have any.

But he just nods to the doctor and goes to find Rory. Because she must be tired too. Of all of this. She and her mother are the only ones sharing this with him. Lorelai was at the diner when the hospital called that there was a complication with Jess's treatment. Though his presence wasn't required, Luke wanted to go, and Lorelai could tell. So she forced him out the door once again and promised to finish out the lunch shift in style. That woman.

Luke can see that Rory is sitting in the waiting room with a paper cup of coffee, steam rising from its dark surface. She is staring ahead as she leans on her knees, little sloshes of coffee spilling over the rim thanks to her trembling hand. The hot brown liquid doesn't seem to impact her fingers as it slips through them, like a cascade over rocks, into a puddle on the bland tile floor in front of her. It appears to be a fresh cup. Maybe she couldn't drink any of the last one because it all spilled, Luke thinks as he surveys the mess. He gets a wad of napkins from next to the coffee machine and kneels in front of Rory, beginning to wipe up the puddle.

Rory whispers, "I'm sorry, Luke. I was going to get that."

Luke shakes his head and smiles. "No worries. How are you doing?"

"I hate seeing him like this," she says as she brings the coffee up to her lips, still looking straight ahead. Her face has drained of color, and the coffee has not revived it yet.

Luke nods, tossing the damp, stained wad of napkins into the bin, then taking a seat beside her. "I know it's hard on you."

"But why?" She asks, turning her gaze to Luke, her eyes formed into large, frightened, sapphire circles. Luke isn't sure if she's asking him or herself. "Why is it so hard on me?"

Because you care. Too much. For some unknown reason, Luke thinks, so in response, he just shrugs. "I don't know. That's on you."

Luke can see she is disappointed with his answer, or lack thereof, but he has no desire to amend or elaborate. She has to figure this out for herself. She asks, "How is he doing? They said he was okay, but…"

"I haven't seen him. He's resting right now. But you should come back tomorrow, see for yourself. He'll be in a new room."

"New room?"

"Yeah, they're taking him out of intensive care in the morning."

Luke sees the panic ring through her with a quick twitch of her brow, but she hastily tries to quiet it. After attempting recovery by clearing her throat, she asks cautiously, "Is that a good idea? I mean, with what happened today? Will they check on him a lot?"

Luke wants to laugh. She sounds just like he did no more than ten minutes ago. He answers, "Not as much. He'll be in the non-private rooms, in the other wing of the hospital."

She tightens her lips into a thin line then says knowingly, "He's going to hate that."

"I know." Luke tries to shrug it off, but he feels guilty for placing someone so obsessed with solidarity in a room with five other sick people. "The private rooms are more expensive."

Rory sighs at the subject, and Luke regrets bringing it up. She shouldn't have to deal with talk of finance. Then he remembers. Pulling the paper out of his pocket, he holds it out to her. She sets down her coffee on the table on her opposite side and hesitantly takes the check.

"What is this?" she murmurs, using her fingers to flip it around, then she gasps. She reads aloud, "To the order of Lorelai Gilmore, five hundred dollars? Memo: car? What?"

"He wanted you to have it. Thought you wouldn't take it if he gave it to you."

Rory is shaking her head in bewilderment. Luke knows the feeling. She stammers, "I…I don't - Where did he even get $500?"

"Had a job in New York."

She says, "I didn't think… I can't. I can't take this. No. It's not right."

The check is held in front of Luke's face for a few seconds before he says, "I agree with him on this one, Rory. Take the money. Put it towards a new car."

"It's not right," she repeats as she draws the slip towards her to examine again, like it might possibly be a ruse, a construction about to disintegrate in her hands. She stares at it and whispers, "It wasn't his fault."

"I know it wasn't," Luke says, just as he did when she told him that the first time while they drove here to the hospital yesterday morning. He goes on, "Nothing about this situation is fair, but you're going to college in a little over a year. You'll want a car to take home. Your mother will go nuts if you don't. And you know who's going to suffer for that? Me."

Rory chuckles. "She'll rant at you all day and all night while you refill her coffee."

A voice cuts in. "Mr. Danes?"

It takes a moment to register. Luke still isn't used to 'Mr. Danes'. Everyone in his life - except for Jess, that dumb kid - calls him Luke. Mr. Danes was his father. He stands at attention as Lora smiles. "Sorry to intrude. Are you ready to talk about the antibiotic therapy?"

Luke turns to the girl beside him and asks, "You're okay here?"

Rory nods. "My mom will be here soon. She said everything was good at the diner when she left."

"Okay. Tell her thank you."

"Sure." Beginning to walk away, leaving Rory with a $500 check in her hands, Luke revolves as he hears his name again. "And Luke? Tell Jess I don't think I can come tomorrow. There's something I have to do."

"You're kidding."

Luke is standing in Jess's hospital room a couple hours after Rory left. He had a short conversation with Lora about drug treatment and physical therapy, packed with terms he didn't understand and doesn't care to. Then he called the diner to make sure everything was running smoothly, worried about money, talked to the doctor again, worried about money, chatted with Lora, then worried about money some more. To give his forehead a break before it froze wrought with canyons, he came to Jess's room. Even though he was supposed to be resting, the kid was wide awake when he came in. He looks like hell. He could've been wide awake for the past week. There is a cold sheen of sickly sweat on his neck and dark circles under his eyes, but he looks better than Luke expected. When he went to bed yesterday, even after a day and a half of no sleep, he couldn't help but see Jess the way he was on the bridge. Hyperventilating. Bulging eyes. Pale skin. Blood droplets clinging to his lips. That image haunts Luke, and every time he sees Jess, he knows he's alright as long as he doesn't look like that. Luke walked to his room in a state of determination, each footstep pounding in energy and drive. He would find out what job Jess had in New York if it took him all day. He would discover what his nephew did to make $2500. It didn't take nearly as long as he predicted. Jess cracked after fifteen minutes of pressure. Weak and feverish, he relented saying, 'Fine, I'll tell you. I have a headache, and all your nagging is making it worse.' Weak, feverish, and physically unable to walk away from an argument with 'I am going out'.

Jess rolls his eyes when Luke repeats 'you're kidding' for the second time. "I regret this already. Wow, it's hot in here."

"You said it was cold five minutes ago," Luke points out.

"It was."

Luke crosses his arms. "Don't change the subject. You used to work in a general store?"

"Market on 16th."

Luke laughs again, rubs a hand over his stubble. "You realize how ironic this is, right?"

There is a click from the door. Lora walks in to give Jess more painkillers, and Luke stands aside, silent while Lora makes small talk. Luke is surprised by how Jess obliges her in answering her questions; it seems he has found another person he likes. That makes two and a half. Luke doesn't participate in the conversation, merely stares at his nephew with an unrestrained smirk. It isn't often that he gets to have the upperhand and full mocking rights. As Jess takes his drugs, he looks scornfully at his uncle who is inflating with barely-contained laughter.

As soon as Lora leaves the room, Luke bursts, "It's too ironic! You give Dean so much crap for working at Doose's, yet here you are!"

"Was," Jess corrects. "There I was. Old job."

Luke puts his hands on his hips with his head held high. This new information has rejuvenated him, reminded him that genuine amusement still exists. "Sure. Does Taylor know about your shelf stocking abilities? You could be a valuable asset to the team. You and Dean would be pals in a week."

Jess just glares now, not bothering to retort. Luke takes the opportunity to throw in, "You can bag the goods then hold hands and skip afterwards."

"I despise you," Jess mutters as he tilts his head back, dropping it like a dead weight onto the pillow.

"Thanks, you're not bad yourself. Does Rory know? She and her boyfriend will be thrilled."

Jess doesn't avert his gaze from the ceiling. "She doesn't know."

"Well, I won't tell her. You'll probably have to. She asked where you got the money when I gave her the check."

Jess hesitates, then mumbles, "Thanks."

"What was that again?" Luke cups a hand to his ear. He hasn't been in this good a mood in days. He'll drag it out if he can.

Jess repeats a little louder, "Thank you. For giving Rory the money and making sure she kept it."

Luke gives him one affirmative, exaggerated nod. "You're welcome, stockboy nephew of mine. Feels good to be appreciated."